tuned in to see faces every and anywhere
we look for recognition
even projecting a Man onto the Moon
faces sailing clouds
two eyes a nose and a mouth
we just do not want to be alone.

I found her out there
and full of despair
that I winced besiege
fore I knew she was here
but on my final leg that she was mine
with a stone on her fraught a milestone pledge received
by  her water rapids would sound so sweet
with a blessing she'd now invoke
and her rapture I learned only her woods may inspire.

If you live green
You will be green and as green as
Green is green and you know
That green is pious green!

If you live green
No predator will hack the tree
And its promising children
Who bear and carry our joys

If you live green
No Partridge will kick the bucket
At his bow for his daily sport
And its offsprings will play

If you live green
No colonization at lawns and crops
And the harvest will prosper full
Satisfying our sheer needs

If you live green
Life will be evergreen as it was
And  It will be as same as God
Wants us to sustain it for its lustre

Seated on the edge of the riverbank
Watching raindrops fall across the city light's reflection;
A living Monet of color and fluidity and the sutble refractions of life.
The bridge above me is humming with traffic,
The railyard to my left fills the cold night with the timeless bellowing of midnight trains,
Used syringes lay amongst the driftwood here.
A crudely painted ******* adorns the trail head,
Overgrown with brambles bushes and blackberry vines.
A solitary ****** cruises the shallow dregs of shore
On an endless quest to find her mate,
Painfully unawares of his fate,
Fallen victim to a poacher,
Some careless fool with a greedy and discontented heart.
The tents and tarps of Portland's homeless, the lost and forgotten, line these hillsides;
Their many dreams and hopes lie broken amidst the rubble of this everyday existence.
I sit here often, smoking and thinking, and watching the ever changing lights.
Every now and again I take a picture, gather a stone, or fall asleep to the sound of rain
And the smell of earth and leaves and rushing water.

Photograph an evening sunset
of a lake, wide and long,

one thousand times more
blue than the morning star,

and vulnerable, like a late
October Rose of Sharon

blossom, minutes before
fall’s first killing frost;

hold the picture close, as
it is your life, our lives.

Lesser orb of the night, guide of seasons and counter of days. Orange giver of shimmering light, mysterious body that comes then fades away. In season you mark the harvest, giving the time to bring the bounty in. Wheat, Corn and Pumpkins are brought in from the fields, as the chill of fall sets in. Hay rides and Bond fires become a normal scene. Lovers walk under your light as they think of comfort and warmth in each others arms. In your own way, you stand watching the mysteries of life and love, as summer ends and fall  begins, marked by the harvest moon.