Today we remember your legacy through the words Aeschylus

"Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget
Falls drop by drop upon the heart,
Until, in our own despair,
Against our will,
Comes wisdom
Through the awful grace of God."

Life is good,
But the 3rd act is a shitshow.

They refer to us as street pigeons, city birds and believe it or not, sometimes even refer to us as flying rats.

The general consensus, we are an unacceptable lot, filth and vermin.

We are thirty strong. We survive day-to-day. Sitting upon the phone lines of this Rugee Vista neighborhood.

Sunny, is our fearless leader. She is a skilled glider, a fast thinker and not to be taken lightly.

Sunny is a mixed breed. Part Show Racer, part Birmingham Tumbler. She’s a warrior that knows the Importance of being resourceful.

Generally speaking, we are a peaceful group, But have been known to attack other birds that infringe upon our territory.

You probably don’t know that Pigeons are an intelligent bunch. We’ve passed the mirror test for self recognition lol… And we are expert navigators.

We are constantly foraging To keep our bodies, minds and youth strong. We mate for Life And we share the responsibility of rearing our young.

So the next time you see us hanging out in the neighborhood, we hope your thoughts will be pleasant ones.

Meantime, we will be rummaging the back alleyways, garbage cans and city parks for food to support ourselves and keep the city clean.

We'll leave you with this qoute that Nelson Mandela once said.

WE ARE THE KINGS OF RUGEE VISTA

“No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite.”

"I go to Nature to be soothed and healed and to have my senses put in order".
- John Burroughs


Part I

When the time was right, he does not hesitate to follow the path, “I've been waiting for this moment a very long time" he says.
Just himself, a Sage XP fly rod, a Golden Prince reel and a selection of March Browns and Slate Drakes. Its a special morning, Autumn 60s, overcast skies and lowlights.


The pathway bends past tall Sugar Maples, Old Stone fences, a Groundhog or two, trout lilies and mountain laurel. Its right here, that his fondest memories reside.
He had come at last to transcend the idea of coming back to the river for a greater purpose. A purpose that makes life worth living, a milestone, his own personal mark on this special place.
The sound of the river is in earshot now. A Chipping Sparrow sounds the alarm and all of Neversinks inhabitance are now on notice….human approaching.


As he reaches the river bank he's transported to a memory of his Granddad. The times when they fished this stretch of the river together.
His Grandfather told him about a time when fly fisherman and fly tiers honored Neversink and made it famous.


We always fished until it was dark. Granddad would light the lantern and we’d walk and talk all the way home. I often felt encouraged that just knowing the importance of this place, brought me luck.

Part II

"So by now, you're probably wondering who I am." "My name is Tom, Tom Murphy." "As a child, I came here each summer to spend time with my grandparents in the town of Roscoe, NY. When I graduated high school, I still came here from time to time whenever I had a college break as an Agronomy major at Cornell. I've always loved this place. It's always been near and dear to my heart."


The very next morning, Tom makes his way down the pathway to the river again. A nice steady Breeze was blowing through the trees, and that's when he heard it again. It's almost as if someone was speaking through the trees and wind. There it was again, this time calling out a whispering "tight lines." This was the very same voice that Tom heard as a child when his Grandfather took him to the river from the very first time.


A light rain began to fall, and Tom took cover under a large hemlock tree. Thunder sounded off in the distance, and everything in the forest was dead silent. As Tom peered across the river, he spotted movement in the adjacent Forest. A second later, a figure appeared on the bank of the river. An older man probably in his late sixties dressed in a top hat and coat, a split bamboo fly rod, and a German Shorthair Pointer by his side. Tom called out, " Good morning, sir. How are you?"

Kurt Carman May 1985
A Rise on Neversink
NOTE: It's important for the reader to know that Theodore Gordon was an American writer who fished the Catskill region of New York State in the late 19th century through the early 20th century. Though he never published a book, Gordon is often called the "father of the American school of dry fly fishing. The poem " A Rise on Neversink" is about a boy and his Grandfather fishing on this famous river called Neversink. The spirit of Gordon, who now lives through nature, encourages and speaks to the boy through wind and water.


A RISE ON NEVERSINK

We head upstream past fallen Hemlocks,
Crawling recumbent through advancing grass.
Wetness prevails from the night before,
And seeing us, the Groundhog shakes his head in disbelief.

Sun perched on Doubletop Mountain,
Shown the rising Brown sip his prey.
I wait, another rise boils the riffle.
My eyes question when, Grandpa gives the nod.

