We went to dinner, which apparently is what everyone else does on an ordinary weekday night. We sat in a booth, my daughter and wife across from me. Dad look. Dad look,” pointing passed me. a bald guy! you know, I say, some day I could be bald. But I don’t want a bald father!
there’s always love available. our job is to find it. when we are stuck looking for where its not we won’t find it. only when we commit ourselves to finding the love that’s available, even in impossible situations, will we be able to find it. Some trees are already bare, and the leaves that remain,…
I’m seeing poems everywhere; in text messages, shop window signs, even in the subtitles on TV. This confirms that everyone is a poet, some just can’t dare to take the chance to show it.
Apparition in Seattle
The fog was beginning to burn off and reveal the sun streaked sky. A voice in my head rang like a hymn, saying, why work today? Stop and go. Stop and go. A little closer now. A little closer now.
The glint of cottonwood leaves and helicopter seeds spiraling down like the underbelly of the osprey that circles above above the Cedar river above the moss laden and bare maple crowns. Rushing river. Splunk of rocks. We held each other. I closed my eyes to realize everything is spinning in some secret way. And I’m…
Spring Lake/Lake Desire (Haibun)
I just keep plowing forward everyday without knowing where i’m going. We left the house thinking we were searching for freedom; the american ideal. I wanted to see what Ken Burns was looking for all these years, put a face to the name in a way. We figured freedom meant it was free, so we…
Happy birthday! Sprigs of hemlock hang low with frost. The blue-green spruce stands in contrast to the seas of fog covering the valley. Heart shaped leaves of cottonwood hang stiff and sing autumns choral defiance. It’s the first frost and today, It is your birthday. Today is the First Day. It’s like this. And it…
Of Nature and Inspiration
Have you ever had this happen before? Inspiration strikes: An author brings words to life, everything flows, there’s an intuitive nature to it; harmony. It’s poetry fused with knowledge and drama. More beautiful than anything you’ve ever writ, but still makes you wanna try, because it’s not stuck up writing. It fills you, though, with…
Old Man Tree Frog (A Poem)
Took a walk to visit with the frog that lives in the tree. Gambel oak to be exact. But he had turned in as we were walking up. The branches thick with fuzz, leaves turning crispy and yellow and brown, green splotches and spindly spines. The earth moves in a post drizzle dance we wait…
I subscribe to leading a life directed by a knowledge that memory is not only some place in your brain, that memory is stored in the muscles, nerves, and cells of your body and that when you learn to trust that memory you can live poetry.