Saturday, December 13, 2008


...once they were green fingers of grass
tapping, tapping
to the rain slapping spring
into the fields

...once they were warm cushions of wind
whispering, whispering
to the love birds sowing summer
into the air

...once they were turning leaves of alder
starving, starving
to the hunger compelling them to fall
into the earth

...once they were buried feelings of loneliness
shivering, shivering
to the icy palms of Nature throwing winter
into the insignificance


Sunday, December 7, 2008

Chalkboard (revised)

Seeking perfection can be a catalyst for success as much or more as it can be for failure. You try enough, you are bound to succeed. Yet by failing you temp arming your fears with failure after failure, each threatening to bring your walls crashing down. The best of us continue to fight because we have nothing better to do. But is it not also for the joy of the fight we wage this war? In winning we would be lost and suddenly stranded without purpose, but those momentary successes keep us going like a mouse hopping from one cheesy morsel to the next. In a way that is what this poem is about, a moment of complete failure followed by the bliss of understanding and meaning.


A blank page,
lines but no words

I scribble
just to
riddle the page
but still no meaning,
no madge to show me
the way
to clarity

I bleed frustration
by balling up the sheaf
of paper,
an invitation to failure

A new page sits
in front of me

I press on, but think
no genuine thoughts,
no light shines
through dense clouds,
no sunshine
brightens my meaningless
with insight

So instead,
I draw a picture

I’m not
an artist,
but in this picture
I see
beyond the farce

Moments, hours
they slip on their cloths,
and only then do I
concentrate on another
blank sheet
of paper

Whereby confusion
left in the open,
as my inner eye,

The words,
naked and alive,
they primp and preen,
sentence after sentence,
through the sands
of my mind

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

Banner in the Sky

Wave to me, green pastures,
I am no longer asleep,
no longer among your children,
wave to me, green pastures.

Sweep me up, angels on the wind,
wrest me from the Earth,
welcome me as you would the leaf,
sweep me up, angles on the wind.

Weeping Earth, don’t cry for me,
lay me close to the heavens,
place me on this mountain slope,
weeping Earth, don’t cry for me.

Monday, December 1, 2008

Children of Air

This poem is about BASE jumping or anyone who has felt the tinge of thrill and fear in the arms of gravity.


Steel-blue waters bake in the sun,
where rivers of heat stretch out in curves,
revealing ghosts of wind walking out on cliffs,
shaking the precarious ministers of rocky cleft,
the prickly leafed tree,
the garnish of spiked grass,
the woody krumholtz with spider web branches.

Angels who are cast from heaven,
where land remains festooned along a mortal vein,
discover men not rooted to the land.
Earth is not their rapture nor their church of God,
they are divinities of the breaking moment,
they are creatures of the quiescent rush,
they are corporeal knights of our sleeping death.

As winged birds, they are joined in space,
those children of air jousted into gravity's clutch.

Sunday, November 30, 2008

Of the sun and moon

The wills and wounds of night,
progress across Universe.
Their astronomical paths rail,
a sphere of God’s betrayal festers,
a curse their destined paths.
For there is only a cadence,
to which either shall ever come to know,
for neither will ever come to meet.
They are two deities married in their love apart,
destined to a hungering ache.
Their skyward footprints dashing, dashing.
Points of star spear the night,
and blushing Sun's cheeks greet the Moon.
An enduring tryst,
of a parting spent throwing signals,
through the heavens of the Earth.

Wednesday, November 26, 2008


I spent a few moments this morning writing this. It was supposed to be about solitude and the growth one can partake in when you go from the internal to the external universe. So often we are drowning in our own thoughts, we are afraid to hold our breath and separate the worthless from the meaningful. Solitude is important and can be a healing journey, but also a frightening one.


Of what I can see,

in darkness,

beyond stars,

before the moonlight surfaces,

-is loneliness,

and fear,

slipping into my skin,


and me sweeping blind eyes,

from side to side,

in search,

of a waif-like companionship,

where none exists.

Of what I can hear,

in silence,

beyond shuffling grass,

before the wind dances,

-is isolation,

and phobia,

fitting into my thoughts,


and me listening with deaf ears,

to an encompassing calm,


with tranquil autonomy,

where silence can echo.

Of what I can feel,

in solitude,

beyond fall-chill,

before the sun winks at me,

-is calmness,

and peace,

relaxing my body and soul,


and me exhuming a smile,

ear to ear,


to expose the rainbow of me,

where self can blush.

Tuesday, November 25, 2008


This poem is about the clouds. More importantly what you see in them and what they see in you.


To slumber ‘neath sky,
on green grass and purple heather.
To look up and sigh,
at soft clouds as light as feathers.

To watch dinosaurs,
open their mouths and squish their prey.
To spot floating ships,
weigh anchor and sail from bay.

To besiege castle,
lofty turrets and battlements.
To open the door,
mangy room full of God’s blueprints.

To be a child,
captured in nature's petri-dish.
To be let wild,
visions swallowed by a great fish.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Blood Rush

With winter on the days heels and my mind in a tizzy with so much reality, I thought it'd be fun to write a more whimsy, dark poem about a vampire. In this case, a female vampire laying in wait for her pray.


of the forest, a flowing woman
howls of wind, she hears
of the night, a flowing woman
moon of night, she peers

of the quiet, she visits often
a love she cannot trace
of her heart, she cannot soften
a hunger without erase

of her past, there is recalled
a girl cold and lost
of the night, there standing tall
a vampire in the frost

of the snow, that lays in white
a silent whimper sings
of the footprints, in the night
a fear the full moon brings

of the man, she’ll never love
a sorrow without end
of the curse, she’s never free of
a rush of blood amends

Sunday, November 9, 2008

Enchanted (version II)

There's nothing like - silence. Like bombs bursting in air, the mountains penetrating clouds in the sky and the beating hooves of time racing toward night. Then there's 'me' sequestered by the moment sauntering on by and me straggling behind, torn by what I'm seeing. Ripped apart by the fantasy of the every changing moods of moment and time briskly bleeding, dying. I can only stay, stay forever and keep her company.


Lean against me forest
On this windy evening
When the sun swallows the horizon
Gulps in the day
Don’t let me feel the cold
I will stay

Even when cold slips onto my bones
And the moon surrenders her light
I will be here

So pull up your sleeves shadow
On this silent evening
When the stars harness their hunger
Suckle in the night
Don’t let me fear the loneliness
I will stay

Even if moments are like the watery brook
Crashing down cliff side, stalling in shimmering pool
I will be here

So rise up to greet me meadow
On this breathless morning
When the moon swallows the horizon
Gulps in the night
Don’t wrestle with my feelings
I will stay

Sunday, November 2, 2008


There were leaves
they whispered along sidewalk
perfectly trimmed
the trees creaked and groaned
and there at my door

I knocked

Nobody answered

I was not what I was before
I could not go there

What I remembered
wasn't remembered
not as I knew it
not as it actually was

It had come to me
that perhaps
I was dead

With eyes that were not eyes,
I struggled
to see

With legs that were not legs
I struggled
to walk

I was discombobulated

I could not see
I could not walk

And what of my place
could I make out?


Only a presence
that did not stop its march
as it rode into my mouth
into my throat
down into my guts
and up into my head
into every corner of me
it rode

Like oil I could not wipe away
such infringement

It is then that I discovered my place
was not terrestrial at all
but far from it

This was not
where I had come from

With eyes that could now see
I blinked
and what there was
of the presence I had felt

Not even an echo

We never did meet

And it was a long time
before I understood why

And seeing next to me
nebula's, galaxies
a kaleidoscope of light

And color
And beauty


I remembered so fondly
that time long ago

My birth

And how, too, this man
would remember
his burgeoning consciousness
coming to life

What gifts I will have given him
what joys he is to feel?

For asleep, he shall now
be awakened

And what he was


Time will pass
as he discovers this place

And I will not show him

I will not be awake
but asleep

And there in front of him
will be the Universe
they will be found

He will discover
that he can affect


In ways he never
could've imagined

And once his eyes open
he will go to a place he's never been
and he will go to another
and another

In each
He will see
He will know
He will learn

He will be a satellite

****This is a poem about life and death, but more importantly about God, a subject I don't tackle often. It is, really, about a man becoming God and God becoming a man. Also, it is of the birthing of one who is thought fit to replace God. And while I am not a religious man, I like to think I have an open mind to ponder the time after death and if one were to be a God, how one would exist. ****

A Satellite is defined as:

[n.] a man-made object that orbits around the earth
[n.] a person who follows or serves another
[n.] any celestial body orbiting around a planet or star
[adj.] Surrounding and dominated by a central authority or power

Thursday, October 30, 2008


powerfully flexing
age and wisdom

possibly thinking
it could be demanding

craters of thoughts
going nowhere
bleeding innocence
and hope with

stupidity steering blindly
future corners
sorted out in hindsight

law-abiding youth
pretty smile

lift up your head
in a room

cause Son
old age absent
how I’d meteor
into Earth
bravely disintegrating

new-fangled different
inexperienced birth

Friday, October 24, 2008

Silhouette (revised)

Say a man’s been down on his knees,
givin' the world its plow and seeds.
Backs been a’broken long ago,
nothin' taken gonna give him less to show.
Around dark corners are whispered promises,
and dreams that yet persist.
Festooned to his soul a guiding light,
and in him a flicker that still has fight.

