The Day the Earth Stood Still

If you are visually or cognitively allergic to my more esoteric/abstract writing skip over this piece, take two aspirin but don’t call me in the morning. 

From the pristine air I’m finally breathing at the cottage the movie, “The Day the Earth Stood Still” emerged from the fog inside my mind I carried along on my 1,200 mile voyage away from the ‘real world’.  

Remember that movie? “The Day the Earth Stood Still”? In it, Michael Rennie portrays an “alien” being who emerges from a space ship that has landed in Washington, D.C. to give mankind one more chance to avoid annihilation .  

I see the character of Michael Rennie as a benign positive force trying to PERSUADE world leaders to work together so as to amend our ways or be destroyed if we make the wrong choices.  

On an abstract level I see the character of Michael Rennie giving world leaders the choice to live in harmony or be destroyed by a greater force … the force of division … if they don’t work together to amend their ways. 

Since for every positive there exists a negative I see D.T. as the negative force attempting to DISSUADE mankind from amending its ways by DIVIDING mankind into warring factions, thereby taking AWAY the choice to amend our self destructive ways.  

I’m NOT writing about an invasion of influenza. I’m writing about an invasion of thought. An attempt infect mankind’s thinking by the same sick drive for power that has infected the minds of mankind by tyrants skilled at manipulating the masses responsible for the deaths of millions upon millions of humans from the beginning of time.

Look around, as Michael Rennie encourages us to do. See the symptoms of the sickness already upon us, infecting us more each day; concentration camps within our national boundaries responsible for the deaths of hundreds including women and children, denial of hospitalization for people with terminal illness, arrest and imprisonment without due process after breaking and entering homes in the middle of the night, ripping families apart by forcibly removing fathers and mothers WITHIN SIGHT of their children justified by lies, always dividing; dividing parents from children, imprisonment of children, separation by social status sick people from the care they need to live, partnership with old friends and allies broken, murder, kidnapping, conspiracy, threats, hiding the truth, shouting out words of manipulation to further the cause of separation and the destruction it leaves in its path.  

This is the real virus that the alien Michael Rennie warned us about when he came to earth to give us a second chance; to amend our ways or suffer destruction.  

T’s sickness has transmitted itself into every person on the planet some to a greater extent than others but we ALL feel it within. His words and thoughts are the invasion of an ugly black virus that has spread to dangerous proportions. 

I revile this person who has sowed the seeds of our destruction; who has put this ugly, black, twisted virus inside of me. I wish I could puke the ugly black bile and the disgusting tape worm consuming who we are by words that have sown the seeds of our demise.  

But I don’t think it’s possible unless we all puke it out at the same time. 

I think It’s the choice Michael Rennie hoped the human race would make.

Every Step of the Way

Life is a drama every step of the way!
Intensely fought battles for                                                                    roles, ideals, conceptions, perceptions Aberrations and                          the like!
It comes in sin and love with                                                                  neglect and passion, disdain from                                                              hard fought battles to conquer
             baser instincts from                                                                                              the onslaughts of others with                                                               Similar instincts, roles, ideals Passions 
Excitation’s ordeals and                                                                    whatever other forces circulating about 
Are Happening at the time                                                                             That tell us
who we are 

The Web of Time


We are a travelers moving along

a web of time within a mist we call


We see with light given from somewhere,

outside, within, in-between, seldom seen

at best,


We make decisions;

where to go, how to get there,

what to think and feel;

assuming truths, affirming movement

we’re not sure of, through space most often


Life is like that;

crossroads, turnings here or there,

seconds late determines fate,

returns returned again and once again


to differing paths we navigate through

endless toil, obliteration, sensory pleasures,

death, fulfillment or broken hearts

(to learn or not to learn (that is the question … !?)),

wandering paths we roam through space

unknown, face to face with

those we think we


We want to love but, is it love we crave more than the ones we may or may not love?  For, don’t we give love to those we may not love at all?

We drag through murky spaces,                                                                     love’s truths obscured, half known half

not knowing, unknowable, self importance, interfering combat, crackling static,  white noise, huge space separating single spaces, seldom crystal


We take our chances.

We make our choices.

We fill our lives with dreams? Or are they fantasies?

 We self induce our misery.

We thrive on living pain.

And who’s to blame?

The Crane Continues IV


The Verdict 

continued ….. I hate them for saying that.  Who are they to decide whether another living thing should live or die?  

They look at each other then back at me.  Without saying a word I know the verdict. 

I look at the crane, its head feathers tousled by an on shore breeze remembering the moment I saw its head above the cat tails such a short while ago.  So much had happened during that brief span of time.

Then I have an idea!  I open my mouth to tell them I could take the crane back to the swale where I found it so it can die in peace but, it’s too late.  Jake is already more than halfway to the curve.

Waiting for Death

I follow Jake to his house where I sit hunched over on an old wooden bench made from two tree stumps and a thick board facing eastward toward the lake, waiting for Jake to emerge from his house not knowing what to expect.

Halfway between where I sit and the the top of the rise at the far end of the lane, the crane stands motionless on one spindly leg, the left side of it’s body in profile it’s long neck and beak sharply defined.  

The lake appears as a grayish blue ribbon between the top of the dune at the end of the lane and the pale blue afternoon sky reflecting off the horizon line.“

I’m wondering if the crane was aware of my presence back when I stared into its unblinking eye thinking I had seen a flicker of awareness?  Had we really made a connection back in the swale where Gray had made her discovery?

The crane seems lifeless now almost like a statue. Maybe I was imagining things.

I hear Jake approach.

Jake’s Gun

The double barrels of Jake’s shotgun appear pointing skyward to my left.  Jake lowers the gun barrels so that they’re pointing at the ground while, with his thumb against the locking lever he jerks up sharply. The barrels, one on top of the other crack open.

Jake cradles the open shotgun against the left side of his body.  I see into the black holes of the ‘over and under’ shotgun barrels waiting to be loaded with the fat red shells Jake holds in his right hand.

With one continuous motion, Jake’s thumb press the two shells into their chambers then, pulls up while pushing down at the same time locking the double barrels into place. 

The barrels of the shotgun move upward disappearing from my field of vision as I continue to stare at the bird its head feathers ruffling in the breeze as I had seen them do back in the swale after Gray’s discovery brought us together.

Red Feathers 

I can’t take my eyes off of those dancing feathers it feels like I’m in two places at the same time.

In some strange way maybe those feathers are acknowledgement that, there HAD been a connection between us. Things can be funny like that sometimes can’t they?

The air is still.. I’m not breathing.  

Unable to move I feel frozen in place and time.  

The only sound? Deadly silence when, without warning an explosion lifts me off my seat!.  I’m falling over backward but manage to regain my balance.  

At precisely the same moment the explosion rocks my world I witness the most amazing sight I’ve ever seen.  

continued …. Inanimate 


The Tragedy: Lost Tapes

The Tragedy III

The Lost Tapes

Seems obvious but important to note that, looking back I can say with great surety, kids don’t want change.  They want to stay as far away from change as possible.  They want to do what they are doing and they think they can do it forever because they don’t realize that change is inevitable.   

When real physical change creeps into the body the world becomes full of bright new ‘pursuasions’.  With new awarness we turn away from ‘kids world’ to embark along the pathways of our search for love; the missing ingredient that we think will calm the quiet despertion that grows with each disappointment faced throughout life.  

I saw the desperation in their eyes that summer long before I understood or became aware that the tragedy had occured.  It wasn’t until decades later that I understood.

Their parties were a desperate need to fill the empty spaces of their lives after those first disappointing years of marriage when shadows of the void begin showing up around the edges, when it became clear that marriage wasn’t the answer to the question or a destination the where the search for happiness would end. 

Maybe kid’s fear grows as they become more aware of the strange behavior of adults; their need to get drunk, the clinging man or woman too cowardly to resist temptation, the growling resentful wives consumed by rage, needy women lured into illicit affairs by lecherous men or … the choice to die, one more choice along the road of choices another choice along the many pathways, driven by a single aspect of life; the never ending search for love. 

Now I understand the sad, desperate looks I can still see on their faces all those years ago.  A yearning for the missing ingredient.  The spark that would ignite the engines of their lonesome souls.


He sold insurance.  He was successful.

A respected businessman and community leader. He taught me how to handle a shotgun and we often hunted and fished together.

His philosophy of life was that anything of value can only be achieved by hard work and pain.  Suffering builds character!

He had a great sense of humor and loved to laugh.  People had a hard time saying no to him. While most people liked him, he was a shyster and wouldn’t hesitate to screw any person out of five bucks if he thought he could get away with it.

Those few enemies he had hated his guts.

A U.S. Marine, radioman and sharpshooter during World War II, you could say he was a lucky man.  Not because the bus he was riding on that night was broadsided by a train trapping him in the wreckage, with a crushed foot, rather the accident prevented him from being shipped out the next day to Iwo Jima.

He spent the rest of the war recuperating in hospital near Seattle in Washington State.


He was an adventurous soul unafraid to take chances.

One Sunday morning out of nowhere, he proclaimed, “I can ski behind the car.”

A preposterous thing to do!  But he did it and despite the fact that he told me he had never made a mistake in his life, I’m sure that by the end of that day, his arm in a sling, wracked with pain from gravel imbedded road rash and debilitating contusions, you might think he’d at least consider that he made a mistake.  But, he wouldn’t admit or even consider that he had.  Only that he had no regrets.


Did Deac consider his role in the tragedy a mistake?  Did he feel guilt because of the tragedy?  Did he regret his dalliance with Janey and the tragedy that resulted?  Or, in HIS world of denial did he tell himself he had no regrets?  Did he even realize he played a role in the tragedy?  If so he never confided in me.


I was mystified by behavior that I had no reference for before that summer.  After all, I was only ten years old at the time.

I didn’t know that Deac and Janey had been seeing each other off the radar for weeks.  If I did, I wouldn’t have known what they were doing.

What I DID see were the ugly looks Donna gave him and his feigned attempts to act nonchalant.  Even I could tell he was acting strangely talking incessantly about events that happened during the day as if he were enlightening us.


Donna’s volatile temper, her insane jealousy, the bitterness she felt toward Deac roiled like an angry sea just below the surface. During tempests of fury her ocean of madness, spilled over, drawing everyone within reach into her storms of fury even those she loved the most.

We lived in troubling times never sure when her volatility would spark the flames of jealous insanity when we least expected.


