Tuesday, December 1, 2009
A November chill is biting at the ends of my ears
As I pull up the collar
Golden memories falling from the trees
Slowly dissipate with the wind
All the thoughts that built up to the day
Becoming harder to keep them straight
Ones hope to never loose
Are of those being with you
Hiding my dry cold hands
In the snugged lined pockets
Of the coat given in the better of times
There’s a key I just can’t let go
Dragging my feet to a path
Knowing too that will come a time
When the leaves thick and deep
Will had faded and gone.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Down the lonely highways
Searching for an un-traveled road
As images scroll by
Trespassing signs fogging up your mind
You keep pressing on
For a shot that will make the day
Just one more curve
Around another hill
One last stop to get what you can
Fingers itch for another click
So many blurring the memory
Now the battery is running low
By the time you get back
Thoughts start to seep in
Thinking about what was exposed
Those settings, so many ISO’s
Before you reach a place to check
You think of all the time you spent
Feeling yourself turning gray
As you walk in door
Pulling cards, finding a reader
Looking for what you did
As the blood leaves you head
Huddle in a corner
Laptop fully opened
The lights dimmed
Sorting through the captures
Like an excited kid
Struggling to figure out
A ribbon on a larger gift
Then surprised by
What you got
Were never planed
Spouting old clichés
Looking forward to another day
Pretending to be a photographer
With the camera securely in your hand
Framing everything you see
Along the way...
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Another night in
A state of bliss
What a ride
Nothing is going to bother me
It’s like winning a lottery
Only if I could hang on this feeling
All of my days
I have a neighbor
Who wont listen to his kids
But gets his advice
From a pet who won’t go outside
I’d been feeling this good
Not feeling any ills
Don’t know where it came
If you ask how I got here
I couldn’t tell you with a straight face
I don’t care
Just as long as it never goes away
There’s a friend at work
Who left his home and a ugly woman
Now he’s happier
But hooked up with even an uglier one, still
The world might be falling apart
Nothing is going to cause it to shake
Things may not come my way
Everything is all right
I know I’m in a happy place…
Monday, October 19, 2009
Sunrays sprays through the shutters
Sleep rubbing from my eyes
Bluebird sings the morning
Fawns tasting their first dew
Gathering fragrant herbs
Under the crisp blue skies
Welcoming a new day's greeting
From a lower mossy limb
Flowered sweeten air
Linen drape wicker basket
I’d sat by my side
Fast falling into a portabella dream
Reaching a world where dreams go
Time measured by the sun’s beams
Entering Eden’s soft place
Sitting on a mushroom stool
Making light talk
With all the creatures
Great and small
The shadow had landed on the dial
Time is short
And now I must go
Everyone there knows
I will come again, to be back this way…
Friday, October 16, 2009
There’s a place where we go
A door opens to protected you in the night
There’s a place where we hide
To break away from the fears that sit deep inside
There we find a place, troubles are left behind
Darkness broken by the light
We allow ourselves to be free
Our cares float away a drift in the sky....
Friday, October 9, 2009
I hadn’t been around for a while I very much apologize for my absentee. I really hope I hadn’t lost any of you the friends I so much relied on and truly care about in our spherical blog world we had made.
I had drifted in and around from time to time. Flying on the weaken wings of inspirations with all of you continually on my mind, slowly starving my cerebral expressive ability to write.
So I thought a little about Greek mythology and what they had to experience with the scribes responsible for the arts and penned this scribble today.
Long corridors, the cold echoes
Spills down the halls
Glimpsing sound of footsteps
Ever coming close enough
A penned yell, “Show yourself”
Illusive sights fade
For an inspirational key
Turning of the head
Warm wind fills the lungs
Silent words seeps in
Breeze without a sound
Each finger falls
Letters drift into place
Inks the page
Tear soaked parchments
Pains streams into verse
Pages of words
You know hold true
A palindromic liquidity
Saturday, August 8, 2009
One day our pain won’t lay the rules
Light fills every room
Kindness catches on
Hunger is not a norm
Selfish acts are unseen
Goes on to be ignored
When I pray
There will be an end to war
Power isn’t a payment for evil
Shadows lose their darkness
The world will be out of the gloom
Love is for everyone to hold
And there is hate no more
Thursday, July 9, 2009
You have yours
I have to live with mine
As it whittles away
Leaving us in the day
Where the world was ours
Now Ghosted memories
Echoes of a love
In the disappearance of time.
Like, to so many of us, feeling that she was the most beautiful woman with a voice of powerful alluring talent, ever to be bestowed onto the world and the music scene and no one has ever come close.
Every time I reflect on the times back then, she and her music is always been part of those memories for me.