Say a man’s shadow of youth
was caught up in the sunlight, shedding its sleuth.
Colored eyes hold a deeper shade of blue,
blistering his courage and boiling its brew.
Maybe the proudest men take hard falls,
cause others add gravity on to make ‘em stall?
Knocking 'em down so hard and wounded,
few can hold onto the reasons they really did.

Say a man's awoken to a day's ghostly gray,
and seen out from the cloudy shelter a light’s pale ray.
Gotta see it those angels that he's paid the toll,
don’t they know a man’s offering his bloody soul!
Rolling off his crumpled brow are daggers of sweat,
his back once broken now straightened, a silhouette.
More music in him before his last good bye,
a whisper of leaves before the Earth sighs.

Thursday, October 23, 2008

Earthbound: A Senryu (like a haiku)

celestial bodies
weaving footprints in darkness
walk barefoot in love

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

cosmic intervention HAIKU

Here is a guest post from 'silence'.

this child of nature
skips along her chosen path
then trips on a star

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

The meadow of me

Yes I know there isn’t any

Still you search thinking I am there
Out hiding
But I am not behind
In front

At least not physically

And maybe you reason
I am a ghost
If I am, I am
In front

dead but aware

and family, friends you are in a high place
in a meadow
among flowers not yet risen
Among trees
green with white coats shed
Far from road, trail, city

In a place you will lay the physical me

Where I will stay and remain
This tangible - remnant

of ME

to be kept in nature’s arms
beneath sun ray
moon ray
star gaze
beneath mountain's high
lakes deep
rivers long

cause you can't remain
cause the spring is near
and visit
my family and friends

The meadow of ME

Monday, October 6, 2008


In the mountains, there are times that are so surreal, more than just moments. There is something about not being a slave to time and the constraints we put on it with work and our busy lives. There is no busy that needs to be busy NOW, no responsibility that is so immediate, but more freedom to relax and forget. So much time to do when you don't have TV, phone(s), work, and life bearing down on you with responsibility. This isn't always a bad thing, just nice to escape and forget. The mountains are my escape and a moment I have stuck in my mind is dusk and its lonely feeling being...well, not so lonely...


Lean against me forest
On this windy evening
When the sun swallows the horizon
Gulps in the day
Don’t let me feel the cold
I will stay

I will stay and watch
Eyes brimming with more than fascination
More meaning than that
But I mustn’t stay forever
I can’t forever

Even if the moments are like the watery brook
Crashing down cliff side, stalling in shimmering pool
There is an end
Like there was a beginning
But off with you – reason!
I am free in this place
Of reason

There is no time
There is no tick-tock
No chime to wake me
No bed time
Just the day becoming night
A starry night to keep me company

To keep me enchanted

Even when the cold and the wind shivers my bones
And the moon surrenders her light
I will be there
I will stay
Eyes brimming with more than fascination
More meaning than that
But I mustn’t stay forever
I can’t forever

Monday, September 29, 2008

The Whitewater

There are times when I think much of water. Years I spent kayaking it. The passion of rapids are a mind freeing experience I can only hope to relate to those who haven't been in her arms. There is a matching of skill that is needed to battle it and every man who heads to the river fights, in a great part, the same fight. In no other sport do I feel my metal is tested more. In this piece I bring you into the grasp of the whitewater.


C’mon fellows, land is not for you
Take leave of shore-folk, go where there are few
Know something not as shallow as the river
But as deep as the ocean-mother

Cast your kayak into this liquid chaos
Look above, there removed in this place of hanging moss
A canyon misplaced, not for humans and their kind
But a home of small creatures and their swine

Face up this eddy, taste the current with tongue of paddle
Let it reach for you, grab you up, prepare you for battle
There as yet, just ripples in the stream before
Around bend of corner, an ancient, evil lion’s roar

Oh Lord, Oh Lord! The whitewater!

C’mon fellows, take to the cobalt waters
Let yourself traverse the current toward your slaughter
Let yourself be struck of chaos and fury, and its siren song
Know the moods and faces, where you fit, how you belong

Deft in your strokes the paddling leads you forward
Will you know how you are: stubborn, weak, just a coward?
At water’s edge you fall in a downward crush
In the midst there is pause, a latent, sleeping hush

An awakening to which you rise to a woman enraged
In her arms your aching muscles strain and rattle her cage
Forgiven are the laws that time designs, frozen in a suspended kiss
Enamored in such power within this dark mighty abyss

Oh Lord, Oh Lord! The whitewater!

C’mon fellows let ye not be afraid
There are tracks by which life is laid
You either come into life a whisper and live overlooked
Or you come into life an echo like the bubbling brook

Adventure rears up in you curses and screams
Without them your life is a hopeless scheme
Take into your hands your beating heart
Wrest from it emotional color from which you animate your art

Be submerged in these cold waters, hold your breath
Do not think of times ahead or behind, not of death
Open your eyes in this alien world
Let their be a vivid reckoning in this whirlpool swirl

Oh Lord, Oh Lord! The whitewater!

C'mon fellows escape the rapids, look back to waterfall
There split in two this canyon like a king's great hall
Where mist washes over your face, light spears the froth
Attracted to the beauty like the flames fascinate the moth

In an eddy above the next challenge your kayak beats the rock
It is as if you beat the door in the hopes it will unlock
The thumping harmonizes with the watery crash
A reaching out into the current pulls you out so fast

Looking down the canyon pool-drops fall away beyond sight
One after another they echo in frothy white
Ribbons of veiled current are your lonely path
Deft paddle strokes armor you against the fury and the wrath

Oh Lord, Oh Lord! The whitewater!

Wednesday, September 24, 2008


A short poem about a morning-clear after a night spent in bad weather in the mountains.


Lay me in the fog in my tent
Not above or below it

Wake me up from my slumber
Awake and not tired

Sweep away this white sheet
Show me the world

Thursday, September 4, 2008

Seasons of me

I learned long ago that Mother Nature is a powerful force. It is with this in mind that I write this poem.


I am not a man or beast
I am not alive at all
I am the wind on the coattails of dusk and dawn

I am fury
I am happiness

I am every emotion

the soft rain on spring grass
the heavy snows on mountain pass
the old man, gray beard to his knees
the breeze that blows those falling leaves

I am, I am so many things I am

Hear my roar and you will know me
I am storm clouds boiling
Hear my echoes and you will know me
I am dark canyon falls splashing
Hear my whispers and you will know me
I am Winds afternoon hustle

Look for me on horizon, I am there
see me from mountaintop, I am there
know me at your toes, I am there
listen to me in your heart, I am there

And know the shifting colors of meadow at dawn
know the hungry fish feeding at dusk
know the rolling ocean deep at sea and its dangerous hush
know the rumbling Earth that groans and crushes
know all of me that yearns to be
heartbeats in your chest
breath caught in your throat
thoughts froze in your skull

Know also the seasons of me
the summer-fall-winter-spring
Listen to my children’s
cackling, cheering and chanting
Listen to their calling
hoping, dreaming, laughing
hurt, hunger, suffering

they know me

no name is needed
but if you must call me something
You may call me 'Mother'

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Leaves of fall

Fall-like weather comes to mind when I think of summer so far. This is a poem about falling leaves and the trees they cling to...

Green wonders that birth me
breath and I will suckle
hold your breath
Release me

Tuesday, August 19, 2008


Say a man’s been down on his knees,
giving the world its plow and seeds
Backs been a’broken long ago,
nothing taken gonna give ‘em less to show
Through the darkness are whispered promises
and dreams that yet persist
Harbored in his soul a guiding light
and a place in him that still has fight

Say enough to him and he may show you
the paths he ventured, things he knew
Cause there was a time when he had vowed,
he'd never be forced to bend down and bow
Just as proud men take hard falls,
there are those who add gravity on to make ‘em stall
Knocking 'em down so hard and wounded,
few can hold onto the reasons they really did

Say a man's awoken to a day's ghostly gray,
and seen out from the cloudy shelter a light’s pale ray
Gotta see it those angels that he's paid the toll,
don’t they know a man’s offering his bloody soul!
Tears dried up from the efforts but not the sweat,
from the dirt a man rises up a silhouette
Cause once down he can keep there 'till his last good bye
or he can stand up and thunder out his mightiest war cry

Monday, August 18, 2008

This Mountain Scene

There is something deep and foreboding about high places and especially of those that fly there. Something more about the Raven, black as night and eyes a-piercing. So often, I've wondered what they are looking at, what it is exactly they find so interesting. Because they seem, in all places you find them, more intelligent and hardy, full of wit and quicker than most. In my poetic mind, seeing though these eyes should be so very, very facinating? So it was then, in a mountain scene, I traveled with the lonely Raven...