Then one day I walked into the kitchen while Donna was breaking dishes on the kitchen floor, calling Deac a son of a bitch.  While he calmly stirred the spaghetti sauce,I passed by unnoticed.

By the time dinner was served the floor had been swept.  They regained their composure and were civilized toward each other while we ate.  For a while things seemed ok.

They weren’t.




When I Was Born

That summer hot and sultry
mid month mid year mid way past midnight
bright lights shining blinding
hands grasping fingers smashing
through the air

i did not really care
it was not my problem

i was their’s for the taking …!!

i heard the pain that wasn’t mine
explode into my space,
the air, the rush of light that came before the crack of dawn
exposed the ship that i’d been riding on
between the worlds where i once lived
when i was born … !

with great surprise i threw away my aqua lungs,
I sucked in air while water flooded,
breathing synapses firing new born pistons,
283 horses blowing streams of light
in all directions!!

so this is what it’s like to live in the land of milk and honey … !!!

Come time to leave for home
i looked into the sky i’d never seen,
acorns falling through the air,
cool harmonies on the breeze singing memories
from where it all began
wrapped around light
that fueled the seeds of future’s flight

while tightly woven earthly patterns
leading everywhere in sight
gave great brilliance
and such

delight .. !!

Each night I see the world inside my dreams

wrapped inside the morning dew;

Each morning my life begins anew,
never sure of all that i have seen
until i return

and do it all again and again and again and again and again and again … until i think …


i am …..

That summer hot and sultry
mid month mid year mid way past midnight
bright lights shining blinding
hands grasping fingers smashing
through the air

i did not really care
it was not my problem

i was their’s for the taking …!!

i heard the pain that wasn’t mine
explode into my space,
the air, the rush of light that came before the crack of dawn
exposed the ship that i’d been riding on
between the worlds where i once lived
when i was born … !

with great surprise i threw away my aqua lungs,
I sucked in air while water flooded,
breathing synapses firing new born pistons,
283 horses blowing streams of light
in all directions!!

so this is what it’s like to live in the land of milk and honey … !!!

Come time to leave for home
i looked into the sky i’d never seen,
acorns falling through the air,
cool harmonies on the breeze singing memories
from where it all began
wrapped around light
that fueled the seeds of future’s flight

while tightly woven earthly patterns
leading everywhere in sight
gave great brilliance
and such

delight .. !!

Each night I see the world inside my dreams

wrapped inside the morning dew;

Each morning my life begins anew,
never sure of all that i have seen
until i return

and do it all again and again and again and again and again and again … until i think …


i am …..

Three Musets

Three Quarter Seasons

spring time
trees grow green leaves
new life

bright sun
great days to swim
much fun !

snow days
light wings falling
skies gray

Winter’s Warmth

great lake
frozen water

fire warm
skaters gathered

days end
hands held walking
best friends

Trout Stream Camp

cool stream
flowing gently
light dreams

sun dapples leaves
wind blows

slowly falling
star shine …


Run Silent Run Deep

Run Silent Run Deep

On waves of hope riding,
rising most often
smartly smashing wedded myths
exploding stars
somber chords playing rifts;
driving cool rhythms,
run silent …

run deep …

Fractured contagion relegated
songs of incantation learning
deeds and conflagrations
emerging, reaching
calmly waiting … total seclusion

Other modes of teaching:
suffocating group aspirations,
escalating abdicated pain, afflictions by
lack of reasoning
mythical separations,
reaching two toned sights unseen,                                   sliding, blending, polarizing opposites                     connecting guided opposition,
subtle compromise comprising
dull with shifting lenses
flashing brilliant meaning
giving nightly dreaming hope
opposing despair
triumphal patterns causing
change through darkest hallways                                 leading nowhere                                                                            the stars through navigation brightly
signing sighing slicing
the knowledge of repair
from shattered crystal fittings with                            crosshairs crossing
night time rays of wrath                                                           and fear to lasting words that foster
coming thoughts of dark desire
the mind could never fathom                                                    the lasting triumph needed having come?

With stars of night bright leading                                 avoiding dark holes unseeing
minor slips along the way,
comprising major slips comprised of,
never making matters right                                                     we make our way on waves of hope riding,
often crashing but finding!

The dream of life’s
full meaning
outside of pain and suffering                                              finally seen!!

the dreams of darkest night                                                within                                                                                                the light of brightest day                                                       giving life full meaning

after all …


My tasks complete
i rose before
the early dawn,

gave one last listen to
the great lake and
the wrangling sound of
ten thousand migrating geese and
mallard ducks

closed my eyes and
breathed the last
purest air i’d breathe
for months to come,

turned away from
the tree i’d lived within
and walked away

from the planet
i’d been living on for
two lunar cycles

into the surrounding universe i’d soon
be moving through inside my
rolling ship

The Explorer …

My destination 2000
light years
from this my
home away from
home back to

the land of the midday sun
its torpid heat
south of the border that
defines my

heart …

I dared not turn
and face that planet
and my tree
one more time.

Better to leave
well enough alone than
take the chance its

would capture my mind,
drag me back and swirl me down
another rabbit hole inside
some left over task … an
inevitability since

there’s ALWAYS something more to do … !

Much too easy it would be
to seek and find further excuse

to stay and find
another destination away from
where i knew i
had to go …

I needed to break
free(!) of the freedom
i had known!

My life of duty
would guide me
home …

all good things
most often end
and after all …

the other world I lived within?

i called it

home ….

continued; Past Arborland into the Flatlands

A Time For Sleeping


Saturday was a cold, gray day.

I lit the fireplace for a quick warm up …

Before leaving the warmth of the cottage

I wrote a little more,
donned my hoody and coat
turned off the gas
grabbed my camera and
entered the cold but
beautifully pure refreshing

air …

I walked …

… I walked up the hill
along 23 to the
alabaster pipeline then
backtracked toward
where I began my journey.

At the base of the hill
frozen water looked like a small stream
or a miniature river system or
what a large river basin would look like
from high above …

Two sets of raccoon tracks walked to
a fork along their frozen highway
where they went their separate

ways …

This world I was in had become
suspended in time …

Fully asleep within the ground of shadows
all things living framed in
shades of gray,
naked, dead or alive and

waiting …

For what?

For warmth to come once more
a time to grow

from liquid water sugar fed
the leaves and buds of trees absorbed

from sunlight stored
leaves giving back after

taking in …

From full sun’s invisible light
a hundred shades of differing green
sun’s light returning
life’s burning

ember …

Roots reaching deeper
seeking … seeking …

Seeking to remember …

But for now …
a time for

sleeping .,..

Channeled Thought


I channel my work by
sublime hide and seek/black and white or color
images, sparking in the dark,
the deep, the green of a different reality,
below the surface of reason,
one of those parallel things,
another person who is the ‘’me’’
behind the veils, a shadow

evident/at times.

I wonder if I appear as such to him
with wonder and concern or perplexity
my wonder, my complexity perplexed
by wonder; my thoughts sublimely formed with
all the numbers clustered ‘bout
swarming and changing polarities
within and without/an intricate duality
linked to some
energy force that consumes us

eventually …

lucky we are
that life is but a mirage
all numbers adding up for everything we see/everything described with such

finality … !

With four dimensions, three that we can see .. one more,
that we seek, from worlds of dark

reality …

Life Is A Mirage


… But!  I have the words so why shouldn’t I use them while I still have the time?!..

That said.

You’d think I’d consider the sensibility of the subject totally incoincidental of its meaning don’t you?   But, I don’t.

I was after all, “laced up in the shoes of indistinct possibilities wading over a river on slippery rocks,” that day.  

The sea, the air and all above  had already risen into submission.  With farthest tense possible!

What could I do?  Stand and wait?

Those outraged and out sensed?   THEY were the bright beacons of suspense!

They … and the dark elements of their discoveries were well beyond even the broken strength of steel!!

Night by night they squallored their lives in the material world strengthening their forces making strong, their learning curves arching/in suspense/waiting.

When sun rose that first day came a crack between the cold gray sky.

Came the drama of first sight.

Came feathers etched by first  fire’s light

and their journey began!!

Journey Home




At the end of the road I turned and faced the wind.

Flying dirt or bits of snow piled about in patches stung my face.  Small sticks, newspapers tumbled past. What few leaves left over from Fall were being plucked and sent flying over empty farmers’ fields like dark butterflys speeding along at breakneck speed in circular patterns.

I stared back at the road where moments before I had sailed through life, the wind at my back speeding past life’s beauty, aware only of the burden of unforeseen consequence and pain, the beauty of the world having passed by passed by unnoticed.  My only concern … TIME.

I tossed the heavy knapsack I carried for longer than I can remember into the tall grass where it disappeared.

Golden memories flowed into my mind.

“I must journey forward now,  against the bitter cold.” My destination?  A world where I once lived within the light.

Arms around my chest to keep warm the beating heart within,  I stepped forward and  began the journey home.

Fall: Trees of Life Remembered: AND Don’t Fix It If It Ain’t Broke! A Lesson From A Know It All …

Hello every body; Friends. Likers.  (OK, bikers too) First and Last time readers and all good people who read my poems and stories especially the people I see all the time who I feel I have a unique kinship with.  It seems that they like my work almost as much as I do and I love my work.  It’s nice to get the reassurance I get from you and I sincerely appreciate you.

When I read my stories and poems I’m almost always amazed that these words and these thoughts came out of me!  WHERE DO THEY COME FROM, I constantly ask myself.

Enough!  What I want to tell you all and everybody about is a rule I learned that served me well.  A voice that tells me …….. “Leave it alone! Don’t fix it if it’s NOT BROKEN”

Wull, I just learned it again today but because I remembered too late I’ve reduced what I wrote to a shitty ‘over tweaked’ poem.  Now I’m stuck.  Embarrassed, fer crying out loud! … Jeeeze … I told Jodi it was like walking around with my fly open and part of a white shirt sticking out .  Just enough to make it stupidly embarrassing, which iI feel.

So, here’s how it happened.

I was dozing, I had just started seeing the dark that comes before …. going under  … not ‘sleep’ rather ‘going under’.

Ok so, I had just started to go under … to see the darkness encroach, when my phone whistles at me.  Do you have a phone that whistles? Sounds like a bird? I don’t mind the sound but sometimes it’s pretty annoying.

My eyes flew open like somebody had just shot me between the eyes with a 22 calibre pistol.

Since I was lying on the couch by the sliding glass door, I turned my head and looked up at the trees.