As a lot of us had discovered, time stays for no one.
Happy Birthday Linda, I will always love you.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
I had mentioned awhile back that when I was so frustrated with my writings about five years ago, I had destroyed them all with a ritual burning.
Well it had so happened that I ran across few of them loosely in a forgotten storage in my humble desert dwelling of a home, carefully while on the watch of a cantankerous black widow or two that may be lingering about. I sorted through some of them, just wondering what the hell was I thinking or what girl did I think would be interested in my pocket full of my mumbled scribbles I would sometimes quickly pull out to dedicate to.
Some I may share with you, some I probable won’t, but you will have to keep in mind that these were done in a different time and place that the world is in today, that my world was in.
Some were written when I was in my teens. I was a drummer, songwriter and singer in a popular neighborhood band in the Seattle area. It was in the late sixties so much was happening at a very fast rate then.
I always considered myself to be so enriched with the cultural scene back then, fortunately I was able to be in the thick of it on some level or another. It still has so much to do with what influences of our world today and that of my own. So much so, I can’t escape it, even in my way of thinking, my thoughts and emotions, sometimes will creep in, finding them in my current writings and art, that still reflects on how I felt.
Chasing Dreams was one of those short ones I wrote back then and this one Dream of Dreams was one if I remember right was one we wrote music to.
We'd like playing in the parks such as Greenlake, Woodland, the fountain at the Seattle Center and a little park by my house called Ross Park. We would sit around in a half circle to which people gathered, it was another opportunity for us to try out new songs we were working on.
To me some of these are kind of dorky with a hint of cheesiness to them. Hey! Can’t say I didn’t warn you, I was young and flying free.
Dream of Dreams
I slip away to a place
Where no one goes
A place no one knows
I live where
My dreams come true
When I go to my dreams
There’s never no wrong
I dance to the serenade
Of my own songs
In the land of dreams
There are those who care
In my dream of dreams
Friends walk with me
For how ever long
Come with me
In my dreams
Laugh while we run
When comes the night
There’s no fear
We’ll sit on the clouds
Stars in the sky
We’ll wish on every one
Milky way holds
The wish I dream
Is you would be with me
In my dreams
Dream all your dreams
I know it’s a place
Where your dreams
Will come true
For you too
Dare to dream
Friday, July 3, 2009
Monday, April 13, 2009
Saturday, April 11, 2009
The experience wasn't to long ago but during my rehabilitation is when I rediscovered writing and the blogs at the end of last year. Thanks to you all, I am much a stronger person.
Closing the door behind me
Warming sun splashes my side
Stepping onto the sidewalk
Echoes of distant noises
Something tells me
this is not going to be an usual day
People circle around me
Asking if I’m feeling any pain
I don’t understand what they are saying
The sunny skies are turning grey
Cares I’ve had now have no meanings
My body wants to drift to another place
I notice a bird flying then fading dark
Someone is calling out
Questions from the past
Then a light pokes its way from the deep
Calling for my name
I try to recognize those who are around
Feeling their hands as I still drift away
Fainting voices start getting louder
I think your going to be OK
We’re going to give you something
For your pain
Down the long halls as ceiling lights pass by
To a cold room
Where all is quiet now
Knowing something has gone so wrong
Bewildered left in my daze
Thursday, March 12, 2009
When my grandson would come over to our place, he’s so amazed by the cuckoo clock. It would bring back the memories of my grandmother I was very close to growing up. (From my archives)
Cuckoo Bird Where Did You Go?
Tis a happy day for me
Off to Gramps house to play you see
Tis one thing I don't understand
Little black house with a little white hand
Every time, when the cuckoo comes out
I run behind the living room couch
That little cuckoo bird hid back in
Gramps! Darn! I miss him again?
To see him, I have to be quick as a hick-up
Wait 'til the big hand points straight up
Finally I get to see him, little bird I'd heard before
He came out on his perch, then slammed the door
When I go to Gramps and hear the tick-tock
I see the cuckoo bird I love so much
Up there on the wall
In his big black clock…
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
A lot of us seem to have been hit with one type of sickness or another, maybe cabin fever over a prolonged winter or some been feeling kind of down.
And others had been missing in action in our blogging neighborhood, till they get feeling better. Well, we will be glad to have you all back.
I felt, I would like to lighten the mood a bit. So I thought I would post this one.
It came up when I was watching a documentary about it a few years back, for one thing I couldn’t believe it warranted a documentary. But hey, they have to fill the time slots with something right?
I used to like it at one time, before my health conciseness took hold several years ago.
I knew that there was an almost cult type following over the stuff and that Hawaii was it’s capital of consumption. Who would have ever known?