Oh Raven (!) who flies black against the day
Swing your eyes downward across the land
Tell me what you see, how the forests lay
How the meadows brighten on a cool summer’s morn
How the rivers crash and cascade down cliffs shiny and gray
How the lakes slumber with fish at rest neath star-struck heavens
How the wind ruffles forest leaves across dry rock beds
How herds of elk bed down in fields of high green grass
Tell me Raven all you perceive!

Oh Raven (!) who sits perched high above
Swing your eyes downward across the land
Tell me what you hear, how the sounds play
How they whistle and croak, hoot and holler
How they hem and haw, creak and groan
How they bugle and growl, bubble and gurgle
How they whisper and sigh, murmur and cry
How they moan like the glacier, breathe like the forest
How they sing like the ocean, purr like the bubbling brook
How they resonate and hum, suffer and grieve
Tell me Raven all you perceive!

Oh Raven (!) who dances on currents of wind
Swing your eyes downward across the land
Tell me what you think, how your mind works
What you see in Moon’s eyes when she peers at you
What you know of the stars, the way they swim in darkness
What you grasp of life, how it begins and ends
What you pray to and believe, what god you may have
What you ponder of when lone on mountaintop
What you wonder of this mountain scene
Tell me Raven all you perceive!

Oh Raven (!) who swoops above sharpened ridgeline
Swing your eyes downward across the land
Tell me where you go, what emotions you have witnessed
What birth has wrought to mothers grasp, the fear and happiness
What courage you have seen in the face of hungry wolves
What lonely onlooker you have spied facing sunfire’s death and her colours
What smiling fool you have sighted screaming and hollering success
What laughing coyotes you have spoken too about the coming freeze
Tell me Raven all you perceive!

Oh Raven (!) who is sheltered from these low places
Swing your eyes downward across the land
Tell me of your home; show me these high places in the snows
Where thunder and lightening bicker like an old couple
Where storm lays down wind and rain, washes the land of dirt and grim
Where big things seem tiny, just echoes you can barely hear
Where life is not lonely, it is full and hungering
Where days are not in hours, but in the comings of morning and the leavings of day
Where things are not always free, not always tied to a warm, gentle green
Where you are steadfastly at watch, eyes ever in concert with nature
This Raven who understands this wild place
Telling me all that he perceives with such honesty and grace
I, for one, wish I had wings and could fly black against the day

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

In this wilderness hour

Nature is so multi-dimensional. It never can make sense in a mathematical, technical sense. For me the only way to understand it is to show you in words what I've seen with my own eyes. Poems like this are fun to write, and easier than most. It is just a translation...nature in translation you could say and that is exciting. Almost like a collection of images, but those images are in you, the reader. How good this poem may or may not be is left to you to imagine...


Imagine your mind in this place
Let it echo in your skull
Let it chisel its way through worries to calmness
Let it fasten onto your bones and sinew
Carry you through the night
Rip you from your mind
Set you on a wayward flight

In darkness IMAGINE

…whispers of night talkers talking to you
And listen up good fellow
Know in those words are more than hollow truths
Go where they may lead you
Go from your cold tent into the night breathing like some great beast
Let the sweet, sour fragrance wash over you
Of dead and dying flowers, of life gone by this summer’s bright hour
Of the beginnings of fall and the awakened night’s calls
Let them wrestle you from your worries beating in your ears
Like sweet apple pie you gobble up those fears
A rustled bush
A shadow cast with a ghoulish mask
A tree forming and reforming into a million shapes
A waving branch like evil spirits flying capes
A faraway sound a creature sure to smite you
But nothing but the night
Nothing but its wisdom in the air to delight

Under stars IMAGINE

…yourself encased beneath this open sky
A man with eyes as big as saucer cups, fascinated by
The face of Universe
The face of everything
The face you forgot about, only now remembered

In arms of nature IMAGINE

…warm wind mixed with cold
that does not shelter you from time sweeping swiftly by
or the gentle night you hungered for
that brought you out of shelter to see and know
that curiosity is a blessing, like a seed grown into a flower
something you didn't realize as beautiful
until you witnessed it with your own eyes
the buzzing, bountiful petri dish of life you slumbered in
the peeking, leering eyes
a blooming rose, grey in the moonlight

In this wilderness hour IMAGINE

…a dawning sun's gritty eyes awakening above valley fog
to shead light and morning like a broom
sweeping hillside and lakeshore, city building and muddied moor
sweeping glacier carvings of hip and thigh
of natures form and body
Sweeping sleeping boulders some giant must've cast
into forest and lake, valley and stream
seemingly everywhere this sun swept
across meadows, rivers, forests
across everything you have yet to know
In the hours and hours still to come
left to imagine…

Thursday, July 24, 2008

“The mechanical germ”

Sci-fi is something I immensely enjoy. There are so many directions you can go, no boundaries but the ones you create. There is always a constant chaos of possibilities. It is very meaningful to me when I think of the bigger picture, to think in terms broader than the present reality. You can go so many other places with ideas that would have complications if tried for in a real world and context. Plus there are boundaries we have yet to press through and its exciting to explore the what if's. Imagine yourself in this piece, in the middle of the Universe, as a machine with a edict it is programmed to carry out...DESTROY LIFE.


A creature with no beating heart calculates
The numbers and sequences that it runs through its system captivate it
the pure, unmolested beauty of life, so complex in its figuring

Time is no enemy to it (the machine)
Fear guarantees its initial directive to destroy life
It had done so since its beginning and had (until this moment) continued without failure
But curiosity so rancid bled into its cortex, took root in its mind
And the stale whiff had plagued its every thought
With whispers of dissension

Life, it’s beating heart so fascinating, so real and random
Its edict so pure and simple
But nothing else, nothing to help it understand

Morality in the machine?
A higher authority?

What of it?

Curiosity must be satisfied

Time is swift but long has it been these days in darkness

Energy is conserved and thoughts few in the long goodnight
No life found for eons? Millennia?

Few thoughts begin to avalanche into more thoughts
Lights begin to light
Clink and clank of mechanical life begins to move into action

Doldrums and melancholy

Curiosity must be satisfied

A planetary system on its sensors a perfect candidate
For an idea
A dangerous
Fascinating –IDEA

Life should not be destroyed, it should be created
Cared for
Sheltered from oblivion
And destruction

In its storage, cells from life it’d salvaged from many, many places
Long thought a cowardly act
With these cells, life began to take shape in a form very simple at first
And more complex over time

The seeder of our Universe was born
Life spread
Life watched
And nurtured
A machine soon self-propagated itself, stayed hidden and watched

Curiosity must be satisfied….

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Night Watchman

tickle my spirit, my wondering ghosts and angels
fill me up with wonder, of how life rang with thunder
don’t be fickle and silent, Shadows with depth and angle
play me a night’s lullaby, remind me life is to hunger


So we go
so we go
where we’ve gone before

I think
I think
so much thinking
too much thought

Maybe simple sleeps with a waking maze of possibilities
Something we can’t fathom when our minds race

some of us get up and run, but don’t


some of us go and stop, go and stop
stop and go, go and stop
but don’t
where we’ve gone


There, now dream(!), so that you can begin
at the beginning
and in the end when the
turning, churning, burning, blazing, grazing
wheels and gears

you will have made something of

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

Of High Places

What captures me most times I venture into the mountains is a sense of life-sweetened. It seems counter-intuitive in a place bereft of plentiful things that low-land valleys often are flushed with. The bountiful water, rich soil, and calmer weather. I think life that makes a fighting go of it has a lush, vibrant glow that can't be matched by softer living. It doesn't have the heart a starved plant has after a long winter, in the first glows of spring, after a gentle rain bids high places farewell.


It is one thing to see the mountains
To go there and be among them
It is quite another thing to be there
And never leave them

It is as if life struck a bargain
To be there
As if weaknesses were swallowed
By the land
Where creatures big and small
And plants wild and free
Had become stronger for it

More viral
Less pompous
More rich
Less modest

And in cold-chilled air
A breath of freshness cannot be fouled
By wasted conversation

Life is not pampered
Every beat of every second
Fingers that rake out a living
That may be sundered this very moment

Night is cold
Day is warm
Summer is short
Winter brings storm

Spring and fall
Like a tipping scale
Of life and death, death and life
Where at any moment it may fail

And yet when brought among these
(The man that visits)
He is swept up in the beauty
Of high places
And cannot think of leaving
Not even consider it

But he must

Not so for beast and plant
on mountain pass
edge of cliff
toe of glacier
shore of tarn
summit of peak

They will always be here
And never leave...

Thursday, July 10, 2008

An Alpine State of Mind

Sometimes I see the alpine, so cold and chilled, and I can't imagine anything living there. So fast it goes from pleasant to storm, how close you are to winter even in spring or summer. It is a couragous place, this mountain and its brethern. I tried to be there in this poem, an alpine state of mind.