They were swaying in the breeze, side to side, mostly green (but, turning color quickly), a gentle hiss, their hands  moving to and fro touching as they passed by.  The sky pale blue.

The reds and yellows were already being nudged off by the daily winds.  Mostly reds and oranges.  Leaves were falling through the air like giant colorful flakes of snow different colors mixing.  Absolutely beautiful, of course.

Quick as a …. I can’t think of a metaphor or … are those things analogies??  “Quick as a … ,” So I guess I’ll say, “Quick as a motherfucker,” I grabbed my phone and wrote the poem below and it was beautiful … I really liked it.  It’s not EXACTY the poem below. You’ll see.

The words flowed out of me.  It was interesting to watch my finger tick on letters of words that I was thinking as the thoughts assembled themselves.  I was outside of myself watching myself ‘hunt and peck’.

I liked the piece so, I transcribed it into the computer and posted it.

Within a short time I had 6 or 7 ‘Likes’ and that was cool.  A couple of new people that I doubt will come back but so what?  It’s still nice to see someone stop by, like what you’ve written, tell you they liked it then move on. It’s wonderful, in fact …

So since it was pretty good I thought I’d make it better so, I started tweaking it, making it more ‘logical’ … action proceeding in a straight line;  idea, reason or reason idea blah blah … I began trying to fucking explain everything.  Fuck that!

Pretty soon I had the damn thing so “F worded” up I almost cried and since I didn’t want to touch it because I kind of hated it, I left it here but …   it’s SO EMBARRASSING that this innocent, beautiful poem became twisted, stupid and  embarrassing.

So … apologize to those who read it, thought ‘Ewwww … ‘ and left never to be seen again.

So, the reason for all this bullshit is,  I wanted to give you the rule for writing poetry I use all the time  …. sometimes!!! … not always … this rule doesn’t work always  …  Nothing is right 100% of the time, right?

So as I mentioned already, here’s the rule again … listen the little voice that says, “Leave it alone, stupid.  Don’t fix it if it isn’t broke!”(Not always!  But, often enough).

The proof of the pudding is the following poem.  God knows, you might like it but, originally I think it had an innocence and sense of power.  Now all it is is some pretty words.   Awwwww ….. Awwwww …


So, I hope you get some use out of my “know it all” advice.

For those who think I’m REALLY being stupid instead of just acting stupid, all I can say is ”Why don’t you go masturbate yourself!!?”  Oops! … oh! jeeze! I’m sorry … !!! I’m really sorry!  That happens all the time!  I get so enthused.  I can’t help it!

So, anyway, read on if you want to.  ks … Ewwww ….

Thank you for your time and … I sell on ebay also so …. whoops!  Did it again.  Take care good people.  With sweet love for you who I see often, you make my heart feel warm.  Kurt



Wind’s a blowin’
leaves a fallin’
Fall’s a gettin’ ready
to rest its trees
underground to dream
vast earth dreams.

Our trees returning to


Leaves, their days in the sun
near done
celebrate with
prisms of color
once absorbed during the days of
earthly delight
the time of sun’s brief flight.

First red then orange
the first and second prismatic light
we see … the attraction of
majesty only partly seen
like the tail end of
a lovely sunset.

Comes next
yellow … of all the places on
the wheel of light’s fractal colors

the one that glows mid way
between lines with  definition;

Yellow glows as the refection of sun’s whole light
it sought from above.

They are the lucky ones who get to walk in
Sol’s great footsteps.


You’re familiar with, of course after
five months with limbs
the greatest parts/reaching out through

space and time with
loving fingers
running through existence
one last burst of color.

the gatherers of sunlight/their colors seen separately through life’s  spectrum  contained within.

Their colors seen separately/they are

the gatherers of sunlight

Green leaf gathering life so beautifully with sound that hushes and whistles low;
makes sweet sap from sun’s light

with great  great mystery.

Their work of summer’s past given
with delight to brew and wait ‘till
the nap of time

is over.

Their’s is the
nourishment taken from above
stored below then given back
to prove we’re all a part of cycles.

ALL of life within the bounds of living
the draught of sweet delivery
sustenance for next years progeny
next year’s offspring, given.

The sweet flood of
innocence and caring
passing on sweet memories of
summers past.

The blood of renewal
a welcome mat rolled out, the
pablum of hope, the splendor of
new growth!

Comes blue and violet that
unseen world of light remaining  hidden
except for maples and a few others
both ends of the world from
beginning to end; red and purple
emerging one from the other
home at last to rest,
to feel earth dreams before
rebirth again and again and again the
lessons of ‘being’ if only seen and


The majesty of trees!

spectacle, the
cycle born anew,  the same
lessons taught with each
November, the movement of
all that matters

they carry us through
time ..


Comes a time to rest the ‘eyes’ of their
community one great world of their
awareness connected

soon to go below to see
and HEAR and to remember
Mother’s most precious gift:

Life’s splendor ..

Wind and leaves the breath of our well being

within the bounds of
what they are we lie captured in between

Wind and leaves and trees the
great Mother who gives us
what we need, the
breath of

forever …

Outdoors Always Works For Me


Outdoors always works for me.

Lake gazing
lost in time
thoughts grow still
cease to ‘gzist.

Spellbound movement
roiling calm
trees and wind at play
taking weight away
from heavy snow.  

Blowing fallen colors
taking broken limbs
willing partners
grateful lovers
always playing.  

Northern breezes bring winter winds and storms/snow that swarms and lives in crystalline form/black and white vistas/endless vistas of black and white.  

Warmth brings
southern breezes.

Leaves whispering
wind’s return
forming perfect union
rising falling
sex collusion
seminal fluid
carrying seeds
blown everywhere
growing life
exploding … !

Watching wind and trees
their spellbinding movement,
their night time sighs form
perfect union.

Watching wind and trees
I see giving, always giving.

Giving trees with the
breeze giving with
the breeze …

Outdoors always works for me.



I wish that I could live
forever …

in this
north country


giant pines and oak trees
give their

leaves and
needles …

for the pleasure of my
rake …

where …

the never ending blend of
sand, sky and
great lake
water …

sooth the gray tides of my
mind …

where …

surrounded by
echoes from
time long
past …

wrapped in light
beneath a full

moon …

I sit apart
from the lure of a
world …


waits for me





home …

Steel Wedges/Smoke and Distant Thunder

After a lifetime a grown man attempts to discover the secret behind his his creativity and problem solving abilities.  

Were in large part because of the challenges his father put before him when he was a boy.  

 Riding the winds of change, through smoke and distant thunder the man returns  through the light of time when, as a boy he was made to work, despite tears of pain and resentment on Sunday afternoons during the coldest days of winter splitting elm logs to be sold as firewood.

His days of youth gone forever the resentment he felt toward his father, still remains.

Through his inner eye the man watches his father temper a boy’s life teaching persistence splitting fire wood from elmwood stumps using steel wedges and a heavy maul.

The elmwood stumps not quite dry, the wood stringy and difficult to separate took two, three or even four wedges strategically placed to split apart three or four pieces of firewood from each two or three foot stumps.

With each stroke of the heavy maul, the wedges forced into the elmwood stumps bring with them a constant flow of creative challenges; reasoning to be explored, better ways to do the work.

The man realizes that the creative thought he has used throughout his life stemmed from the challenges his father gave him on those cold, gray Sunday afternoons splitting wood next to a fire fueled by logs the boy split apart from the elmwood stumps.

The split logs neatly stacked into cords each piece, imbued with separate lines of thought, different patterns of creative thinking he realizes as a grown man, became the standard for ingenuity he carried within himself for the rest of his life.  The result he realized, of his father’s efforts to give him the gift of highest distinction,

the power of creative thought.  A way of thinking emanating from those cold, cold days of work the man realizes, had sparked the fires of his creativity.

Lessons the boy took with him into adulthood lessons learned while working with his father next to bonfires fueled by the stringy elmwood he split from tree stumps using steel wedges and a heavy maul on those cold, gray Sunday afternoons during the dead of winter.

The Light Within

I fixate on time constantly
when i hear or see the wail of a diesels horn
or smell fresh mown grass
or look out at the lake i hear the sound
and i’m transported to the stored light of another time
each magnifying the other more deeply every time.

We build our lives on the memories
of the life we live and the lives we live
are built on the the moments we have lived.

We live within the
memories of all there is … and all that came
before … we are the instant and the infinite past and
everything between the vast
vista of ever returning light.


My thought incentive is to
stretch time, to live within the moment
or as someone said of Love one time;

‘’Within the within within.’’

The world revolving then revolving within the
revolving … deeper into movement into the
allusion of stasis between where
more awareness lies waiting for me to see
into the worls and sworls of the wood within the wood
i’m working with, between the spaces of the
fingers on my hand the swirls of my finger pads and
deeper still between the tiny beads of
salty brine into the plasma of the deep
inside, the sea within the
space between the blades of grass
where the fluoride and chlorophyl lies not so hidden
where tiny moisture droplets flood the subtle link between.

It’s all memory based from the
DNA twisting its way into our being
the mechanics of our lungs, the molecules of our
wakening selves … how could we breathe without
the breath that came before and before that?

Each breath
remembers the heart beat remembers the air within.

It’s all memory.

The planets revolving and
what’s beneath remembering what it
knows each experience
resting upon the next.

A kaleidoscope of colors turning
patterns and forms of light
creating new patterns and forms
from what came before connected
bleeding outward curling back to know
each moment of light filled memory.

The homes we live in
filled with memory of angles and
fittings and support from the dawn of creation
cave man’s fire the furnace and the stove memories from the dawn of time.

Look at it! look at your
stove! it’s a memory of the first
fire given to and to and to and
round and around blocks building no different than
walls or bridges or the spiral helix passed
memories linking us all.

We are immersed in memory, our lives emit memory from
light that surrounds us.


Pulls the memory from all things.


Is the road that memory drives on spilling outward
like a ripe orange.


Without light
existence loses its memory and
without memory
all is
all ..

Once And For All

2016-06-18 17.19.03

Final View Morning Sunrise the Last Day

We give our lives a value, each individual core, we need to know our value.  Are we rich or poor?

The numbers always lie we think/they always add up wrong/unknowns we never see/the tools we use to navigate/the golden path/a figure eight flowing endlessly.

But time is of the essence!

We only live so long.

The more less time we spend thinking about more time, the less more time there is to live within it … the less there is to see.

We convince ourselves with halos worn/great truths will come our way.

