River birch flowers hang green-gold,
Dangling earrings on beautiful ears;
Morning sun about to break horizon
I never tire of spring, however old;
Her call to life again brings my heart cheer;
I live on promises; Spring delivers here.

A billion, billion blades of grass stand dewed,
Reflecting golden light of rising sun;
They put me in an easy-breathing mood -
Another war with winter has been won.
Now shall I venture out to breathe spring air,
The smell of earth announcing fertile loam,
And I shall leave behind my winter care,
My thrilling blood has stirred me up to roam.

Young horses skitter, so riders beware
Their temperaments flighty,
They launch into air
At the drop of a cap
Or a jackrabbit's leap
They blow up in a second;
You'll land in a heap.

Old horses are easy, calm to the end,
Content to stand faithful and waiting,
Patient with kids and old men,
Almost never unnerved,
They'll take you home always,
Unconscious or tired or drunk,
They're used to your unspoken ways.

Tried to make peace with the Devil...
Left me smoking on the floor.
His chuckle left me all disheveled
As he sauntered out the door.

The contract, signed and duplicated
Left no real peace of mind.
The lawyers say it's complicated;
They'll get back to me sometime.

A fine print clause embedded
Intimates there's something more;
The peace I made is shredded;
I'll hear the flames around me roar.

The politicians have no chance,
Experienced though they be.
The devils celebrate and dance;
The Devil must collect his fee.

Letter in a bottle
Tossed upon the waves
I’m sure no one will ever read
But if you do….

Come find me here
Alone on this lonely island
Bring a pizza, will you, please?
I’m not picky….

Extra cheese, hold the onions,
Sausage and mushrooms,
But never anchovies….

Puget Sound in Fog
Flag drooping, wet, barely moving,
Tide out past the buoys;
The boat tipped,
Waiting water.

Drizzling mist of fog descending
No horizon but the pebbled sand
Herons move grayly in slack water
Hunting fish.

Ragged shoreline stretches to invisibility,
Battered logs, shells, a trillion broken things
Rest in exhaustion, uncaring,
Responding to unceasing chaos.

Tides rising,
Tides falling,
Delivering,
Destroying,
Grinding,
Removing,
Renewing,
Mo­ving to the pull
of earth
and moon
and universe.

Trying to hide.
Someone is coming.

I  recall John Wayne,
Hog leg in leather sheath.

I reach to find the trail gun,
Strip the leather.

Sprawled along the wall,
Behind the bed.

My pursuer arrives,
Looms large over me.

I aim and fan the hammer.
The old gun bucks, belches.

“It might have worked,”
Through gray smoke, he sighs….

Towering over me,
“Were we still alive.”

6-26-3024

Mom took my brother and
I to the cemetery when
we were kids.
Her mother and grandma
were there underneath the
grass and dirt.
The spring breeze felt
good on my face.
We put carnations and
lilacs on all the graves.
She told us stories about
our dead relatives.
The tombstones, with the
dates seemed ancient and
final.

After flowering all the
graves, we went to
the pond and fed
the ducks and swans.
There was a fire in
their eyes.
They were always
hungry.
They gobbled the bread
and swam in circles.

When we became
teenagers, Mom took
us to the cemetery, and
taught us how to drive.
She said it was
safer there.
We couldn't ****
anyone.

Many years later
I took my little sons to
cemetery.
I showed them all
the graves and told
the old family stories.
"That's your grandma,"  I said,
pointing to the tombstone.
"She brought me here,
when I was your age."

My oldest son, Zach, who was
seven at the time said,
"When I get old,
I'm going to bring my kids
here to visit the family.
Will you come with us, Daddy?"
"Sure", I said.
Let's feed the swans.