How ever I did write this just to be funny, it was one I never took very serious and I sure never planed on putting it out here.
And this will probably gross some of you out, and some of the closet eaters of the stuff, that may never want to admit it, but then that's not really the point
We need some smiles going on…
One day feeling hungry
Like I never felt before
Decided to go down to the
Neighborhood grocery store
Fumbling through the isles
Looking for a tasty treat
Found a strange square can
Amongst other luncheon meats
So many ways to prepare it
You can cook it in a pan
Or slap it between some bread
With eggs and other types of ham
I prefer it with taters
Or any way you can
One thing you never want to do
Is read the ingredients of your very
Own can of Spam...
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Last of the golden light
Slowly fading behind the islands
Dark coal blanket the pinhole sky
Just enough to let some of the light
Reveal the San Juans out across her lap
Mother, I called out to her
Nature snuggles gently to her bosoms
All that is pure in her woods tonight
Answering back a rising lunar sphere
Outline a doe and fawn
Orcas enchant as sirens of the deep
Feeling safe in her arms
She comforts me
Drifting off in my own repose
Wakening by a familiar bald eagle
Acting as a sentry
In the morning twilight
Miles of plush velvet clouds
Laid out across the bay
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
A few of weeks ago I was looking for a poem I’d had written couple of years before, my brother wanted me to find one he’d remember and I’d didn’t. Some of you may remember, titled A Child’s Angel.
Some of you that know me, my style, is that every now and then I like to write in the simplest of forms. I just like the impact better sometimes.
I’d had found several that I will eventually post, when the time is right. This one is on the same line, of my series of the simple pleasure poems. I’d had already have some of them in earlier post on this blog, one titled Question is one I did after I wrote It’s the Little Things…
It’s the Little Things
How can we ignore
The simple things
As a child smiles
In the rain
On a Cold day
How can anyone ignore
What I see
When I look into
Feelings of the heart Of whom We don't even know
An elder’s admiration
For each other
Or ignore the
Sound of an
Of a small wooden flute
On the forest floor
How can we ignore
A kitten’s cry
For a mothers milk
A single crocus
In the snow
In the spring
How can we ignore
Sunday, February 15, 2009
I was suffering a bout of writers block, a sort of lapse in creativity.
So I’d, diverted my attentions away from blogging for the time being. I had a few other projects that needed some attention.
Work a little while on some of my photography stuff, tried to clean up my wood shop and working a little bit on the garden shed, then off to sorting the stain glass and mosaics for future projects.
Plus getting ready to get our business up and going in the next couple of months by spring…
But this one little story kept creeping in my mind; it is about the looking for the creative side of one-self. Being lost in a fantasy world of enriched inspirations while trying to put something artful together, in a world others had gotten lost…
All I had to do was to pay attentions to the subtle clues around everywhere and form guidance or a map if you will, back to one’s creative side, a spirit…
Boy, it sure sounded good in my head though. Now that it is written out, well, I suppose I will be editing it a few times here and there.
Search for the Lost Poem
There’s a time
When the winds are still
A forest path
That leads to nowhere
Lost for words
Hearing a fainted flute
Brings you in further
A path by the pond
There’s a toad laughing
Birds in the trees keep singing
All that is gold
Can fool you
It just is
What it is
Down the trail there’s a stone
With strange markings
Not knowing what they say
Next to a dam
A wise beaver points
The other way
You won’t find it here
What you came for
Whispering through the leaves
Are the voices of those
Their unwritten poems
Songs never sung
Artist left aimless
Leaving the woods
Throwing your best
To the breeze
Hoping not to feel so vulnerable
Or too harshly criticized
Finding all that
Appears to be gold
Will be fooled
Sitting by an old oak
Taking in the surroundings
In the currents of air
Circles the oak
As they wait for you
To catch up
Taking you closer
To the edge of the forest
Out into the meadow
To where you started
Words fall from the sky
Scattered to the ground
Phrases start to emerge
To the writings of self-style
And the awareness of
Sunday, February 1, 2009
I was flipping through some that I’d had written a couple of years ago. My brother was trying to describe one that stuck out in his mind.
I kind of remember it, but then, I kind of didn’t.
Then I ran across this one. Now I remember!
Well, David my little bro, this one’s for you…
We talk a lot on the phone almost every day sometimes upwards of two to four hours.
He’d had put over hundred thousand miles last year listening to lonely songs of those eighteen wheels on the interstate.
I would travel with him sitting at home protected from the elements as he battled blizzards in the Dakotas, struggled through the driving rains in the heartland and the heat in Arizona-Texas.