Our calculations true.  “There’s no other way” the voices say, “find peace, tell others be conversant, know that love will come your way, you’ll lose the pain, with the universe act with reverence, show respect  feign knowledge, and IT will find YOU.

Tears of gratitude and kindness keep us from our lies,

 In our  perfect blindness with nothing else to do … we do nothing/our only thought ….. what to do …

Life Laid Fallow: The Fruit of Time Discovered

Songs of life gone by

emerge to present form from

fallow fields of time.

Forgotten fragments born of
rolling marble colors brightly seen;

Once familiar faces, stored emotions
wash over with unexpected

Perplexed we ask;

How could dreams of such remembered splendor
pass by unseen?

Love’s first kiss with warm compelling force,
passion born anew,
the scent of lover’s neck recalled,
the lust we felt from first kiss taken.

Thoughts that come to mind
with sad regret … when playful eye’s appeal
was given then
stolen from sight
when random sound came
crashing by.

The seed that
had it been planted,
could have yielded life’s sweetest

Precious moments remembered
with sad regret are like
specks of golden pollen
drifting clear against a blue sky or
points of light seen wandering
among stars in the
darkest hours of the

Fragmented Moon

It’s hard to look at the moon these days.

On darkest nights it appears as a haze.

I turn away when it’s over my shoulder/first quarter full/afraid to look back/fearful of what I’ll see.

I missed the half moon completely this month.

No reason to celebrate atomic moon either!/I think it was shrouded.

The last new moon/I saw saw it briefly/but only at a glance.

This time I’m under its pale yellow sliver of light/seeing it fragmented/through a canopy of leaves/hard to define/the distance between pieces/too great to know what it is: or isn’t supposed to be.

Unlike when it was beautiful and whole/running on the clock of the universe/night sky above plunged into the game of endless


You’re Crazy, She Said …

I thought I’d been making some headway patching things up with M. and JC.  But upon arrival they seemed stand offish.  I thought maybe things had taken a turn for the worse.

So, I kept my distance out of respect for their feelings.

Maybe the change in attitude had something to do with a conversation I had with JC while standing on the driveway in front of their house one late one afternoon a few days after the operation, when I told her that around midnight that first night in the hospital, crazy with pain, anesthesia and oxycontin I pulled the I.V. tubes out of my arm and used the food tray as a walker,  determined to escape from the hospital until the Charge Nurse a former Air Force pilot, convinced me to go back to my room.

JC listened with fascination, her mouth slightly open.

I heard myself saying words that made me look like a fool but it seemed some force kept pushing the words out.

Before I even finished I knew that, combined with all the other shit that had happened her attitude toward me would be totally changed.  Things would never be the same.

“You’re crazy!” she said.

I started to give some lame excuse when, “You’re crazy!”  She said it again.  A little louder, perhaps a touch of humor in her voice for, the beauty of JC lies in her ability to keep her sweet demeanor while seeing the world objectively at the same time.

We bonded quickly back when it all started.  I sensed her shyness so I gave her special attention.  I listened and asked asked questions because I was interested in the person she was.

I catered to her with Coke or tea or coffee or chips and salsa if she wanted.  I let her know that I was there to serve her.  It became a joke between us.

We had some enjoyable talks. She thought I was funny.  She had a great laugh; one of those “hair trigger” laughs.  We had some good laughs. I was flattered.

An easy going friendship evolved.  Being basically shy myself we were on occasion, each others excuse to get away from all the craziness inside.

One day there were a lot of people.  Things were hectic.  I went back to the gardens to be alone for awhile.  She must have needed to get away from the confusion of the crowd and seeing me gave her an excuse to escape.

And so she and Beck joined me in the shade of  an orange tree out back and we talked.

I showed them the empty nautilus snail shells I find along the canal that the raccoons suck dry, that I put on the concrete bench to bleach white in the sun.  I told them about the fractal nature that underlies every shape in the universe.  It keeps repeating itself over and over with every object in nature, the world, even the universe.  I don’t think they knew or cared about this crazy idea but that’s o.k.  It was ungodly hot outside.  They soon left.  But, I was touched that they were there in the first place.

I enjoy those memories.  I feel proud and a little special that JC, who is beautiful and admired by everyone,  was comfortable enough to separate herself from the crowd occasionally to pay me a visit ..  to talk and laugh.

For years the mutual warmth was a constant factor.   I smile now, thinking about it.  We shared some good laughter.  There were warm feelings too. I was always very proud of that fact.  I still am.

Things have changed.  Or not?  Only time will tell.  In the meantime, I miss them both.


Two F’er

  • – Two –

I was flying sideways in my car

along streets full of passers by

looking for tomorrow

and a day that will never come.

Past fields of wheat and flax I drove

past lines and furrows

along roads well traveled where

spiral masses lie in wait

for early spring

past the mystery of silence

so near, but yet

so far …

– F’er –

Within the rural sun

mornings arrive

and day is nearly done.

Sun and moon and in between

miles along the roads of time.

Too much distance

too little time to make

the world my own.

Too much time to never see

everything in between

growing in the sun of



Elizabethan Songs

In the village of the offspring/they kept true what they believed/they kept their secrets to themselves.  

Each stem and root among them grew/the tallest oaks and elms/and there were many! living there as well/foxes/and hens/deer and rabbit/ pheasants, starlings, doves.  

The dove! Beautiful light of angelic heart.  

It’s the dove’s first song/that leads the way/with gentle wonder/from the dark of winter/through endless days of summer.   

In the Place of Hearts/there were those lives/joined more not less together/than all the others/equal genius their greatest gift/equal visions their common trait/their natures known before even seen.  

In the Village Of the Hearts/before meaning and time came together/the offspring went different ways/each achieving wisdom along their separate journey’s/the best that they could be/both worlds /a part of destiny/but apart …… 

Kathy and Derek: The Possibility of Road Rage


Suddenly I realized I was alone standing in the middle of the left lane, the Mustang running with the door open.

I knew that the drivers behind Kathy and Derek were oblivious of the circumstances anxious to move past the Stop sign to continue along their well worn paths.  

Like …  even if they had seen Scooter Man trapped under his scooter they couldn’t have known about the penis on the yard sign which wouldn’t have made any difference, since the real reason traffic was being held up was, I was totally debilitated by the ridiculous absurdity of a penis on a yard sign, while Kathy and Derek were overwhelmed with laughter at the sight of me acting like an ass totally convinced that there was a penis on a yard sale sign. We were indulging ourselves with laughter. We knew that any one of us could have been playing the role I was currently playing.  

As the line of incoming traffic grew I felt their resentment  heating up.  I figured I’d have to either get the hell out of there or face the consequences of collective road rage.

I glanced at Kathy and Derek two cars behind the Mustang.

Their body language spoke volumes.

Continued … The Exciting Conclusion (once again) of The Kathy and Derek Chronicle

The Kathy and Derek Chronicle: Part II


While Scooter Guy … tanned and shirtless wearing Bermuda shorts and sandals, around 75 years old … struggled to escape from beneath his scooter I took a moment to weigh my options; would Scooter Guy’s male ego assert itself with resentment if I attempted to help him get up?

When I stared down into Scooter Guy’s glazed eyes I saw no trace of male ego so I said, ’’Jeeze, are you ok?Do you need some help getting up?”

While watching Scooter Guy squirm beneath the weight of his scooter, I heard a female voice shout my name.

I turned and there sat Kathy her whole head and shoulders extended out of the drivers side window of her car, her face beaming with joy, enjoying the experience of witnessing something totally apart from the circumstances of everyday life.

Not surprisingly, instead of asking about Scooter Guy’s condition (does he look hurt, do you need help lifting the scooter?) she said, “Can you believe how that guy spelled yard sale?”

I looked over my shoulder at the sign where “yard’’ was spelled ‘’yeard’’ but my first thought was that the R on ‘yeard’ looked like a penis standing tall along side the A and D.

I looked down at Scooter Guy who was struggling. The misspelling of the word also explained why Scooter Guy’s eyes appeared to be glazed.

Since, the funniest subject in the world is sex and … well, penises are right up there too .. AND since Derek and Kathy had appeared … I started getting that giddy feeling, which tells me some crazy shit is about to happen. Wull … I wasn’t disappointed.

continued …

The Kathy and Derek Chronicle Part I: It Was So Much Fun the First Time, Why Not?

images copy 37

I hadn’t seen Kathy and Derek for a long time.

I like them because they are the kind of people who like me,  think ”stupid is funny.”

In other words, they don’t mind letting … or even making … everyday experiences become ridiculous.  Life can be pretty entertaining when stupid stuff happens all the time.

This story is a perfect example of how a seemingly innocuous experience can evolve into something that is so ridiculous that it becomes hilariously funny.

Here’s what happened.

I was sitting in my car at a stop sign that day, the second car in line, when I realized a commotion was taking place on the corner to my left, between two people; the driver of the car in front of me and another man I’ll call Scooter Guy, who sat on one of those three wheeled scooters that elderly people drive all over town.

At first I thought the driver was a friend of Scooter Guy since it appeared that he was helping Scooter Guy put a flappy little sign into the ground advertising a giant yard sale.

I thought they might have been having one of those joint yard sales, until the driver turned, walked away from Scooter Guy shaking his head, got into his car and drove away.

I sensed cars backing up behind me so I moved the Mustang closer to the stop sign but I couldn’t take my eyes off of Scooter Guy who, sitting on the scooter, was attempting to pound the stick attached to the sign into the ground with his left arm when, the combination of his weight shifting to the left and the back wheel dropping off the black top into a 12 inch rut, caused the scooter to flip onto its side pinning half of Scooter Guy’s body beneath it.

More …

Be Forworned! Urine Mixed With Chlorine Is An Explosive Mixture! (did I spell that right?)

Hello! Hi!

It’s me!

I’m urinating in the pool right now.  They say it keeps you from getting athlete’s feet.  BUT, used with chlorine it can be explosive!

So, I gotta be really careful!

I don’t know the difference yet but I’m studying really hard.  Ummmmmm …

Wull … back during football the coach would draw a big L and R on the pulling guard’s butts (left side, right side) in front of me, so I’d know whether to go to the left or to the right.

But I never really caught on.

And I STILL don’t know how to convert Farenheit to Celsius!!

Imagine that!!

Please leave a message …….



Without Love

… we make our way across the frozen tundra of our hopeful desires/ unaware that beauty rests just below the surface of our painful hearts/ a streak of light unseen/ nestled within each throb of hurt/the light of hope/ the knowledge that Love exists only/ were it not for the pain that comes with it.