The shooting line breaks the winds path,
Invisible leader curls resisting gravity.
The Skater finds its mark, spinning without authority,
Setting a course through the waters force.

Emerald moss, dripping wet jewels,
Deepens the blue-green pool,
Theodore Gordon's reflection shown now,
He smiles, the breeze whispers "tight lines".

Scrambling from my knees I find
the Brown makes his approach, only to show his back.
My heart pounds and only my gut tightens.
Disappointment whelms over, an encouraging nudge prods from behind.

Gordon's voice once again calls,
Performed by the spruce needles murmur,
Patience s s s s s s  
My hands begin to steady, premise clear.

Double hauling as if my life depended.
As beautiful an object of lavish nature produces,
From underneath the Brown assaults, Skater devoured, groping,
Grasped with bent snout, outmaneuvering his prey.

Tippet strained, reel whining fervent praise,
Moving for swift water, he surfaces briefly
Seeking the currents leverage.
He educates his pupil with the magical ploy.

A broken fly rod hangs down in contempt, against the tender Payne rod.
The evening hatch finds sanctuary,
And only the Catskills angling legend lingers in the air.
This lesson complete, the boy dreams.

                                        And Theodore awaits the mourning encore.

Time waits for no one,
And the memories we cherish nourish our hearts.

It was loved ones that meant so much to us.
Mom with her infectious smile,
Brother Paul who left us far to soon,
Cousin Tom who taught me to milk the cows and,
Grandma Bessie with her soft rhetoric.
They've all left this world!

These photos of my ancestors adorn the walls of my home.
I stare into their eyes and I try to connect with their identity.
Pointing to a picture, my grandson asks, "who is this Pepaw?"
We talk about all the memories and I remark how time flies by silently.
And looking into my eyes, my Grandson says, " I would have loved to known him".
I give him all the details and memoirs of this person so he can pass it on one day.

Those we love never really leave us.
There are things that death cannot touch.

An Encounter on Muleshoe Bend

Chapter 1 – Meeting Mr. Russell
September 2015.
Walking past the upper geyser basin, I stop for a moment to watch the rising sun give way to a buttermilk sky. Its late Fall in Yellowstone and I’m headed to the Madison River to wet a line before winter sets in.
My eyes scan the field dotted with cow elk and the ever elusive bull over looking his harem from the cover of a quaking aspen forest. He keeps a close eye on me as I cross the field towards the river. The cows continue to graze without moving and my eyes are now focused on a tree that’s felled across the Firehole River. I see what appears to be a person straddling the fallen tree that extends over the entire width of the river.
As I move closer to the river my thoughts are confirmed as I see a man sitting on the fallen tree with one leg propped upon a branch right there in the middle of the river. His horse, grazed in the adjacent field. His shoulder length hair and beard were snow white; he was dressed in buckskin fringed pants and buckskin shirt and wore a wonderful hat that had a turkey feather stuck in on an angle.  I cupped my hands around my mouth and called out to him, “Hey old timer good morning to ya”.
He immediately shouts back “Good day to you sir and I’m no **** old timer”!
I walked hesitantly to the edge of river as he puffed on his clay pipe and said to him “Hey, ah, sorry if I offended you, I certainly didn’t mean to be disrespectful”.
“Make no never mind of that” he replied.
I climbed out on the tree next to him and extended my right hand,  “Hi my names Tom Murphy”.
He kind of half heartedly shook my hand answering “My names Osborne, Osborne Russell”.
I said “Well Mr. Russell it’s a pleasure to meet you”. “This is one hell of a view you have from this tree”.
He said “Well I’ve been coming to this very spot for over 150 years!
“150 years” I exclaimed, “How old are you” I asked.
He acted he like didn’t even hear me. He looked at me with these piercing blue eyes and asked “What’s your business up here son”.
“Well I hope to catch a few trout today sir and you’re welcome to join me if you like”.
“OK he said, I suppose I should keep an eye on you just in case we run into those ornery Nez Pierce Indians”.
I kind of chuckle to myself and say “Ok Mr. Russell, If I’m going to catch any fish this morning we better get a move on”.

END CHAPTER ONE

It’s always this time of year that fills me with so much emotion,
A calloused fear that underserved children will suffer an abomination
And be left with nothing to open on Christmas morn.

It really doesn’t take much effort to put a smile on a childs face.
A toy, wrapping paper, some ribbon, a bow and an embrace.
It’s all up to you to conceive the dream and put it in place.