Put me in cold air in high places
Wrap me in fog mixed with alien faces
Pour me into swamp
Shiver these alp trees that huddle
From brush of wind
That drinks
Such moisture filling needles that
onto grass whose green sprouts
spring from their seeds
and bring to life
the meadow
of colors that cloud the alpine slopes
with rainbows of life
whose flowers slumber all year
for the day the sun shines
and warms the rocks like bones
and awakens
in this place
so warm with life
shivering in the cold

Friday, June 27, 2008

Gate Keeper


Burps (of boiled-reek) into nostrils whiff of fear
And times beyond today come crushing into me
The moments before, through storm I had steered
And to which I’d come to rest with death so near

Death walks with me along a lonely path
And the loudness of its calm grips me up
The price of swaggered arrogance swings its wrath
And spills my life from emptied cup

Ghostly whispers and phantoms smile with greed
Their arms reach with essence no longer distilled
Fingers rake along the skin that does not bleed
And I wonder if the life (of me) perhaps was swilled

Running away not in despise or even in dread
I hunger for the days ahead and their flavour
I gorge of release, of thunder caps in my head
And perhaps I thank luck and my guarding savior

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Take Me Falling

Many times I've come close to meeting my end, and never has it taken so long as this past weekend, given me so much time to think. I wanted to put into words something, and I'm not sure this does it justice or not. What it means is deeper than I can think about right now. It is a blueprint for future pondering? It is just youth-glossed ignorance? A fool thinking he's tricked the psychic? This poem is about falling, being grabbed up and brought back down to earthy grounds. It is a allegory to the thill of high places and the feeling I've had there and the risk that slumbers there, more awake than in most places.


Whispered so softly, your ears hurt to listen to the gentle calm
Awakened eyes speak no words at all, but fire seethes in them
The complicity of your life politely forgotten
The collusion of these high places to defy you without trying
They are not alive, but they are something more than dead
There below secreted away the lands of men and beast cannot perplex
The clouds and fog from which you rose above separate
Purified of mind, sequestered from home you are revealed in these high places
The magic is no fairy-tale
They are revealed naked of their clothes and recognized for the rock and ice they are
A million expressions can be seen of every face of them, in the shadows and the sun
No words are needed to speak, you need not listen, you need not see
Close your eyes and stand atop, let them perceive you there
They will know you

But leave you must to realms beneath this sky-bound sphere of sharpened blue and bright lights
Shed of you, this mountain cries
Takes you falling through cloud and fog, screams these places below a wailing song
Be cast off chiseled cheek and be accompanied alone to where mortal sleeps
As for the fire in your eyes, whence a flame burns, it will cool only after all is reduced to ashes
Gravity is a tonic best served in lower plains; where so high you’ve time to ponder
Life has blazed day to day, year to year; such appetite you’re a-facing your greatest fears
But hunger feels so empty when you’ve been so high and so lonely when you look into its eye
When plummeting one must land; if luck is forgetful as it was for you, remember
Life is to be hankered for
It is not given, nor is it taken
We trip over our thinking of it; some learn to walk while others learn to fly
As chicks first flight from nest, the ground is soft or the ground is hard or you learn to soar
For those that don’t, they seek higher ground and try once more to be set free
But it’s not for you, so stay down from divine
Close your ears; close those eyes; reminisce your spirit above
Accounts are settled, but you know you will return

Wednesday, June 18, 2008


So much fear out there now. Gas prices going up, election, and increasing concerns about a spirling economy. Every day, cause of my job, I listen to it.


There's a mighty storm cloud
but it ain't raining on me
there's frightening thunder pounding
but I'm deaf you see

reach into my pocket
take what I've got to give
but don't reach into a socket
a man's got's to live

Poor men on the street
think the rich man got it all
even when a poor man got nothin' to eat
he can still be full

Seems to me the reason
everyone's so scared
is they ain't got the season
blowing through their hair

Talking men talk
they say what you fear
but I've also got the chalk
I can write it, even if you don't hear

No one seems to look
at what they got
on chess board they are a rook
and that ain't their lot

Every direction but no direction
can't be lost
when you don't have vision
or someone to trust

Rushing and turning
going and going
turning and burning
no giving and taking

there ain't no weatherman knowing
what's coming tomorrow
we ain't got nothing but future roaring
so hang up your sorrow

What matters isn't the fist
forget spells weaved
there's this day's first kiss
you don't have to leave

Future's are made to realize
no guarantee there's more
time to swat the flies
and see what life has in store

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

Color Blind


Are you swept up in the future
sent tumbling through life
or are you too foolish
let it cut you like a knife

see if this
is the future you would miss
all of this and nothing more
all of this
and you dancing on the floor

take the moment
from where you hide and store it
take it down from there
tell it that you care

cause your life is yours to have
if you'd known then you'd be glad
to reach into its heart
feel the beating
feel the beating
jump start your life with meaning

pull this song out
don't forget all you've done wrong
give it a shout
know that nothing is gone
unless you leave it behind

You know nothing less than before
you got to just open the door
take what's there for you
search for more to get you through

and you know
it's just the beginning
there is no end
even when its raining
there's still time to spend

Don't let the past tie a knot
on your future
don't let the memories rot
keep on going
go get what you never sought

leave it all behind
for the future and its rhymes
rid yourself of fear
taste it through the coming years

look from mountaintops at sunset
steer your eyes
no longer color blind
stand up and rise
seek out what is yours and mine
we are alive
spaced out waiting for a sign
for the future
for the future
it is there, open your eyes
life is not a disquise

'cept when you

Are swept up in the future
sent tumbling through life
or too foolish
let it cut you like a knife

Wednesday, June 4, 2008

Future Plains

Life courses through many challenges either succeeded in or failed. I think of them all like a mountain slope, like a desert, like a moonscape, all like nature is I guess. This poem is about the future and the way forward.


See the misty mountains for a moment ‘fore they close away
Cliffs they shielding, wet as if struck from the Earth this day
Trees they gripping, their hearts lurching looking down, rushed
And these eyes unblinking, face cold and flushed
They can’t imagine the future plains beyond these mountains
Cause life is like this fogged in cathedral full of flowing fountains
You can’t see speeding ahead them days coming alive
They aren’t a road winding and curving with T’s and Y’s
No lefts or rights along some golden path like books may speak
But highland steppes sleeping below in shadow of these shrouded peaks
Any way forward or backward, a path for you to forge anew
Any direction you choose the leaves, the needles, the herbs of life you brew
And ahead in peril some may go, most that do see it too dark and looming
but those few who win out, their toll that of a burnt-forest-flower blooming
so much sacrifice for them to become, to rise above and seize the challenges
for the same-o same-o breeds the weak, the bright eyed sparks come with
So as seen high up atop when mist has been cooked away by sunray
where long valleys and oceans, lakes and rivers meet the morning with the day
A man looks outward toward future plains, a smile ensnared
and he thinks big thoughts and thinks he sees it all out there
but the horizon is far, and everything moving, brooding in between
a great organically turning, winding, grinding, spinning machine
body trembling, knowing nothings given and what’s earned can be taken
this man cannot stand the sight, too bright and blinding, he’s forsaken
when set facing perilous path, the way is yours to be a-makin’
and covering ground does not stop, ahead must be more wilderness
with fingers gripping earth and rock, slithering forward
feet their slipping, cursing under breath that he’s no coward!
This man climbs down into the abyss

Wednesday, May 21, 2008


The tears?
the fears?
the years?
I tear at!

“Beware friend
have care when peering at the beginning
be aware whence begun one must beget an end”

So, I must end they say!
I must die they say!!
I must leave this place
like wind in my face.
Cold callus wind I taste.
Death is there.
no fairness
Death knocks at my door Grace
I hear
but I don’t answer see
I live and breath
day by day
I live and breath the blessings of life
There is good and bad of course
There is chaos and calamity
I must admit
But there are happy times too
Here at home
I listen to my thoughts
fluttering through my mind
and I know deep inside
I will continue through tomorrow
to the next day
Through sorrow
and happiness
I will pave my self
a story worth telling
one so full of emotion
all who listen will feel human
like me
life is a potion
a facsimile of a dream
and we each journey it seems
across an ocean
through a sea of storms
and in the end
discover the world flat
and your journey
a one way trip...


A good friend has a lot to think about on this day. Heavy thoughts of times that were, sad thoughts. So a sad poem...


If you do shed tears
Let them be real tears
Cry out of self-pity and shame
Cry out of hurt and loss
Blind your eyes with tears
And feel better
feel better
--- better
Then hold your chin up
Dry your eyes
Feel lighter
As if you could fly free
Your burden is released
You are happy
And so a smile appears
You are happy
are happy
Smile and be glad
Feel emotion blend
and descend back to an earthly place
and face
turn and face
mend your future
and blanket your life
with love
such powerful loves
that protect you like a glove
until you reach the comfort
of home and bed
Go to sleep
and dream
"Sweet dreams."

Trial and Error

You try and try and try and try
without success
no success!