Verification of Love’s existence/its very presence/the other half needed to complete the whole.

Darkness and light/giving form to our illusions/the clarity to continue unfettered/the price we pay for knowledge of the truth/the dark pain we feel/the price we pay/to find life’s meaning.

… we walk into the fuel can of our hearts unknowing/the air stifling and flammable/pock marked faces/the scars of infidelity/the permanance of death/the knowledge of wasted time/the loss of hope/the bitter balm of lost love … The random scars of life and love and beauty and pain giving meaning/to all consuming desire/beautiful with lust and anger/the call of bliss and freedom/the prisons of our minds/the sight of everything good given meaning/yet steeped in painful search along the way/the choices that we make/the human condition … are they real or illusion … ?

Without love/life has no meaning.

Without pain/there can be no love.

If Only I Could Find My Way Home

When life’s good/It is so grand/angels in sand/fresh breezes ’round my head/moon lit nights and sunny days/ to show the way.

When it’s bad it’s a nightmare of mistakes and do-overs.

I should know I’ve made enough of them!

Determined to tell myself/I’m a better man/I keep making different plans/while the end of that road/keeps coming near.

If only I’d have known … !

If only I’d have seen with open eyes,

I’d know the way to get back home/where

I could return and

Start over

Again …


… To know the how and why and when of it all .. The distinct impression that when something was seen/it held you speechless for the longest time/you couldn’t look away/you couldn’t get enough/you wanted more and more/the mystique was there/but you couldn’t put a name to it/you were so young/you didn’t have the words/emotion drove the moment/in complete silence and pure feeling you were drawn …….

….. Who knows what it is that captures the moment so completly?/the coordinates of magnetic forces?/something about movement through time and space?

….. The answer blows in the wind/with the seeds of time/the seeds of Life carried within/through gales and storms/it wrestles with the windows or brings in sunlight on a beautiful day/over sand and water over villages and plain/over metropolis splendor/and degradence …. We are blown by the trial and tribulations/twisting and turning through the storms/round and around within
the chaos/then thrown out/

Onto a sunlit shore ..

The Case of the Missing Furniture


Chapter I

Thursday morning I think I awoke from what I thought was a dream/doors banging shut echoed throughout the house/the four walls devoid of shadows looked strange and naked; the outlets seemed bored without their plugs.

I knocked on every door and looked inside. Nothing!

Was it a dream?  

Chapter 2

I drank my coffee on the porch the yellow sun on my feet my face in shadow, before I even realized every stick of furniture had disappeared.

I called the police!

Chapter 3

“Something has to be missing for two days before it’s missing,” they said.

“But what if its all on a big semi headed for North Carolina or down by the Swale River holding the asses of some homeless people drinking their muscatel, red stains all over on the arms?’

They left in a huff. “Homeless people are out of our jurisdiction!”

Chapter 4

I remembered seeing the E.M.T. people. Hmmm …  Maybe they were in disguise?

Shit!  Then I remembered!  The E.M.T.’s had visited my house at least ten days prior.

 They told me I was having an anxiety attack. But I disguised my feelings.  I wasn’t going to let them know the chair was a giant hand thrusting up to pull me into some abscess below the foundation of the house. What a ridiculous thought!  I live on a cement slab!!

“But I couldn’t get the thought out of my head.”

Chapter 5

A while later I said good bye despite her offer to tell me everything that happened.

“I’m perfectly happy wondering what happened. I don’t need any answers.”

Chapter 6

I stuck out my thumb. Houses and bison sped by.

Chapter 7

Finally, I arrived!  The door opened.  I stepped inside.

The driver a 30’s something red haired police officer wearing a green uniform her hair pulled back said her name was Devereaux.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked.

She smiled, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Well yes but … does this have anything to do with
my missing furniture ….. ?”

I Always Made Strides …


 I made strides.  I always made strides.

Three strides forward, two back, sometimes four.

Life was a bitch but I didn’t always care.  “We all feel that way don’t we?”

I started to learn and my mind became stronger than fear and depression.

I learned how to escape the darkness that chose me.  I turned away from the darkness.  I went where I wanted to go.”


Then, one day I did some work.

I created outward beauty from somewhere deep inside.

They said I looked like I was in a trance of joy

They gave me their obligatory praise but, I had no use for compliments.  Honor, glory and a round of applause were secondary.

I had the privilege to do what I loved.  I loved my art, my sculpture, my dance.


But, the work I loved destroyed my body.

My goals were always just a little out of reach.

The happiness I sought came and went.  Then, came and went again and again like a welcomed guest who brings cake then leaves before it’s eaten.

Crossroad: The Goddess Olympia

Mount Olympus


The Goddess Olympia

Among the gods was the goddess Olympia.  

A mountain of a woman,  soft hearted yet steadfast.  Determined to feed and nurture all who entered her domain.   

She gave all she had to others until one day in the white heat of summer her heart burst and she died after losing her brother to his sad life un-lived.  

Her brother? He rode the waters day after day reaching for a dream that was only a fantasy. 

He lived life without the flame of a dream.  His fanciful aspirations the result of his infatuation with the false god of fantasy who each day sucked dry larger and larger portions of his life until tinder dry, flames consumed him and took Mount Olympia too. 

 It’s a beautiful but sad story as life can be (or maybe is ) about some extraordinary people I had the privilege to know … truly Gods and Goddesses in their own way … beautiful people I’ve introduced you to who I cannot think, or write or read out loud about to the ones I love without crying … as I am doing this moment. ks



Gods of Timbre and Wood

continued … While there I met several Greek Gods …  


 There was the God of  Recollection and Mirth who told stories vivid with color and emotion peppered with surprise and wide eyed expressions one minute, howling with laughter the next or speaking softly so as not to disturb the imaginary characters living within the world of his recollections and dreams.

 His words, the timbre of his voice, the ever changing forms of his face, the movements of his body generated a kind of energy that all who gathered ‘round were anxious to receive.    

Then, there was the quiet Timber God who, through the magic of his hands coaxed dormant beings from within wood into the world of the living.  Beings that appeared static but moved slowly, alive in their own world when joined with sun and shadow ever moving through time.  

A thousand or two or maybe even three thousand years of knowledge flowed through his fingers, his hands his body and mind.  Knowledge inherited from men and women who over countless generations passed on bits of information from a never ending flow of seeds bearing the fruit of his existence.  

By the power of his inheritance he made wood  come ALIVE.  

continued …

Crossroad South Between the Chalks

like an adventurer from another land might feel at first encounter with blues music captivated by its power but unknowing of its history or intent … continued

I spent my days working between the giant chalks that held the 70 foot shrimp boats above ground.

We hauled them from the water with thick cables over railroad track below the shoreline  where we gave maintenance to their hulls; scraping barnacles from their underbellies filling their cracked seams with braids of cotton  pounded in with a wooden maul then dressing them out with a couple coats of copper paint before returning them to the gulf waters after a few days of R and R.  

I was an ‘educated fool’ in their midst.  

 In their eyes I lacked common sense from too many books and time spent indoors learning instead of using the connection between hands and body and mind to accomplish work that could be seen and felt.  

But they accepted me and I learned from inclusion into their world.  A world of wonder that haunts me still. 

While there I met several Greek  Gods.  There was the God of Recollection and Mirth who … continued … 



Crossroad South the Greek Island

When I passed into the flat land of Florida, where I saw palm trees and abundant sunshine … so strangely different than what I had lived with all my life I thought, “… maybe my life will take on a different look, just as these trees and the white hot sun of this new land … .”  continued …


I made my way further south to the coast where I settled into a community of Greeks.  A island of Greek culture apart from the surrounding world.  People who searched for sponges in the warm waters of the Gulf, built boats and told endless stories through the ancient language of beauty and thought.

Stories that captivated my mind even though I didn’t understand a word.

Their words?  They were music to my ears.  Melody and cadence that rose and fell filled … I supposed …  with adventure and humor the details hidden from my mind yet, endlessly interesting or hilariously funny.  Like an adventurer from another land might feel at first encounter with blues music captivated by its power but unknowing of it’s history or intent.

I spent of my days working on the giant .. continued …


Crossroad Further South

… i ran away into a night of bitter cold determined to hitch 1,200 miles away from that cold winter bitch to another place where maybe I’d find the warm nurturing wind I felt before the roadblock I encountered at the crossroad …


I didn’t know if i could leave my frustration and rage behind but it didn’t matter.  All that mattered was that I was on the road away from the past. 

As I watched the miles fly by through the rolling hills of Ohio and Kentucky the mountains of Tennessee and Georgia recollections of the past streamed further and further behind. 

I existed for the moment.  I gave no thought to my future life. 

I had no ideas. Nothing had yet filled the void.  

I consoled the vacancy of my expectations with the thought that the future will make itself known. 

When I passed into the flat land of Florida, where I saw palm trees and abundant sunshine so strangely different than what I had lived with all my life I thought, “… maybe my life will take on a different look, just as these trees and the white hot sun of this new land … .”

continued …

Crossroad Journey South

I had arrived at the first crossroad of my life where my dreams of the straight and narrow were instantly transformed like some strange algorithm; the plus signs suddenly replaced by unknowns continued … 


The Journey South

After the crossroad I became a half assed ‘’grad’’.  I lived in the haze between night and day with blues and jazz music in smoke filled rooms and minds, freaks of the night, drunks and misfits, thieves who lived in the underworld where I had taken refuge.  

I had become part of a  crowd who, with single minded intent, killed themselves from the medicine in their needles.  

I searched for a road away from that life when one night in frustration and despair I gave up the fight.  

Determined to break away from my self imposed bonds I donned my army coat, grabbed my scarf, threw away those ridiculous looking cowboy boots, scraped together a couple of hundred bucks and ran away into a night of bitter cold determined to hitch 1,200 miles away from that cold winter bitch I had grown to know knew so well, to another place where maybe I’d find the warm nurturing wind I felt before the roadblock I encountered at the crossroad.  

continued …

Crane’s End …

continued …  The explosion almost knocked me off the bench. At the precise moment the explosion rocked me i saw one of the most amazing things i had ever seen in my life … 


The only way to describe it .. the bird disappeared!

One moment it stood with its feathers ruffled, the next it fell to the earth with such pure gravity and force that it sunk between the time frame of my mind! That’s the only way I can describe it.