“We make a living by what we get. We make a life by what we give.” ― Winston S. Churchill

Falling into a dream swept sleep,
I'm guided by two spirit forms,
Drifting through seraphic white rooms
That take my breath away.
Its in this space....well, I just feel at home.

"Taking you to see someone special", they tell me.
Our innerstanding guided us to this endless space.
Spit fire stars and hissing comets shown the way
And when Sagittarius kissed the twins,
The music began to play.

There you were, peaking around a comet.
That amazing smile that always defined you as special.
We danced your hand in mine, spinning without authority...
I told you how great it was to see you again.
You kissed my cheek and we embraced for an eternity.

It’s this morning. that our first snow arrives,
Tree’s bare, fallen leaves flush our creek crimson.
The ghosts of the autumn have passed once more,
And my tears for them melt the snow away….

Cat’s song whirls me back to that time in my life,
Back to the “Wild-World” years.
I close my eyes, trying to evoke,
All the special moments we spent together.

As I sit here gathering all the forgotten remnants…I focus on a blurred image of your face.
And in a twinkling, I’m transported to our place on the Hudson we loved so much
Do you recall watching the Sunset and our passion rise?
As we move closer together, our eyeglasses complicate the moment…we try to contain the laughter

Fast forward to a forgotten Berkshire dirt road,
A faded AM station declares “Treat her like a lady”.
I catch a glimpse of the sparkle in your eyes…
And your evanescent smile…as you lean over and kiss my cheek.

When the day is nearly done, we walked; your hand in mine to Promenade Hill
And as we lay there counting stars you whisper “Take the ribbon from my hair”
Only the man in the moon can speak to the adoration we once had for one another.
Petrified memoirs of an opportunity squandered

As this vision begins to fade,
Like the golden clouds of dust in my rearview mirror,
I find myself in the here and now.
Your voice echoes in my head

I’ll never forget…….

Your amazing smile,

Gazing in your beautiful eyes,

The way you made me laugh,

….And the ribbon in your hair.

As the Sun sets and the day is done,
I reflect upon my life once more.

The things I did well, but much thought,
Is given to the things I would have changed.

I could have done this, or could have done that,
And if I did........things would have certainly been different.

Life's journey causes us to take a second look at our choices.
It gives us an opportunity to look at our mistakes from all angles.

Life is a drawing with no eraser and thinking is required.

Raise your head and your eyes will follow.

Did you ever have one of those days,
That causes more than a few eyebrows to raise?
Black clouds looming inside your head,
And fools rush in where angels fear to tread? (a.pope)

Then start by lifting up just one corner of your mouth
Point it towards the sky, DO NOT go south.
And with your index finger, push up the other flection,
Keep it right side up in the very same direction!

With this smile take a long deep and meaningful breath,
And Sing a song that warms your heart...as your mind forgives & forgets.
Stand tall young one, cause your living in the light,
This day has past but tomorrow you'll reignite!

I'm paying tribute to one of the finest Poets I know, Tony Hoagland. He recently passed away from Pancreatic Cancer at 64 years young. This is one my  absolute favorites and I believe you'll love it also.*

Romantic Moment


After the nature documentary we walk down,
into the plaza of art galleries and high end clothing stores

where the mock orange is fragrant in the summer night
and the smooth adobe walls glow fleshlike in the dark.

It is just our second date, and we sit down on a rock,
holding hands, not looking at each other,

and if I were a bull penguin right now I would lean over
and ***** softly into the mouth of my beloved

and if I were a peacock I’d flex my gluteal muscles to
***** and spread the quills of my cinemax tail.

If she were a female walkingstick bug she might
insert her hypodermic proboscis delicately into my neck

and inject me with a rich hormonal sedative
before attaching her egg sac to my thoracic undercarriage,

and if I were a young chimpanzee I would break off a nearby treelimb
and smash all the windows in the plaza jewelry stores.

And if she was a Brazilian leopardfrog she would wrap her impressive
tongue three times around my right thigh and

pummel me lightly against the surface of our pond
and I would know her feelings were sincere.

Instead we sit awhile in silence, until
she remarks that in the relative context of tortoises and iguanas,

human males seem to be actually rather expressive.
And I say that female crocodiles really don’t receive

enough credit for their gentleness.
Then she suggests that it is time for us to go

to get some ice cream cones and eat them.

i peer through this looking glass,
and watch the high tide fill the arigideen river.
quickly, i walk the path, as i try to catch,
the dusk light over the estuary.

its where the gannet perches to find warmth,
i start a fire to do the same.
in this place, by the sea, i find an all-embracing refuge,
and my eyes converge on the beach below.

bitter-vetch flowers line the path where she walks,
its when my eyes lay sight of her,
i feel that this might well be irelands most beautiful wild flower,
and I think to myself...every day is like Sunday when I see her walk by.