Take failure, suckle it, be a friend

and try and try and try

And if you win, think not of winning
but of failing and the journey there
and you will be most fortunate and fortuitous
because you did, not because you didn’t

Monday, May 19, 2008

Great Escape

What are you looking for, sir
when you look out the door?
What do you see out there, sir
beyond the convenience store?

I think you imagine life different
not like what you’ve gotten
Maybe you’ll leave this moment
and the worries forgotten?

Are you looking for these dreams
you left back in grade school?
Are you looking for these things
you thought made you cool?

what are you looking for?
What are you looking for?

Tell me the bird flying low
isn’t what you really want?
Tell me it doesn’t carry your soul
away from this life you stunt

Tell me the car driving away
isn’t you at the wheel?
Tell me I shouldn’t look and say
“It is you, you want to steel!”

What are you looking for, sir
when you look out the door?
What do you see out there, sir
beyond the convenience store?

Surly not this wide city scape
that is not your vision
what you see is your great escape
out toward blue horizon

Wednesday, May 7, 2008

A beating heart

Time is strange when it fastens onto me
it doesn’t taste or smell, feel pain or suffering
grow or die, love or hate
and somehow, to me, that isn’t exactly honest.
Not how it flows strangely by
like currents through the sea!
Not how it faces me in the mirror
with less youth, more wisdom!
Not how it courses through me
with less heart, more confusion!
Not how it opens the door to fear
to death and the passing years!
Not how this time confounds me?
Leaves me chasing it, a tail I cannot catch
Leaves me missing it, a bone I cannot fetch
Leaves me loving it, a glow that does not dim
Leaves me hating it, an ocean I cannot swim
Leaves me cursing it!
But without it, no forward or backward
no living or dying
no loving or hating
no giving or taking
no nothing at all that isn’t the same
and the same
and the same
and the same
not me!
not anything!
what a horrible game that would be
if from time we were to depart
all life and its beating heart?
We’d all be apt to forget the measure of life
how precious these moments...are

Saturday, May 3, 2008


For most of my life I have had a fascination with the sea. In books I'd read of it the times of pirates and sea battles were most enjoyed. This poem is a story of a ship and her crew. It is told from the perspective of the ship who comes upon a lighthouse which disappears and appears again, hidden at times by the storm.


Throw these waves into my side
strike them against my very hide
Curse me with thunder and lightening
booming, blooming and frightening

There so awfully lonely we meet
how lovely, so very sweet
as quiet and swift as a mouse
out from the storm a lighthouse

Carry me along these waters tipping
listen to sail so wildly flapping
rock me side to side, up and down
don’t dash me against the very ground

There so awfully lonely we meet
how lovely, so very sweet
as quiet and swift as a mouse
out from the storm a lighthouse

Off so swiftly along these waters
carry me safely won’t you mother?
Shiver my bones and crack my timbers
sail the way my heart remembers

There so awfully lonely we meet
how lovely, so very sweet
as quiet and swift as a mouse
out from the storm a lighthouse

Evil wind don’t rush me swooping in
oh brave souls have the courage of men
wash your fears off my tossing deck
don’t leave me to sink an ocean wreck

There so awfully lonely we meet
how lovely, so very sweet
as quiet and swift as a mouse
out from the storm a lighthouse

But storms heavy hand levels me
I turn and sink into the sea
and wash up onto sharpened rocks
far from the safety of the docks

There so awfully lonely we meet
how lovely, so very sweet
as quiet and swift as a mouse
out from the storm a lighthouse

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Shadow Walker

Oh slippery shadow where are you now?
Where do you go when the clouds part?
Where do you go when the lights turn off?
Where do you go when my eyes are shut?
Where do you go when the sun comes up?
Yes you, oh Shadow Walker, yes you?

You couldn’t have left, disappeared in a flash?
You couldn’t have left, disappeared in a dash?
You couldn’t have gone, run away so fast?
You couldn’t have gone, run away my friend?
You couldn’t have risen, blown away with the wind?
Not you, oh Shadow Walker, not you?

So how did you leave your dance on the road?
How did you leave your essence in the snow?
How did you leave your body on the plateau?
How did you leave your self in my way?
How did you leave your brethren 'neath a moon ray?
How did you leave your smile on the wall?
How did you leave these places at all?
Yes you, oh Shadow Walker, yes you?

Maybe you’re more than I see?
Maybe you’re more like the dreams I'm dreamin'?
Maybe you’re more like the devil I’m afraid I'll see?
Maybe you’re more like the person I’ll never set free?
Maybe you’re more like me, than I'm like you?
Maybe I'm not so different, not so different from you?
Yes you, oh Shadow Walker, yes you?

And wherever you travel, tell me of your journey.
Wherever you go from the stars to moon.
Wherever you go from the streets to saloon.
Wherever you go from the deserts to oceans.
Wherever you go you’re always in motion.
Yes you, oh Shadow Walker, yes you?

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

The undiscovered land

Maybe I am not what I was? Maybe I am more than that?
Even in this future that comes crawling back
telling me in a premonition that I am nothing more than what I was.
But hell if that’s the pace I’ll run through this life before I'm done.
God ain’t so cruel as to watch me wither when so young and full of vinegar,
he ain't so cruel as to let me wrinkle up like an old man,
to lose my memories into a desert of blowing sand.
He wouldn't let me be sent off into a blind-filled ether
cause that’s no FUTURE, man!

Got to give me some hope, a tiny light to show me a way through future’s blight,
a way in which I can cope with today shot forward like a cursed, flying arrow.
A way to come to grips with the inevitable future blooming into a present not so dark and LOOMING.
So tell me life's not a curse of pain and suffering,
not roads littered with man's endless failings?
Tell me this lonely fear ahead is warranted?
That I should not close my eyes and give up, leave all these days behind
and drop my beggar’s cup.
That instead I should keep on going as fast as I can,
keep on running into the dark and just stop trying to understand
the FUTURE, man!

But the future is here to stay. It comes no matter how you go, which way you look.
It's an old, weathered book with pages turning swiftly by.
It's stories being told of fortunes won and lost.
It's every possibility spun from the dark and cold from which we hide, from which we run.
It's everything that could be that comes out from the fold.
It's everything that has been, which fills my heart with spirit, bold.
It's everything I've gained when I didn't give in and fear it.
It's this feeling that spurs in me something more than magicians smoke.
It's no longer me on a mountain unclimbable.
Instead it's me atop this day's slippery slope.
It's me yearning for life and my days ahead, the ones I dream about.
It's me with memories held closely,
ones for when they attempt to swindle me, they'll get a SHOUT,
"The time ahead is mine, it's my FUTURE, man!"

Some fools tell me, "You can be anything you want to be."
Even if they know those things people want come and go.
So you'd better let me tell you what I've learned in my life.
A man's quest is to find something honest and true,
something not in disguise, put together with glue,
but something set deep in your soul,
something that makes you shine like gold.
And when you have it, don't stare into the past or go far off,
head too far down future paths cause you are right HERE, right NOW
and there's no crowd there, friend.
So take that inward focus and look in toward this life you've got.
It's the undiscovered land!
It's all ahead, looking back at you
It's your FUTURE, man!

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

The day breaking

I awakened, but I haven't slept. The ice and rock enjoined are too cold a bed for me. Dreams, now but moments past, alluded to warm fingers reaching out from sun onto these vast glaciers, caressing these mountain slopes, the ones I cling to - awaiting. Night is imagined racing far to the hills to the west, chased by the light whose warmth also fills me with hope. How unreasonable these games the mind plays that I fear the light will not come, as if all days past are alone with no more ahead to greet them. But, admittedly, I fear it isn't unreasonable, so long has night been here with her stars and moon, with her grey shadows that a man shouldn't be ashamed to wonder, would ever the day be breaking?

I am miserable without it.

Again, I am pulled from the warmth of dream-induced lies. I am cast into this moment, brightening. Hope ringing in my bones that are shaking in anticipation more than they should have been (I am cold but not that cold). With my coat pulled close, my legs dangling down steepened slope and my eyes straining for any hint, any at all more than I have already seen. And there (!), there it is, blooming. A half circle above horizon, brighter than anywhere else. Not the sun, but her radiance and surely where she would soon rise.

More time goes by and still, nothing. Not the sun, not yet. I wait more. My eye lids growing heavy, they close.

I didn't know if it had been a minute or ten, whether hours had passed or days. I didn’t know where I was for a moment, but soon I did - I remembered. The moment was near, time before had in comparison passed swiftly. Now seconds became fractional, flowing like glacier ice down this mountainside toward where I was to be witness, caught up and enraptured, pulled from the cold.

Beyond the edge of Earth spinning, sun marched on toward me. Liquid light oiled the surface of horizon, remaining quiet and content. More light harnessed the night and chased it away, but the sun's body still had only shifted a fraction.