I’d never seen anything die, especially like that.

I looked down at the crane.  A mound of gray feathers had appeared where the crane stood before its life was gone.  Taken away by some do-gooder with an adult frame of mind.

I looked at the bird.  I pictured it throwing a frog into the air and catching it, watching it move down its gullet, wondering what it felt like for the frog.

Its head and beak lay in profile now against the sand.  The black iris looking cloudy and gray, covered by an opaque film.

That dead eye that had been alive now attached to a dead body covered by a mound of gray feathers lying flat against the sand waiting to be absorbed into the ground.

I made up my mind right then and there that I would … continued

The Cottage/The Crane/Her Mouth Dropped Open

continued …

I heard passing cars, horns honk,  people making stupid comments or asking questions.  I stayed focused on the black top moving toward the cottage. 


I lowered the big crane onto the sand in the open field, facing the cottage.  The instant its feet touched the ground its head dropped into the S position.

Before running around to the back of the cottage where I knew I’d find my mom, I looked into its eye.  I saw no flicker of awareness.  The same blank stare I saw when I first looked into its eye … was it less than an hour ago?

I pictured myself walking along the gravel road, minding my own business, listening to the dog hunt through cattails unaware of all I’d see and think and feel less than an hour later standing next to the crane in front of the cottage, having carried it home cradled in my arms.  So many experiences  crammed into such a short period of time.

I ran to the back of the cottage.  I told my mom about the crane.  I told her it was beautiful.  Maybe it was sick but I could feed it frogs, nurse it back to health.

I took off running around the side of the cottage, anxious to get back to the bird.  Halfway there, I looked over my shoulder.  She was standing motionless, her mouth open.

continued …


The Crane IV


I moved closer, wrapped both arms beneath the crane’s belly and lifted it out of the water.  I carried it up the side of the swale to the gravel road, turned right onto the black top where I began moving toward the cottage with the bird in my arms trying to see over the top of its back, feeling its wing feathers against my chin and the side of my face.

I stayed focused on the road ahead, straining to keep the bird’s talons from scraping the black top, oblivious of the passing cars, their honks, stupid comments and questions.

The dog trotted along keeping a wary out for my safety while the bird, its neck fully extended gazed at the passing trees and empty spaces along the side of the road.

Walking along, I pictured myself nursing the bird back to health; feeding it, loving it, giving it life once again, then watching it fly away free to ride the wind currents once again aware of its world with a renewed desire to live.

I had watched my mom raise 6 baby squirrels from the time they were hairless, no bigger than her pinky finger feeding them every 4 hours 24 hours a day for weeks until they grew and became such a nuisance, all six of them climbing over her body like she was a small tree, tangling her hair, knocking her glasses off, that she finally set them free.

Surely she would help me rescue the bird.

I had high hopes for my friend the great Crane, who had allowed me to gaze into its eye and be part of its life.

Little did I know what was in store for both of us.

continued …

The Crane III: Revisited

… that it would … rise up and up effortlessly higher and higher flying free over clouds of air; wind clouds they can see that we earth bound beings could never even imagine.

images I moved slowly, cautiously until we stood motionless next to each other.  I sensed a strangeness about its lack of movement, as if it was in a trance.  I looked closer into its eye, the iris a thin orange/blood red ribbon surrounding the the pupil so large it nearly filled its entire eye socket, a dark black pool without a flicker of life.

I had hoped to see some sign of awareness.  Something that would tell me it wasn’t dead or dying when suddenly it broke out of its trance.

It’s pupil flickered, a spark of sunlight reflected off the black pool.  Its iris contracted, the dark pool grew smaller until it found a focal point.

Its eye tracked from place to place over my face feeling bewildered perhaps by my curious movements, the soft shapes and colors of my face, the black pool of my awareness filling his field of vision so different from its  everyday world spent gliding high, looking down at ponds and streams, wading through water searching … always searching to satisfy the hunger that gives life meaning … the desire to live.

Suddenly I knew it was alive! It had awareness! I felt a link between our searching ever curious minds.

continued …

images-2seen before extrodinaire …

The Crane II

When I heard her frenzied barking I thought that maybe she had cornered a raccoon or skunk.

Unknown-1A giant water crane its head above the cattails, stood in the shallow water at the bottom of the swale probably hunting for frogs when the dog made her discovery.

The dog continued to bark while circling the crane occasionally pausing to sniff or nip at its leg.

The crane looked unafraid,  strangely motionless seemingly unaware of the dog’s barking or my presence.  I decided to take a closer look.

I slid down the embankment then crept through the cattails careful not to make sudden movements or splash water.

The crane slowly curled its long neck into a flattened S shape the back half resting along its spine its head and beak in profile.

Suddenly it occurred to me that if I took one more step the bird might fly away.  I froze all movement perhaps 15 feet away.  I never would have imagined I’d be so close to such a magnificent creature.  I wanted to soak in all the details of its beauty while I had the chance.

While I admired the curve of its head flowing toward the sharp point of its beak perhaps ten inches long, a puff of wind ruffled the short fur like feathers that crowned its head.

I looked down at the tiny scales covering its stick-like legs each smaller than a dime overlapping themselves like tiny shingles,  aerodynamic in design, the same reason the rivets of a plane are ground smooth.

I looked at the variations of gray coloring along the short hairs of its neck that gradually grew into 6 to 12 inch feathers covering its wings, so large that they stretched the length of its entire body from its long neck back to the thin tail feathers lying next to each other, slightly overlapped when not in use, like a tightly louvered fan pointing downward while standing.

I pictured its wings in flight the shorter round feathers at the back edge of each three foot wing vibrating or fluttering through the air like the sensitive fingers of a pianist each in tune with the incremental movements needed to stabilize and offset the great strength it took to create forward thrust; the lazy movement of its tail feathers,  at the will of wind currents, telling the bird to bank and glide left or right or,  in the vacuum at the rear of the bird created by  strong headwinds, to climb along the soft or violent surface of the approaching wind pushing against the the flared shape of its breast bone.  Two parts of its body telling it to rise up and up effortlessly higher and higher flying free over clouds of air they can see, that we earth bound beings could never even imagine.

continued …

The Crane

UnknownThe crane had become a living, conscious being to me.  A friend I felt I had made a connection with.  

But, it didn’t matter what I said.  They insisted the bird could have blinded me with its needle pointed beak!   Then they said it was too sick to live!  Baloney!

I hated the excuses  they tried to foist upon me to justify the theft of life from such a beautiful living creature admired and marveled at while alive.   

This was adult thinking at its worst.  The kind of overly cautious bullshit thinking that so easily proclaimed the death sentence of this the magnificent creature I brought home for them to see;

with its gorgeous, long flight or stability feathers and long powerful wings, the soft tapered miniature red feathers on the crown of its head tripping about so easily in the breeze or lying flat as its powerful wings pulled itself  through the air its long neck retracted into a tight S for aerodynamic flight, the gentle curve of its  forehead tapering a foot or more  to the sharp point between its two eyes ever searching stereoscopically to find and impale frogs and small fish tossing its next meal into the air and down its gullet.       

… into an inanimate object its head and beak in profile against the sand, the black iris I had looked into less than an hour ago sensing its awareness, now covered with an opaque film its lifeless eye and head and beak attached to an inanimate object looking like a mound gray feathers lying flat against the sand even at that moment, being absorbed into the ground.

One and A Half Hours Earlier

With bicycle between the crotch of my jeans, I stood at the end of a lime rock road looking 200 yards into the past, my clothes still damp from having fallen sideways (with bike), off a dock, into oily dark water over at Jerry’s two hundred yards north along the shore of the bay.   when

riding by, something inside the boat had captured my attention.

I stopped pedaling to look more closely, lost balance, fell off the dock sideways, my head going under, a humiliating sight!  

A downstate fisherman gave his hand pulling me to the surface dripping wet his laughing voice along the way made it seem easy with laughing face he pulled us up first my bike, then me.  I rode away so humiliated I barely thanked the man.  

And now I stand with bicycle between the crotch of my jeans, at the end of a lime rock road while Gray, a three year old weimereir my constant companion and protector sloshes and sniffs her way through two feet of water thick with cat tails at the bottom of the swale running parallel to the one lane lime rock road I’ll soon be walking.  



And do you know what? continued …


Poem Pour F.G.M: On Love Lost

Ce poem pour vous  F.G.M. cate changer les idees.

On Love Lost

There’s hardly a thing more painful

then lost love departed.

The memories so dear.

The last chapter of a book

you wish you could read again and again

without knowing the ending.

A book you’ll never read again.

The best that money

can’t buy.

The Cycle of Life: Buds of Life Expanded

The Cycle of Life:

Inspired by Brother Andrew Efo ..


 Butterfly’s wing leaves its pollen

with buds of dew wrapped in

crystal drops.

They fall to the earth

and are absorbed within themselves  ….


 … mixtures of earth

and sun

and water from the sky

each self within every other …

each element … themselves …

combined … producing  life …


The butterfly emerges

gives its pollen,  the cycle continues;

a union of forces combined

as two lovers joined

share one body

one mind … ks

Fall Tragedy: The Lost Tapes

 …..  I didn’t want to try and fit the slapping incident or the  into my normal routines, the sense of security that all kids need.  


Kids don’t want change.  They fear change when it’s even a little close to their radar.  They depend on stability to keep the vicissitudes of life at bay none of which they know about except for some scary feeling deep inside that tells them there’s a wild beast out there, just outside the boundaries of their lives. 

Maybe the fear grows as they become more aware of the the strange behavior of adults;   the need to get drunk,  the clinging woman or man, the  growling resentful wives, needy women lured into illicit affairs by lecherous men.  The never ending search for love,  you can see it in their eyes.  A yearning for some missing ingredient.  The spark that will ignite the engines of their lonesome souls.  

continued … 

Tragedy: The Final Fall


After cake,  we had the freedom to do whatever we wanted.  We could stay inside and play games or go outside and run around getting grass stains on our pants.

I stayed inside exploring the house. The big yellow kitchen with the old fashioned faucets, the window above the sink looking out to the grassy area where they had their parties.  A dark space below the steps behind a door I thought lead to nowhere.

I had to pee before I went outside so I asked June if I could use the bathroom.  The one downstairs was busy.  She told me where the other bathroom was upstairs.

I creaked up the stairs to the landing, turned right and rose up the steps to the second floor.

I stood at the top of the steps.  I can still see clear as a bell both ends of the hallway.