Section 25, Lot 1115…Gate of Heaven Cemetery….Hawthorne New York
Number 3 in your program, number 1 in your hearts.

Gramps would tell me all the stories and what a big deal they made when he walked up to bat.
Number 3..3..3, Babe..babe…babe…, Ruth..ruth..ruth!  Followed by the roar of loving fans!

Today Babe, I’m leaving you a Sabretts hotdog & a fifth of Scotch.
I know you’re out there cooling off under a shade tree with a cabbage leaf on your head.

1-2-3 who are rooting for? Well it ain’t those lousy Red Sox's!
It’s the Babe doing the walk up to “Ain’t She Sweet, See her walking down the street."

The cathedral of baseball, the Bronx Zoo,
The House that Ruth built right there at 161st and River.

You just can't beat the person who never gives up!

On the front porch of this Colonial,
Its there I long to be, because,
It could speak to all the memories,
when the blue door was red.

Memories, those that were good and not so good.
My mom’s bleeding hearts, framed the garden entrance,
Joined by legions of Dutch Iris’ and Peonies,
The lot of them, were a happy bunch when the summer rain fell.

The sun room on the 2nd floor was my much loved space.
It was there I tried writing prose and poetry,
And in the winter, the birds would come to the frosted window,
I’d place some popcorn on the window sill and sing them a song to warm their hearts.

The two enormous Maple trees, would reach out with loving arms,
Nurturing birds, squirrels and me in 62….. the day Norma Jean died.
It was there in my room, in the early morning, you could hear the Hudson River Barge blow its horn.
It gave me such a reassurance that everything would be ok.

Thank you for the warmth you bestowed and for the spirit of Dr. Early,
Who would join our family in evening hour, when the fireplace roared.

Morning meditation.... eyes closed,
Impetuously, it connects with me.

Geometric spinning images
Smiling faces drone closer

And then, a large "A" strobes,
Followed by a large "M".

I immediately think of Alan.
"Is this a message from you" I ask?

Faces begin to move into focus,
A tear runs down my cheek.

I question "Is this really you or do my closed eyes deceive me"?
This is answered with my name spelled out letter......by......letter.

My breath goes cold, I can't feel myself
What in Gods name!!

Orbiting motion, whirling faster as it surrounds me
It's as if it lifts me up defying gravity.

"Enough", I scream out
At once ...the visitant departs


And I open my eyes.

It’s something I think about often,
Do we fully understand the fragility of this life we possess?

And suddenly a loved one is taken …it inflames you to think.
Every consciousness is a precious and fragile gift.

These lives of ours are fleeting, gone in a minute.
When you suddenly understand this, everything fades into the background.

Pushing 70 now… I choose to soar out of bed joyfully rejoicing each morning,
That life has granted me another day above the dirt.

Life is strong and weak…it’s a paradox.
Keep your mind strong my friends, don’t hide behind your fears.

This life of yours is an amazing gift….live it with a smile!

When the harvest moon,
climbs above the Horizon, my mind finds you.

When the Thunder sounds,
a glint of how strong our love was, fills my eyes.

As the trees sway to and fro,
i remember our walk through the cadence of flowering fields

And as the rain falls down,
so did our love end so many years ago.

But As the sun peeks through the clouds,
I see a ray of hope and that’s enough for me.

There, on the Camels nose, kneels the Praying Monk
Surpassing time and space, he prays endlessly for all mankind.

As I climb the Camelback, I make my way to his feet...on my knees
Guardians on my left and my right remind me..."He knows your here"

I take a deep breath and ask a question of him,
He looks deep into my soul and I feel his hand of stone upon my head.

He tells me "Worry does not empty tomorrow of it's sorrow"
Looking up at him, I see a loving smile for all humanity.

And It's then and there I realize, he'll be right here till the end of time.

NINETEEN

We walk together through scorched ravines.
Cutting paths through ashen yellowed undergrowth.
Beads of perspiration, our faces flushed,
The gusting wind embraces us as if to hold us back from completing our objective.

Six minutes of Safety our mission, premise clear,
We attack the fire with grit & opposing force.
Smoldering vegetation extinguished beneath our feet
And a Jack Rabbit makes his move to escape the approaching flames.