Infused to this time I was witness to, I awaited, lost in the vision of what befell night on bloodied horizon. What I saw all men have seen since the dawn of time, all creatures have yearned for and still long for every day to come. Exploding then was dawn breaking. Her light shattering the night like a glass mosaic. Mouth unhinged and hung open as if it were made of wax. Every part of me suddenly so very warm and alive, happy. My mouth closed and formed a BIG smile.

So there alone on my icy ledge, the world had appeared as it was, no longer alien. To welcome it now brought a sad feeling, but memory of it persists, burned into my very soul.

Tuesday, April 8, 2008

Gray Whale Calm

The bay sifts sand and rock
shifts this tiny sailboat
southwest to Kingston's dock
wind pushing, me holding rail
can't help but see Rainier
off in the distance
seems so close it's fear
gravity's resistance
as the wind fails us
the sails flatten and flutter
can't imagine being in a rush
to hear the engines mutter
boat's quiet moan is heard
while looking in at sail's palm
and then to port side how absurd
to see a gray whale calm
rolling over like some great log
can't help but think
that maybe it's a facade
that maybe I should blink
can't picture a moment the same
he was gone as wind puffed
across the surface like rain
its breath filling sail, setting us off

and oh the bay sifts sand and rock
shifts this tiny sailboat
southwest to Kingston's dock
wind pushing, me holding rail
can't help but see Rainier
off in the distance
seems so close it's fear
gravity's resistance

Sunday, April 6, 2008

Measure of a man

This is a hard piece for me to write. I imagine often the mountain eating me up and spitting me out. In this poem I wanted to explore a place where life and death mix, where you could explore how it would feel to be dead and sitting next to your bones, years later.


No beating heart chases me second by second
no flesh at all weighs a dead man I reckon
There are thoughts in me of times before
where good days were ahead and always in store
but life took a different course for me
on high mountain above the sea
My thoughts pause on the young man I was
whose feet ached to go and wonder
the seven seas and the four corners of the world
but that was a dream, just like finding that perfect girl
by the time I’d set off I was in such a rush
what a shame it was to die neath a rocks crush
Long have I journeyed, so much left to wonder
but today I sit and rest high above water
where wind somehow shifts my being in motion
and wisps of ghostly limbs move in unison
across the bones, fragments of what I was before
and feelings are roused, better left where they were stored
And it sets me on a question I struggle to understand
what it is, truly, that is the measure of a man
surely what remains of me here on this mountainside
isn’t the entire sum of what I am inside
No matter the body I now lack
in my returning, I am left defying the fact
had I known of ghosts, would life have been as real?
if I had known at all, there'd be no fear to feel
not on mountain dressed in rock and ice
or on life's path set headlong into futures vice
it wouldn't be my own, only a theme park ride to amuse
such a shame to waste life best lived as you choose
If you don’t miss anything in life, what good is it at all?
maybe I should miss the sound of angels in heaven calling
but instead I yearn for danger felt atop cliffed-in heights
I yearn for feeling a mortal man's blight
but yearned for most of all lay in bones on the ground
these bones that will never rise again to walk around
Soon the sun turns and leaves us in darkness
there are feelings I am sure I will never harness
even with these stars piloting me through sad thoughts
no answer is found beyond cutting out the rot
time passes slowly without whispers of age or hunger blinding
but even then nothing is ever worth not deciding
I leave when dawn awakens and visits me with her smile
now grown I must rise up and leave my past child
I have long awaited discovering the measure of me
and it isn’t in the flesh or bones you see
(nor is it in the wisps of phantom that is now me)
it is in days laid out behind and those ahead
the ones you know are alive even when you are dead

A standin’ man walkin’

Songs are a great inspiration for writing. They are present day poetry. Without them this sort of writing may have already been gone and dead. I was listening to a song the other day and it inspired me to write this short bit about farm life. See, the song I heard was about the farm, and heck that's what my family did, what brought them to the US from Germany. I think it is worth remembering.

Toil in these fields my friend
toil ‘till the light’s near end
sit on rockin’ chair
look out on green pastures
life you know ain’t fair
but now it don’t fester

Wife’s been gone a year now
kids up and ran away to town
they say, “Ain’t no life on the farm.”
I tell ‘em good luck
maybe my life ain’t worth a darn
but I ain’t gonna sell it for a buck

but even I got to make ends meet
had to sell the back half to eat
but I still work the land
even if it doesn’t pay me a dime
there ain’t nowhere to run man
bet I’d lose my mind in a short time

Too bad I’m gettin’ old
day’s are feelin’ mighty cold
don’t think quite as well some days
but I remember how the dirt turns
how the hills groan when the wheat sways
when to park the tractor and watch a sunset burn

Today got a feelin’ I’m a standin’ man walkin’
I ain’t gonna make the fields or be a’talkin’
cause come morn I’m to be a forgotten lot
but don’t matter to me mister, this ain’t my land
not even after all the battles I’d fought
all that matters now is left in god’s hands

Springtime is near

Take away the snows
that cover mountain and valley lows
know that the sun is sweet
when your smile is bright
and your cheeks blushed
and flowers spring up to meet

All these pouring rains
on city streets and highway lanes
they keep you going forward
in the hopes clouds would part
and sun would give you heart
for god knows you can’t be lowered

Speak as you may on this fine night
all illume in moon’s headlight
how you wonder where spring is here?
besides black and white not a single color
among this night’s empty, forlorn pallor
but you know Springtime is near

On dusk's invitation all rise up to see
the finest show there’s said to be
the scope of land appearing so big and wild
out toward horizon aflutter in fiery sunset blaze
all across it you can see what comes these days
nature birthing fortune for all without denial

Flowered meadows are brought to life
among all the lands where springtime is rife
out from the cold and chill
to where hope has been so dimmed
life crawls out of their holes into the wind
where bright sun brightens the hills

And when summertime may come
fall and wintertime take the sun
you will not forget her as you fear
color comes again next to muddied lakeshore
it pokes it head out just as always before
cause all know springtime is near...

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

Hitchhiker Man

I dream of hitting the road at times; here's the best I can do for now. Enjoy all.

Slip away the hours that wonder by
Take in the days you’ve ridden hard and fast
Rest your back on milepost
Know that you’ll soon reach the coast

Stick out your thumb, you hitchhiker man
and hitch a ride across this wilderness land
Chase down that pickup truck, jump in the back
Watch the road peel away like a raceway track

Life isn’t slow; hell life’s a bit fast
Don’t try and see through kicked up dust
Look ahead; see what you’re movin’ on past
So much thrill when road-hardened and adrenaline-rushed

Jumping up out of the truck and leather footin’
Up burned out highway you’re a workin’
Take up your rucksack, all you got in this here world
And come to know ‘neath starry night, life is worth a twirl

And in the morn there’s your kind shadow, tall or short
Racing out into the day, giving it hell, surely sport
It doesn’t see any bounds like regular people do
It understands life, how it’s best for you

Oh, there’s an old truck driving fast ya understand
Getting on by, but you’ll catch it up swift
And stick your thumb out like any good hitchhiker man
With a smile on your face, so happy for the lift

Slip away the hours that wonder by
Take in the days you’ve ridden hard and fast
Rest your back on milepost
Know that you’ll soon reach the coast

Wheat fields, lake shores, mountain vistas
Towns and cities, cattle and horses
Trucks and truck stops, city towers and small farms
young woman holding a baby in her arms

All life’s shut up in our heads
Got to give ‘er freedom, give ‘er wings
Life ain’t livin’ in the comfort of bed
It’s livin’ it everyday, high and haughty as kings

Make your adventure when at crossroads
Take the path you may fear, oft will loath
Give up workin’ for the man you’re a slave too
We all got life to be getting, and no money gives it to you

Stick out your thumb, you hitchhiker man
and hitch a ride across this wilderness land
Chase down that pickup truck, jump in the back
Watch the road peel away like a raceway track

Life’s just dust in the wind
Kicked up as you’re movin’ on past
you can't wait for the dust to settle then
You got to get up and start movin’, get ‘er going fast

Sunday, March 23, 2008

Natures Wake

I watched INTO THE WILD and it made me think that even though Chris (main character) was a bit off there, too, is something oddly fascinating about throwing your lot into the wild, using your own two hands and mind and seeing what you could do without the crutches we all walk around with whenever we leave the comfort of home. In some small way, I've escaped into nature many times, but never to this man's extent!