To my left just past the top of the stairs the bathroom door opened to black and white tiles, green walls, a pedestal sink and an old cast iron tub with curled feet.

I crept softly to the right toward two doors next to each other along the left wall,  half way to the end.

One of the doors was open.  I looked inside.  A nice big bedroom with a high ceiling.  A good sized window looking down at the sidewalk.  The same sidewalk that June and my dad walked on around the block that night.  The night that it all began.

I continued walking to the bedroom at the end of the hall where I stared at gray light slicing through the three dormer windows.  The light seemed to anchor itself onto the wood floor casting a dreary pall throughout the room except in the corners where what light there was could not penetrate the dark gloom of that third bedroom where later I was to learn that Jim had blown his head off with a shotgun.



Fall Tragedy Jim and June


continued …

Jim was the perfect foil for June.  Her opposite in many ways he softened the antics of her sometimes over the top humor with quiet acceptance.

She often turned to him at the height of her freneticism.  Her arm around his waist, she’d tip her head back for the kiss of acceptance he always gave her when things got a little out of control.

(…  She said they had walked around the block to get some fresh air  clear their heads.  No one said a word.  It was so quiet you could hear a croquet ball drop on the grass.  

June stood next to her husband her arm wrapped around his waist her head against his rib cage.  He was so much bigger than she.  She looked up at him like she wanted to give him a kiss. He stared down at her, the corners of his mouth turned up with a sullen almost depressed look on his face. )

At times Jim couldn’t take his eyes off of her, his ever-present smile broadening even more while watching her circulate among their friends; her movements, her lively face, the witty things she said making others laugh.  I watched him look at her body with a different kind of smile.  It was pretty obvious that Jim was totally and completely in love with June.

She made me feel important.  She talked to me like an adult.  She teased me good naturally.  She shared her warm laughter with me while teaching me to laugh at my own self.

Of course my dad was attracted to her exuberance.  He loved to laugh so he was attracted to her sense of humor.  She was attracted to him because he made her laugh.  It was obvious the two of them had a connection.

My dad being the adventurous soul that he was … willing as he was,  to take a chance on skiing behind the car one winter day (which may be either adventurous or totally dumb but, that’s another story) took the chance to make a few runs on June’s slopes. Not the length of a long ski run more like a bob slide ride.  Short and fast and fun.

June didn’t mind it one bit.  True to form she was making him aware of his foibles. Their shared laughter turned out to be shared orgasms … a form of laughter within itself.

continued …

Fall Tragedy V


continued … By the time i slid between the sheets I had already pushed the incident out of my mind.  I shrugged my shoulders telling myself this was something typical of parents or adults and drifted off to sleep. 

Though I didn’t know it at the time, pulling the sheets over my head, hiding under the sheets, was a symbolic act meaning that I had taken myself into ‘denial land’.

 I didn’t know that my dad and June had been seeing each other off the radar for weeks.  If i did, I didn’t know what they were doing.

What I DID see were the ugly looks my mom gave him and his feigned attempts to act nonchalant.  Even I could tell he was acting strangely talking incessantly about events that  happened during the day as if he were enlightening us.

Then one day I walked into the kitchen that day while my mom was breaking all of our dishes on the kitchen floor, calling my dad a son of a bitch, while he calmly stirred the spaghetti sauce.

I walked through the kitchen and kept on going like i had tunnel vision for “out of the room”.

By the time dinner was served the floor had been swept.  They were civilized toward each other.  The spaghetti sauce was good.  All of our roles were very well established.

But, there was still an undercurrent of ugliness, quiet hostility …  mostly coming from my mom, that lasted until the tragedy when we richoched off of the walls of time and life was never the same.

Later, like any normal family, we’d gather in the den to eat popcorn or have a bowl of ice cream while watching t.v.,  like nothing had happened.  At nine o’clock I’d kiss them both good night like I always did and go to bed.

continued …


Summer Tragedy III


The other half of the relationship?  My dad?   

There was an empty lot next to our house we called the Uranium Mine where I cut the grass a couple times a week over the summer.  I enjoyed the work.  I sang out loud while pushing the mower.  I took pride in the neat straight lines I cut.  

One day he told me to mow in a circle starting in the middle.  He was an ex-Marine with a strong personality.  He expected to be obeyed.  People found it difficult to say no to him.  

I hated mowing in a circle.  It stopped being fun.  No straight lines.  No singing.  So, I mowed it my way.  I accepted his yelling and ultimately my t-shirt wrapped around his fist.  I still did it my way.  The mowing incident became a source of friction between us until the day he died. 

The Incident

They partied well into nightfall at their last party of the summer.

There was more boisterous laughter than usual.  They stood in a circle looking like a bunch of school kids on the playground teasing each other.  They knew each other pretty well by the end of the summer.  The men were getting frisky  touching women who weren’t their wives while everyone laughed.

The women slapped their hands like it bothered them but it was obvious they liked the attention.

No one laid a hand on my mom.  Her body language suggested, stay away or you’ll be sorry.  She was content to sip her manhattans smile or laugh at their antics.

As darkness descended they all stumbled off in different directions giggling and guffawing while she was content to sit and sip her umpteenth manhattan in the impending darkness.

One by one or two by two everyone straggled back.  A couple of the guys stumbled back, arms around each other calling each other names then laughing loudly.  The girls made fun of them with high pitched laughter.

My dad mosied in looking happy as a clam five minutes after June showed up by herself.

“Where were you June,’’ a couple of the women asked  with that “sing songey” sound to their voices.  It got so quiet you could hear a croquet ball drop onto the grass.

continued …

The Crossroad Double Doors Roman Columns


Shouting a hurried thank you to my driver with pity, I bolted from the passenger seat. I heard the door slam and ran toward the inclined steps of Angel Hall: the Roman columns the tall bronze doors bouncing in my field of vision, keeping perfect time with the rise and fall of my boots on the marble steps taking two, three steps at a time upward toward the great doors.

Then all I saw were the bronze doors and I was focused, I was intent, I was  desperate.  Panic hit me like I had been punched in the chest by an unseen fist.

As I pulled on the handle of the massive bronze door fear wrapped its hand around me; held me tightly in its grasp.

Passing into the bright light inside a red arrow pointed to the left.  I glanced at my watch.  Less than one minute before seven thirty!

I rounded the corner and began to run.  My whole life was trapped between the passage of time and the thirty yards it would take to arrive at another set of double doors next to a doorman casually looking at the watch on his wrist, in stark contrast to my desperate race with time.

I was sprinting for my life!  The only sound I heard were my boots pounding against the marble floor… heel and toe… heel and toe… heel and toe, the sound of army canvas, the tinkling sound of change in my pocket the roar of blood pounding inside my head … continued …

The Crossroad: Pitiless Drivers!

images-4 I rolled off the couch at 4:30 a.m.  The test was at 7:30 a.m. I had plenty of time to hitch a ride to Ann Arbor 10.2 miles away.  I was excited!  Three more hours and I’d be on the first leg of my journey to a new life!

 Fifteen or twenty minutes later I was standing alongside Washtenaw Avenue wearing my army coat, a scarf wrapped around my neck and mouth, one foot on the curb the other on the roadway, my thumb extended at a right angle to my body watching the cars pass by in the bitterly cold wind.

I called on the magic I use to look into the mind of each passing driver, to find the stranger with pity who will ferry me to my destination.  But that morning something was wrong.  The magic wasn’t working.  One by one the cars with their pitiless drivers passed by.  So I hitched while walking backward facing traffic.  Still … no ride.

After a while, I looked at my watch.  Shocked to discover how late it was I had no choice.  I started running along the side of the road.  I heard my boots thumping on the concrete,  the jangle of loose change in my pocket, the sound army canvas makes rubbing against itself, the sting of the wool scarf against my cheeks.  I felt the pain of cold air sucked past my throat into my lungs. Beneath it all, the pounding bass drum of my heart pumping blood.  continued …

The Crossroad III … Hope!

continued …. then one day my car gave up the ghost which meant that every night at eleven then again at seven a.m. I had to hitch rides to and from work in the cold, dark, night of winter…


(that cold winter bitch! I hated her as she relentlessly tried to embrace me with her icy, frigid, killing fingers) 

… so that I could walk into the jaws of that doped up idiot beast to work at that cesspool where the creatures of the night gathered  for their food and drink in that ugly parallel universe.

What kept me going were thoughts of the test!

‘’Everything’ll be o.k. if I can just take the test! I’ll pass it and then I’ll be warm.  I’ll be able to move about the planet freely.  I’ll have respectability.  I’ll have a reason to live!’’

I felt confidence hover over me like a warm, refreshing breeze blown in from some faraway place I didn’t know existed.  A place where living things grew from the wind.  I felt the breeze drawing closer.  My mind and body sensed the wind’s presence.  I hungered for the relief I knew the wind would bring so that I could grow and be free.

Finally the day of the test came!

… continued

Christmas Story: IV The Grand Trunk Railroad, Crows and Pits


Grand Trunk steam engine passing our depot

My uncle told us stories about his dad who drove steam engines for the Grand Trunk Railroad.  (The town where I lived in Michigan is the where  the Grand Trunk rail lines come together.)

The lady from Canada told us she lived in Thunder Bay, Ontario.  She was taking the passenger train to Chigago to see her sister when the trains stopped running because of the heavy snow.

Uncle Bill told us a funny story about a pet crow that stood on his arm while he fed it cherries.  Each time the crow ate a cherry, the pit from the previous cherry dropped out of its butt!

Grandma and grandpa told how they met at the annual county fair during a band concert.  They talked about how hard they had to work growing up on a farm before there was electricity or even indoor bathrooms.

942835_10200406113369917_423569206_nMy mom and Aunt Jo remembered the beautiful dresses my grandmother made for them when they they tap danced at gatherings around the city and state.  They rode the train to Chicago once and tap danced on a popular radio program!

My brother, my cousins and I listened quietly or laughed along with everyone especially the story about the crow and the cherry pits.

The whole time we laughed and listened to stories the pig rested in the middle of the table.  For some strange reason, I imagined the pig had a smile on its face.

…. continued …


Christmas Stories: The Pig In A Blanket


Every two or three hours we drove to the bakery, parked out back and checked on the progress of our roasting pig.

The blue gas flame gave just enough light for us to see the pig slowly rolling past our eyes.

By four or five o’clock the pig had cooked to a dark, rich, golden color.  It didn’t need to be roasted any longer.