I wrote this when I knew a couple that had lost their young one through an illness.
I'd remember the sense of helplessness going through it, then the point when one finally succumbs to the fate that’s handed down.
A Child’s Angle
Mommy, will I ever see an angel?
The child’s questions go on
Someday my little one
But when, you can never tell
Storm clouds moves over the young girl’s bed
Hush, my darling you need to sleep
They will take good care of you
Get well, everything will be alright
Mommy, I seen an angel in the room
She was over in the corner
Did she say anything?
She told me not worry; she’ll see me soon
Nurse, comes rushing to her side
Doctor, is there anything that can be done?
It’s up to a higher power now
She needs her rest and some quiet
Mommy, the angel spoke to me tonight
My little one
What did she say?
Sleep, follow my dream and take her hand
In lawns of green on a tree line street
Stands a statue of an angel that looks above
A plaque that reads our little one,
Went to heaven to find her angel to meet.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
The rule as handed down is as describe:
The Lemonade Award is for sites, which show great attitude and/or gratitude! Rules for the award: 1. Put the logo on your blog or post. 2. Nominate at least 10 blogs, which show great Attitude and/or Gratitude! 3. Be sure to link to your nominees within your post. 4. Let them know that they have received this award by commenting on their blog. 5. Nominate your favorites and link to this post. I have nominated the following blogs among us:
Ellyssa ~ EllyNeill Designs
Michele Cameron Drew ~ Digital Artisan
Laura ~ Under The Sheets-Shhh
Grace DeWitt ~ Where Quiet Sits and Dreams
Juliet Wilson ~ Crafty Green Poet
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
I wasn’t going to post this poem, but I decided do go ahead anyway. Some of them I probably never will and several of them I know I never will.
What the heck!
We had a nice intense sunny day. So I started to do a little writing, soaking in the sunrays piercing across the cold winter room.
My three dogs lying across my feet in the sun getting every sliver they could stretch out and reach for
I’d been getting kind of tired of the winter taking so long for the season to pass, I do realize it is just that time of the year and we do have a little while left to go. I think few of us are going through some of the same anxieties of cabin fever. I know I am.
Even though I enjoy having the four defined seasons to cycle through and our summers can be longer than the rest and I’m Ok with that. I need to be outside more than in.
Once the better weather starts I’ll be working more and having less leisure time to spend and that’s Ok too.
Still I couldn’t help it, whittling the hours away thinking of much warmer days in the tall grasses in the fields. Where the forest comes alive the air fills with insects, bees and the seeds floating to find fertile places to settle.
In the spring when the darken chill
Slowly leaves the scene
Crocus sneak through the matted leaves
Poking their heads toward warm sunbeams
Songs of the bird’s carries past the trees
Forest awakens the woods
Creatures magnificent and small
Find the sun where they stood
Painted meadows beyond the shady groves
Is where, you’re leading me
Laying down in the fields
Hidden away in a sea of greens
Holding hands as we do our dance
Bringing honor to the spring
Love in the light of day, careful to
Stay away from the fairy rings
Hurrying to be getting back
Before the sun sets, it's getting late
Leaving the last touch of your hand
Lasting kiss at the garden gate
When the moonlight glows in the window
Through the shears
Dreams fill the room
Of the dance we held near
Seeds we’ve sowed within us
That one spring day
Committing our hearts
Is where we plan to settle and stay
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Walk by the old house the other day
Where the rusted screen door laid
Still empty after all these years
Creaking floors that holds so many tears
Clapboard siding lost the memories
Of what the colors used to be
Broken fence letting the weeds out
Now covers the old living room couch
Walk down the driveway today
Where the kids road their bikes and played
It’s sad it never did sell
All of our dreams that went away and fell
Closed the gate when I left, don’t know why
I think it was something in me, deep inside
The place has become quite the eye sore
I won’t be going back there
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Friday, January 9, 2009
I’d also had been listening to the reports of all the suffering going on all around us from the battering they had been taking from severe whether, the flooding, collapsed buildings, erosion, avalanches, mud slides and just general property losses.
We’ve been pretty lucky so far… I pray that they continue to stay clear from the jaws of an angry earth…
Storms (Acrostic Style Poem)
Straddled within our protective lodge
Tumultuous skins easily feel pain
Our reassuring needs hold us as
Refugees till approaching whether pass
More victuals stored
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Gracious Laura, at Under The Sheets-Shhh had bestowed on me at LostNight Scribblings my first online award ever. I am very honored and grateful.
Thank you very much Laura, I will proudly display it on the mantel of the massive stone fireplace in my great-room.