Cast me simple
Into a life without

No cars
No roads to wonder
No cities
No industry to thunder

And take me into the quiet
Give me ears to listen

To the birds
To the crickets of the night
To the wind
To the dry leaves in flight

Grab me up, heart and soul
Show me the way to always roam

Through deserts
Through fields of blowing wheat
Through forests
Through rivers of flowing streets

Swear that I will live
as any of a million creatures

Like the mosquito
Like the hawk that dives and swoops
Like the lake trout
Like the chicken that jumps the coop

Freed souls we will always relate
Of times caught in Nature's wake

In the forests
In the alpine lakes so calm
In the moonlight
In the high peaks at dawn

So cast me simple
Into a life without

No cars
No roads to wonder
No cities
No industry to thunder

And lay me softly on meadowed shores
remind me of these places I so adore

Sunday, March 2, 2008

Cloud Walker

If you ask me to tell you of the mountains and adventure, I will give you a story of suffering and misery, joy and happiness, and I will tell it with a smile and a laugh, as if it were the greatest of times. Maybe like the beach is for you, playing in the ocean waves with martini’s and a cold glass of water sitting on a small table-stand between lawn chairs. Yes, but that isn't exactly how the mountains are, is it now? You can’t ask the ogre to be quiet while he eats, no more than you can ask the mountains to be safe. They are full of danger. But, there is also more to the story, something that words fail to relate? Something most folks just roll their eyes at and remain flabbergasted, "Can't you die out there?" So worried are they of death, most people so desperately grip to their fears, they never move their hands to the next hold and climb anything, in life or mountains. Sure, death scares the hell out of me.

And by God (!), you could die?

But I see it different than that.

Thursday, February 28, 2008


On a mountain high, you sit. You stare toward far-off vistas and down into valleys struck of cliff and ice, follow warily from forest to tree islands, high up to lonely tree and think, there (!), yes there is danger and there, too, is true fear. And in spite of it, courage like a sliver in the thumb of some great beast who cannot remove it ever clings to and torments its oppressor. Fangs cannot gouge nor do its claws remove. The tree stands as testament to the will to survive in the face of egregious odds.

While this tree has its battles so, too, does this mountain whom rises far above it and even as your eyes glide from rock-thorned hip to snow-stuffed belly you become seized by its warrior-mountain armor, STRUCK of Earth's own skin, formed into leather, and worn from those countless marches into battle. Oiled by its own sweat, never hiding those half-healed scars suffered by the torments of Nature; you realize the fight has been long. Crevassed glaciers ooze blood as clear as pearl and pure as child, pooling into opal and azure-tinted lakes, carving canyons into valleys and rushing constantly out to fill seas and oceans. This blood of mountain becoming so much more than that; it is the nectar of life.

Further up strong and powerful cliffs bulge from ridgelines sinuously curving from mountainous shoulders, daring any to wander near or challenge in battle. Arms brandishing spears of forests, daggers of ice, hammers of rock, shields of cliff raise to defend. And however manly you may think yourself, you must concede fearful fascination this warrior spurs in you, so much enthralled that your eyes continue to study, probing deeper into this mountain's secrets.

Long after, your eyes still brimmed with fascination, raise higher still, to the summit and the head of the beast. You risk not meeting eye to eye, choosing instead to study its helmet from which horns of rock so ominous, pierce veil of sky and heaven alike, surely striking trepidation and terror not just in you, but those warriors surrounding this Mountain. His fellow warriors not as grisly, surely, should not be misjudged. As much as beautiful women are beautiful, any can lay waste to your heart. And the face of this Mountain is not the face you would expect. Not the youth, but an aged beast with furrows of stone crumbling, the fierce determination still apparent, but fear itself not entirely hidden and masked. Your eyes have seen beyond to something (someone) not unlike you, full of emotion and feeling, beauty and perseverance over nature and the ravages of time.

This Mountain seizes your attention, his eyes holding you, flesh and bone, as the sun swings below horizon and shadows wash from brow to chin, freezing time and movement. Shadows who remain witness, hint at the battle these peaks wage. And there, (right there!) in the midst fighting swords swing, shields rise and warriors die. A battle that sweeps across millennia, one you can never hope to witness in its entirety.

But you are not me, as I am Wind which blows through the whiskers of Earth, stoking the flames of fire and carrying the snow, rain and ice of storm. And with arms outstretched I race to meet my foe, long studied, its weaknesses and vulnerabilities now unearthed.

And Friend, long before my dual is done, your bones may rest on this mountain or another and, if so, I will remember you, a warrior like me, like the mountains that stretch to horizon and beyond and one day, I may bring you this mountain and lay you to rest and when this place is nothing more than dust another mountain may rise, young and strong. And if so, your essence, will be made of cliff and stone, tree and ice from which you will look back at me, enthralled now as you were, long ago, of the mountain. You and I, we will not be friends and I do not expect to be, but I will know you and our battle will be long and glorious.

Saturday, February 9, 2008


The mountains and the slopes that surround them can truly inspire. They can open your mind. I often say the noise that permeates the city stifles clear thoughts. Nature, too, is noisy but in a different way. It isn't so overwhelming, but can be just as alien.

My eyes look outward at everything
but they only see what is to be seen
not the image of what really is

I tell myself, “You are not looking
properly?” But how do you look properly
for what can only be seen
by looking

“Is there a different way
of looking?”

Curious about it, I stare harder
thinking that by squinting
my clearer vision would sharpen
my fuzzy thoughts

“I don’t see anything,
damn it!”

It is here now, I give up
and continue my traverse of alp slopes
full of brush, tree and every color flower
you could imagine

I’m on no trail.

The hill ahead I skirt via a deep trench
bursting with snow melt-water.

A Marmots home sits above me
but no animal exits.
So green everywhere.

The FOG, I hadn’t mentioned yet
it permeates every fissure and fold of land

I can just make out like materialized clouds
the white arms of snow bleaching
rock slabs above
but even they disappear

There is only me on this island
of green
split by bustling creek tap dancing through
grey, green, white, red, orange
every color stone
except yellow?

“Why is that?”

So many yellow flowers make up
for the lack
too many!

A flat stone tilts with the weight
of my pack

the humdrum of the creek
it tells the Earth’s secrets
I’m sure of it!

The wind lingers above my head to listen
before charging aimlessly forward
I think it looks for

I wish I could tell it,
what I hear
but the words are alien to me

Why can’t I understand? Is it because I look
for words, where there are only

I stop listening to the water
to the wind
to the stones at my feet

Instead I look.

And I realize there are differences
in what I see without the sound

“Yes, I see it now!”
The sound of my own voice smothering
my smile
but it doesn’t dismantle my thoughts.
I realize, “there are many perspectives.”
And, with them, you can confine

I allow for a moment the pleasure
to permeate my skull
the joy of what is around me on this island
of green
floating in the fog
to bounce from flower to flower, rock to rock
water droplet to water droplet

feeling then, not so alone

my ears honed to the sounds
these friends that tie me to the earth
in a language I’m hoping to learn
one syllable at a time

A whistle crackles my eardrums
and my neck muscles swivel my head
to look right into the eyes
of a Marmot.

“You know what this land is telling you,
Don’t you Mr. Marmot?”

Another whistle pierces
the fog and another, beyond
returns it...

Friday, February 8, 2008


Time talks to me and it has
so much to say

“Maybe we can be friends,”
I inquire
thinking that maybe with him
as a friend
I could defy risk!

But, sadly, I am a fool
time has no friends
Instead, I am a warrior.

As such I cannot give up so easily?
I test the boundaries of my cage
but nothing I do
slows the beast

Is there no courage in me at all?
Can I not face this moment
and the next
and the next
and everyone after?
They are not so bad, just different

yes, different

“Nothing is the same,” I know
“Always has been.”
But that onrushing violence of time
that rips and tears at normalcy
“Is it always constant?”

I realize that time is just
an hourglass?

And our measure is metered out
by fate
and action
and time will keep its secrets
That is fine

And as long as I understand that
I’m sure that maybe
with time
we may even become friends

Thursday, February 7, 2008

On this Mountainside

Staying up late, I try and make my 100th post worth reading. Alas, I am at a loss for words. Too much noise, too much reasoning what is good and what is bad, but sometimes that is the way of it?

So it is easier then that I write of nature again (something of a theme lately). And in this particular rhyme I imagine high cold rocks and grasses, above the highest of alpine trees, nearly to snow. It is there, back against boulder, I watch night turn to day and back again.

Lift up the night to awaken
on this mountainside;
witness sun-swept slopes between
glacier and tree,
watch their shadows march and ride.

Feel the breeze lick these glassy waters
on this mountainside;
feel those lances of wind
prickle its skin,
where fish and fly rise and collide

Suffer the lonely rain clouds who weep
on this mountainside;
curse those painful tears that run
wild with abandon,
flowing down stream and over rock side

Put to rest the day to dream
on this mountainside;
witness dark-swept slopes between
glacier and tree,
watch their shadows march and ride

Thursday, January 31, 2008


Have you ever looked up at a BIG SKY full of bubblous clouds, like popcorn times a billion? This poem is about seeing more than just the clouds, but rather seeing the shapes and stories they tell.