When the roasting shelf was level with the door we turned the motor off.

The heat escaping through the open oven door felt like a warm fragrant wind bringing with it the combined smells of garlic and onion and basil and rosemary, cloves and beneath it all the subtle smell of apple cider.

My dad used a pair of iron tongs to pull the iron skillet to the edge of the roasting shelf.  We wore thick insulated mittens to lift the pig and skillet from the oven.

The skin on the red apple in the pigs mouth was wrinkled but there weren’t any holes …  so we knew hot apple juice had been steaming inside the pig.

We put the pig on top of blankets in the trunk of the car.  We didn’t want to spill any of the rich delicious juice that my grandmother would make into ham gravy.

We put a tent of alumium foil over the pig to keep it warm.

While driving home we laughed about having a ‘pig in a blanket’ in the trunk of the car.

continued …


I May Be Dumb But I’m Not Stupid!


… continued .. The guy holding the dog says, ‘’No, we were talking about the dog.”

continued …

“Ohhhh,’’ i said with a serious look on my face as i limped past them anxious to get started on my paperwork.

I love filling out paper work especially if I have my favorite pen … the Pilot G2-10 which I forgot but i had my V-7, which is my second most favorite pen.

The exchange was starting to crack me up. My mind kept forcing me to picture the blank stares … or maybe confused looks … on their faces.

I really wanted to do the paper work.  But at the same I felt the tension rising to want to continue the interaction.   When the tension to interact with the world a tipping point is reached and all kinds of things can happen.  Mostly people get confused.

But I love to get people confused!  I figure I’m doing them a favor.  Being confused sets people up for suddenly NOT being confused.

Once they realize they’re not having a stroke or suddenly lapsing into Alzeimers they laugh in relief thinking that I’M the one with Alzheimers!  hahahahah!!  At this point I have to turn and walk away.

So, I tried to refrain from making any stupid comments about the dog, a nicely groomed pomeranian, its ears straight up with a look of yearning on its face.

I really wanted to get started on my … wull … you know .. paperwork.  But, I can NEVER resist petting a dog.

I found out the dog’s name was Emily.  When i asked if i could pet her the guy said, “Surrrre …. .”

Little Emily looked pleased especially when I scratched her chin with three fingers like i was playing flamenco guitar and told her how pretty she was.  Her ears were lying flat and she was making goo-goo eyes at me.

As I turned the man chuckled and said, “She’s a noisy little thing,’’  at which point I almost turned and began choking the dog.  I could just see it’s little tongue curled, suspended between it’s upper and lower teeth it’s eyes all bugged out, both thumbs pressed against its noisy little voice box!

I HATE YAPPY DOGS!  Wull, I didn’t say it out loud!  I might be dumb but, I’m not stupid!  But once again, I had to refrain myself.  I smiled and said, ‘’Awww.’’  I felt a smirking sound come out from my throat.  I hoped it wasn’t too loud.


The Humor of Orthopedia


The Humor of Orthoipedia

So … yesterday I had a one o’clock appointment with my orthopedic person to have my head …er .. knee examined.  (I’m not a bone head fer cryin’ out loud! I have an orthopedic neurologist for that!)  .

An older guy, probably my age was waiting with a dog on his lap.  To his left and right were a couple of other people one of which I assumed was his wife.

They seemed friendly enough.  When i passed by I said hi and they smiled.

While standing in front of the sliding glass window looking at the clip board  I thought I heard someone say, ‘’It doesn’t look like he’s limping.’’

Naturally i thought the comment pertained to me.

I smiled, knowing that my reply might make them laugh.

“I’m faking it!’’  I said while turning around with a smile on my face.  All four of them stared at me  with blank looks on their faces.

“Whoops,”  i thought, “Have i made an ass out of myself again?”

I immediately realized I had accidentally dropped into adolescent thinking mode.  I automatically  changed gears and when I did I started thinking the situation was funny.

Wull,  at least they stopped their idle chatter for a moment, I thought.  (Maybe they were talking about Donald Trump? But they seemed like fairly happy people.) 

“Jeeze,”  i said,  “I thought you were talking about me.’’  I touched my right knee and gave it a little rub.

The guy holding the dog says, ‘’No, we were talking about the dog.”

continued …

Candle Light Destiny


We cruise at 30,000 feet

half way between

departure and arrival,

the arm rest next to me

fully occupied

its body deep in sleep.

The flight attendant’s eye lash

briefly glowing orange with

morning light streaming

through my porthole window.

Her smile in profile moves away within my mind

as light contrails

behind a moving candle.

My seat too far forward to

rest my head back comfortably,

a metal bar against

a knobby bump

along my spine;

the button to recline is broken.

 Outside a wedge of orange and gray,

fields of fallen snow, rush past

a sea of blue to the far horizon.

Deserts rise to mountain peaks

crowned by cloud formations.

White light from above

streams shadows

across the plains below.

I close my eyes and watch inside

the lash and smile that came to me

through morning light,

the dreams of past life next to me,

clouds and seas and mountain peaks

stretching to the horizon,

a candle’s light that streams behind

the sight of rushing destiny.

The Day the Year the Month the Hour the Minute the Second: The Time That I Was Born


That summer hot and sultry mid month mid year mid way past midnight bright lights shining blinding hands grasping fingers smashing through the air i didn’t really care it was not my problem i was their’s for the taking …

i heard the pain that wasn’t mine explode into my space, the air, the rush of light that came before the crack of dawn exposed the ship that i’d been riding on between the worlds where i once lived when i was born.

with great surprise i threw away my aqua lungs, I sucked in air while water flooded, breathing synapses firing new born pistons, 283 horses blowing streams of light in all directions!!

so this is what it’s like to live in  the land of milk and honey … !!!

Came time to leave for home i looked into the sky i’d never seen,  acorns falling through the air,  cool harmonies on the breeze singing memories from where it all began wrapped around light that fueled the seeds of future’s flight;  tightly woven earthly patterns leading everywhere in sight that gave great brilliance and such delight!!

Each night i see the world inside my dreams wrapped inside the morning dew; each morning my life begins anew, never sure of all that i have seen until i return  and do it all again and again and again and again and again and again … until i think … therefore i am …..


The Unknown Journey


All good things all sweet delight; the sun, life’s beauty, love given freely, laughter, innocent humility they come alive upon birth.

With mirrored feelings along the road of trials and tribulations seasons change when love returns forsaken.

The sighs of broken days remembered, the haze of misread feelings, shattered lives un-mended, the search for love unending.

We live within the salty air,  a swirling mass of forces between us all, the face of love defining all meaning before the fall.

The plight of life, the unknown journey, along our separate paths we choose.

Within the brightest light and through life’s darkest night

we move.

Overheard At the Mall One Day: Funny Shoes, Miles of Smiles, Craftsman Skill Saws, She Cracks Him Up .. The End

Was the Harley guy good looking too. Whoops, I hate those pony tails on grown men.

images-1Suddenly you realize the world is back to normal. People are walking by. You’re standing with this guy having a friendly conversation. The guy reaches over, touches your arm and says, ‘’You have a nice face.” You’re caught off guard again. You don’t know what to say.  He turns as he walks away says, ‘’But I don’t know about your taste in shoes.”  He’s grinning ear to ear.  He gives you one of those little side to side kid waves.  Then, he’s gone.

I was hoping he’d walk down to Sears with me to buy a Craftsman skill saw that was on sale that day … ..

I bet you’ve always wanted a circular saw, haven’t you?

Hey man … you live in your world, I’ll live in mine.

But the guy was me!

Well ok. Hey! When you’re done talking, do you want to drive over to Sears with me? I hear there’s a sale on tools …

You crack me up.

Pause … thinking …

The End …


Overheard At the Mall One Day: Harley Davidsons, Pigtails and Broken High Heeled Sh ….

continued … Cool!  I’m an astronaut on the Planet Mall, right?  

The guy picks up the broken shoe, looks up at the Harley guy and says, ‘’Did you say you wanted to try these on?’’  The Harley guy shakes his head.  He walks away smiling.

Obviously a man of few words.  

There’s a nice looking middle aged woman standing by watching. The ‘crocs guy’ is still laughing. He says to the woman, ‘’Do you know anybody with one leg?” She says, ‘’Not now but, maybe later.” They both laugh.  She walks away with a big smile on her face.

She didn’t say she liked my shoes?  

Well, you know this scenario could go on forever. The Harley guy might tell you to go in and have a cup of coffee while he returns the shoes.  Or, the guy wearing the crocs might say, ‘’You look just like a cheerleader I used to know.”

I HATE being typecast as a cheerleader!

For some reason this cracks you up. Your face is all red. The guy seems to have known it’d make you laugh. How in the hell did he know?  He has this sly look on his face, looking straight into your eyes smiling. You feel a kind of attachment. You don’t know what this is about,  but it seems like something strange and wonderful has happened.

Was the Harley guy good looking too. Whoops, I hate those pony tails on grown men.

Suddenly you realize the world is back to normal. People are …..

continued … The End In Sight  (or is it??) oh yeah .. wull, what was this all about anyway … ?? ??

Overheard At the Mall One Day In Front of Starbucks … continued …

continued … The guy gets a big kick out of himself doesn’t he? 

Let’s just say this guy loves it when the ordinary world turns upside down.

Pause … So what happens next?

Suddenly time stops. It seems like no one is paying attention anymore.  People are like blurs or streaks of color passing by.  That half of your world has just dropped away but it doesn’t really matter since you don’t need it in this new world anyway.  It’s almost like you’re living inside one of those snow globes.  The world is swirling around while you and the characters in your world are stationary.

Sounds like I’ve been seduced because the situation is so ‘ridiculoso’ …

Then, for some reason, you start to laugh. You realize there’s something incredibly ridiculous about the whole situation.  It’s so out of the ordinary.  So unique for you.  And you have this super awareness!  Which you love!  You look at the guy you bumped into.  There’s  something about his face.  Or his laugh. Or both.  It’s so honest. Spontaneous.  It seems like he’s telling you the truth about the absurdity of life without saying a word.  Maybe he set the whole thing up for your enjoyment. Like it all was SUPPOSED to be funny and you’re just going along with the flow … like you’re in a Saturday Night Live routine making it up as you go along.

pause … wull,  it’s pretty obvious you’re not in the same world anymore isn’t it?

Cool!  I’m an astronaut on the Planet Mall, right?  continued … 

So, when the guy picks up the broken shoe he looks up at the Harley guy and says …..