So the rules to accepting my award are as follows: A) first list 10 honest things about yourself - and make it interesting, even if you have to dig deep! B) Pass the award on to 7 bloggers that you feel embody the spirit of the Honest Scrap.
Passing the award onto 7 other bloggers, well thats OK. But listing 10 honest things about myself, well! That’s reaching into the danger zone now.
I’ll do the best I can, so here it goes, as I tightly grip my chair…
1 When I develop new friends it takes me awhile to allow someone into my bubble space. When I do trust, I hold a lot of value to the friendship no matter how long it last or the stresses that pull on it.
2 Unfortunately have had strong physic abilities that I’d spent a fair amout of effort to ignore a lot of the time, then hate it when I’m right.
3 I’ve came across places that I'm able to quickly discovered that are haunted and I have lived in places that were.
4 I sometimes rely on my sense of humor to much, to a point that even when I’m in serious trouble, like cracking jokes with an ambulance drivers and emergency room doctors.
5 Being a single parent and one of the original Mr. moms in our state probably saved my life.
6 Building a life with my best friend for over twenty years and never having an argument or hurt feelings with each other since we’ve met. I am truly blessed with her.
7 Parenthood was one of the most enriching and rewarding things I’d ever done. Now I spend too much time with our dogs and able to communicate with them, just a little to easy.
8 I’ve always had prided myself of never being the typical guy and gotten along with women better as friends.
9 Sometimes I enjoy spirited arguments, excuse me (debates).
10 I find it annoying that I’ve ruined another shirt, with spoons that seem to leak.
The 7 blogs I would like to pass the “Honest Scrap Award” onto are;
Noelle, Portrait of the Human Heart
Christopher, View From The Northern Wall
K. Lawson Gilbert, Old Mossy Moon
Tracy, Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic
Azakamarina, MY LEMON VIEWS
Prince Naki, THOUGHTS AND OPINIONS
Bastcrystal, Thoughtful Creativity
Monday, January 5, 2009
I mean heck, we sure didn’t look like it or anything. I probably did more than my brothers or sisters. My dad kind of did.
He liked his cowboy look though. He wore the whole thing the hat, dark styled clothes, and rattlesnake proof lineman booths, living in the snake area part of our state and being outside every chance we could get. We had to take precautions.
Sure I have black hair and got dark at the beginning of summer without trying very hard, then been confused as having some kind of Spanish decent and then jokingly blurt out it’s just the Indian part coming out.
Well my dad died in the mid nineties and the point is, that we started poking around in our genealogy more than before after he died. Gathering tons of information along with old photos.
Some of us were noticing who were these people that appeared to be dark skinned and looked to be native Indian as our past relatives? Maybe our dad wasn’t “bull shitting” us after all. Some of the tree rooted out of Canada and northwest Montana he did say we had Blackfoot in us.
I’ve seemed to feel those tugs throughout my life especially while I’m in my meditative or in my creative cycles and phases, which were fairly regular. I’ve always felt a high in the spiritual senses when it came to a communal life that I lived in a long time ago and then with the experiences with earth teachings of wildlife, nature, gardening, herbal medicines, art and now writing. I felt my soul purpose was to express my self through these mediums.
I use to joke with my family of life-long avid hunters and yes mostly with the bow! That the way I hunt is with the camera.
I still have my catch years later and I didn’t have to take the spirit of the animal that deserved to be there. Besides I had no problem with the store gods providing me with the provisions needed to raise my family no matter how much I disliked it, buying stuff I didn’t grow or to make myself.
I’d remembered when we used to go fossil, plant and rock hunting throughout the northwest of the U.S. and up into Canada, even as a kid. That when I would take something from the forest or mountains I would secretly make an offering in the form of a ritualized prayer and asking for the permission for what the earth allowed me to possess, I would reassure the earth spirits that it would only to be use for the purpose of good never greed or evil.
No one ever told me this at the age of ten and twelve about this sort of thing, I felt it in my heart that it was necessary and I should be grateful for what the earth allowed me to have.
But then we’d had also traced some of our ancestry to Germany, England and to cork county Ireland.
We had pretty much at the ends of what we’d had been able to search and left it at that several years ago.
I just can’t help but feel that there is a spirit guide, giving me that nudge now and then.
Some already know how much I believe in angles. I know I have both…
Eyes wander off to a distant skyline
Just below the full moon’s glow
Lone wolf calls to the gathering hills
As my native spirit grows
Sensing Montana’s blood
That circulates within me
Ancestral lines and veins
The Indian mortality
Soul, lends to winds
Easing into a spiritual birth
Nature surrounds me
Native heritage speaks through the stars
Algonquians words, fills the sky
Soul rides on the mighty bird
Transcends my awareness of sight