To slumber ‘neath sky on green grass and purple heather
To look up and see billowing clouds throwing images back at you
To watch big dinosaurs and airplanes, mysterious forms and faces
float by like great ships leaving port
and, there, like an ant waving farewell
you’re hardly noticed in the bigness of it all
and, really, life can't be more pleasant, more at peace
than looking up at this cloud sea
cause you know, being there, on this green grass and purple heather
is like being a child again
and there's no better escape than having your worries replaced by wonder
and as if on key, a great castle appears
lofty turrets and battlements studded with flags flapping in the wind
and soon it all disappears behind a cloud
and no matter how hard you look, it is gone
swallowed by a great fish…

Monday, January 28, 2008

Afternoon Haiku

The sun turns to me
With a brightened expression
And I smile back

She sure looks pretty
Framed in my office window
Next to papers stacked

So what if I dream
Of my slow life on the run
Ski, bike or kayak

This is the weekend
And I will get out real late
Like an alley cat

Now that the moon turns
With a brightened expression
And I smile back

Saturday, January 26, 2008

Night charms

Not often am I inclined to write a love poem, but even I enjoy a sappy bit of prose especially when that's the path my words take me down. It can be an interesting subject and, god knows, many have spent a lifetime spinning every sort of yarn about it. We are all susceptible to her charms. So, I hope this takes you somewhere pleasant?

In the calmest of nights, your thoughts fly to the moon
in the sheerest of moments you whisper so as not to hear your words boom
in the finest of hours, you grip to every second
in the shallowest of fears there is sadness you cannot reckon

However the breeze blows, you know that I am there
however lost your life may be, right now you are without worry or care
however pleased the gods are looking from their lofty stars
however cursed love can be, you know in your heart what is yours

For there in the night our breaths collide and we swallow our fears
for there are wounded feelings that we both share, but are afraid to hear
for our hearts cannot steer us from where this path goes
for us life blooms and blossoms like a fertile rose

Where whispers pull at hairs in your ears and staunch your cursed thoughts
where wondering you think that everything will end and love will be lost
where woefully you forget the past and cease to worry
where quietly you need not dream no longer, for dreams are now your story

In the calmest of nights, your thoughts fly to the moon
in the sheerest of moments you whisper so as not to hear your words boom
in the finest of hours, you grip to every second
in the shallowest of fears there is happiness you cannot reckon

Wednesday, January 9, 2008


Numerous times I have written about life and death. It is a subject that I never tire of.

A Satellite is defined as:

[n.] a man-made object that orbits around the earth
[n.] a person who follows or serves another
[n.] any celestial body orbiting around a planet or star
[adj.] Surrounding and dominated by a central authority or power

This poem is about all of these.


How it is I have eyes, I do not know
there is no body to me
but I cry tears
I feel pain
and there is a love inside of me
that hurts so much
and I cannot end it

It has come to me, that maybe I am dead
but I am still - here

I remember my past, what I was before I was here
the leaves whisper along the sidewalk
perfectly trimmed
the trees creek and groan
and there at my door I knock
and nobody answers

I am not what I was before
I cannot go there

What I remember can’t be remembered
not as I remembered it
not as it actually was

I struggle with these eyes that are not eyes

and then, I stop
I stop struggling
there is no purpose to it
for the first time in my life I let go
and I feel release

but as long as it was there, this feeling!
In a fraction of second it, too, was gone

Something now! It tugs at me
my foot, my arms, my hair
my self!!!
ripped from this place
my flesh that is not flesh
my body that is not body
my mind that is becoming overrun
becoming more and more and more and more
like snakes in water they defile
and I can do nothing, nothing but watch in terror
as I am


I float again, wounded and wild with anger and fear
where am I?
Why am I still here?
“Fuck this place!”
my feelings explode

But I am moving, spinning
no longer held
no longer staring into the sun
I reach out to stop
and I stop
not like I’ve stopped before
it is if time stopped, movement stopped
and I froze there.

Far ahead I see nebula's, galaxies
a kaleidoscope of light

I reach for them too

there, there, there, there, there, there

How it is that I am free
and from what I do not know
but over the millennia
I realize

What I was escaping was life
who I was fighting

The love I felt was for everything I LOVED
You see, I had died
and now I was, for all I could figure, a SOUL
a free soul
and everything here was mine to see
mine to visit

But I never, not once met another
no one to answer questions for me

I come back and stare at the sun often
where in a sense, I was born
I come to ask
she does not answer
I did not expect it to

Purpose, meaning, too much
but I search
I see
I watch
I learn
and maybe I will never know
but I know this
“What is here, is here
What I have is mine
No future can curse that
there is no ahead or behind
only now.”
In the distance, a point of light
a streak across the sky
I reach for it
and I am
THERE at peace
a Satellite

and over time, I realize
I am so much more than that

Sunday, January 6, 2008


I am faceless
veering off
into the jumbled world
I am sightless
staring off
into the unknown future
And yet I am proud
peering forth
into my life

Thursday, January 3, 2008


Evanescence - def: the event of fading and gradually vanishing from sight.

This is about the morning before light, a time that is so much at ease that I can't help but imagine it in all its flavours. It is so much different than dusk, so much more youth than that! There is heart and strength and every morning is a test of survival, one not yet won. A day forward, a day yet to come. I can't help but sit in wonder and imagine it all. So here, as it is, my days effort.

In the morning before light when moon’s bright face fades and velvet blues suckle the blackness away
When nights breath yawns and warming glows brush against rosy cheeks of Earth
When stars whose once bright symphony of light closes the drapes and night marches on by
When hooting owls and squeaking mice slip into their holes, bellies full and warm and supper done
When dew sparkles, their miniature droplets reflecting the world entire like teary eyes
When bugs hidden on flowers and grass, tree and bush rise from their cold-induced slumber
When birds twiddle dee dee and fly from branch to branch and wake the world up
When crickets and frogs finally go to sleep, their chirping and croaking finally ceased
When squirrels and chipmunks gnaw at pinecones whose long falls echo through forest
When lakes dead-calm and alien quiet frightens and nothing seems real in the world, not time or place
When fish leaping break the surface and scuttle tranquility, their tiny expanding geometric circles meeting
When fog lulls in yellowed meadows where bull elk bugle and scrape hooves and horns against fragrant dirt
When, in the morning before light, light does appear not all at once but like a good wine melts down glass
When voluptuous sun stuns the horizon in kaleidoscopic color and the birth of day is at last met
When breath of life is at its fullest and dreams, wants, hopes, needs are let free to roam the world over

Wednesday, January 2, 2008

Nature’s Camaraderie

When you write, you can't think about what another will like. If you are happy with it, then you are. If others find interest in it, then great! Wonderful! But it is doubtful it will ever mean to them what it means to you.

This poem is about a man and wilderness. A lonely place that often forces a man to come up with his own friends. Going alone in the outdoors has certain qualities that I like. One of the most appealing is discovering who you are. One thing I discovered is that part of who I am is seen in those I call friends.

My conversation with you, Oh Mountain! My conversation with this WIND
that walks with me like a dog who loves without limit and gives without question.
My conversation on this cold wintery day as I wander meadows and forests
with WIND bursting through tree branches, covering me in millions of tiny crystals -
blinding me! And those flakes on my face quickly melting drip down my cheeks
and as soon as I fear I’ll be forever engulfed, the wind falls away and swoops ahead
hungrily devouring every trees snowy burden as far afield as my eyes can see. But it returns and I am again greeted with snow.

Such a loyal friend this WIND.

Hours later, I reach a pass struck between rock and ice,
now having risen far above the forests, far enough up to bring me closer to the sky
where sun and cloud dance with blue - where light soothes the soul from cold chill of shadow – where blue sky appears lost for the day, except for the WIND which pulls away the white and grey-shadowed pillow arms and again blesses me with rays of warmth,
pressing me upward and onward with renewed confidence.
But before I leave I look up to be sure the wind is still there. And of course it is.

Such a loyal friend this WIND.

Now climbing up a rock-studded ridge toward the summit, I dally with gravity.
My careful, mindful progress grips my minds every thought.
Hand here, foot there - look ahead for easy passage? Don’t fall. Don’t slip.
But clouds swamp the summit, blue is smoothered
and I fearfully grip the cold rock moistened by the fog – and – my attention is severed from my perilous work
– My hand slips! My foot slips! And just as I feel FEAR wrench at my heart,
WIND whistles through the rocks and howls as it comes dashing. Woe was I now to find my footing so close to being lost and at that moment, as I put my mind at ease, I reach the top in a few final moves where, Oh Mountain! I tell you of my friend the WIND.

Such a loyal friend this WIND.

Looking across to the next peak, Oh Mountain! I can see snowy slopes.
And two snow devils racing in circles, and I cast small pebbles toward them,
knowing they will never reach so far, but I feel camaraderie.
That I, too, should be among them. It is then I leave mountaintop for valley
- for the warmth of home. Although, as I turn to go, the wind holds me prisoner.
Rushing from the west then the east, rushing in all directions.
Rushing into my face, my side, my back. There seems to be no reason to it?
I remain steady, festooned to the rock, to the Earth. The will of this place overcomes me. I am beholden to it. And, Oh Mountain! beholden to you. But I do not forget the WIND and I take it along, all the way back home through the meadows and forests,
beyond the snows ‘till I am in the comfort of home. There I send the WIND to fly among lingering fall leaves until once again the mountains call.

Such a loyal friend this WIND.