And in the distance, the Demon ‘Fire’ & his accomplice ‘shifting winds’ plan their conspiracy,
They look down upon there victims with malicious contempt.
Hands clenched as if to enjoy their fatal actions….
And with swift exploit they entrap the men.

As the men peer through the flames they see Angels on the Horizon.
And they arrive to carry off their heroes to paradise.
Making their way through the Milky Way……. past Jupiter & Mars,
Bound for a place called “The New Jerusalem”.

A welcoming carpet of stars marks their arrival and the Son shone bright!
And as they approach the city, their smiling faces are welcomed by oceans of loved ones & friends afar.
No more tears, no more pain, no more worries…only happiness abounds
Because the hotshots from Granite Mountain have arrived home, safe and sound.

-Kurt Carman 2013

It's days like this one, Mothers Day,
That I once again try to make sense of it all.
Trying to understand why you left us so suddenly at 46.

Closing my eyes I think of our happiest moments,
The possibility of seeing you again if only in my dreams,
And the excitement of our impending reunion one day.

The annual blooming of Pink Drift Roses,
Explains my never ending love for you.
Even the Butterflies know your name.

...And they return each summer to kiss the sun and light upon your shoulder.

I Love You Mom

Tonight’s meditation takes me to an elevated plane
It captivates those that stare from below.
A spirit friend of days past… sends me warm wishes.
Giving me confidence to live my life past my inconsistencies.

This level ascends without end.
And there, in the light, I hear a voice call out to me.
“There’s a reason you were born with this warm heart and profound emotion….
Let it be a focal point for others…showing them that love passes all understanding."

“If the good is sown, the good is collected; you know this law of Karma.”
“So amplify your emotion and warm heart, show the world what you've received.”
“Everything connects to everything else.”
And I stand alone now…renewed… by the words and the warmth of the Sun.

One of my favorite William Bliss Carman poems...even though a Canadian by birth..it goes without saying that I believe all the Carman's are connected. Bliss I love your heart felt words!

EARTH VOICES

I heard the spring wind whisper

Above the brushwood fire,

“The world is made forever

Of transport and desire.



“I am the breath of being,

The primal urge of things;

I am the whirl of star dust,

I am the lift of wings.



“I am the splendid impulse

That comes before the thought,

The joy and exaltation

Wherein the life is caught.



“Across the sleeping furrows

I call the buried seed,

And blade and bud and blossom

Awaken at my need.



“Within the dying ashes

I blow the sacred spark,

And make the hearts of lovers

To leap against the dark.”



II



I heard the spring light whisper

Above the dancing stream,

“The world is made forever

In likeness of a dream.



“I am the law of planets,

I am the guide of man;

The evening and the morning

Are fashioned to my plan.



“I tint the dawn with crimson,

I tinge the sea with blue;

My track is in the desert,

My trail is in the dew.



“I paint the hills with color,

And in my magic dome

I light the star of evening

To steer the traveller home.



“Within the house of being,

I feed the lamp of truth

With tales of ancient wisdom

And prophecies of youth.”



III



I heard the spring rain murmur

Above the roadside flower,

“The world is made forever

In melody and power.



“I keep the rhythmic measure

That marks the steps of time,

And all my toil is fashioned

To symmetry and rhyme.



“I plow the untilled upland,

I ripe the seeding grass,

And fill the leafy forest

With music as I pass.



“I hew the raw, rough granite

To loveliness of line,

And when my work is finished,

Behold, it is divine!



“I am the master-builder

In whom the ages trust.

I lift the lost perfection

To blossom from the dust.”



IV



Then Earth to them made answer,

As with a slow refrain

Born of the blended voices

Of wind and sun and rain,

“This is the law of being

That links the threefold chain:

The life we give to beauty

Returns to us again.”

It’s something my parents insisted on,
Preparing for the trials and tribulations our world endures.
Thinking about how I’ll react to impending circumstances.
Overcoming adversity using my heart as well as my mind.

And in my later years I’m starting to understand,
Why they begged me to always be the better man.
So let these words sink in to your heart and mind,
Forget the hate you hear and those that try to trivialize,
The following things I memorized; so many years ago........

I was taught to be the better person
I was taught that relationships were built on honesty
I was taught to be a good listener
I was taught to be polite
I was taught to be patriotic
I was taught to be emotionally open
I was taught to fight against Injustice
I was taught and encouraged to smile often
I was taught to be humble
I was taught to be generous with my belongings
I was taught to feed the hungry
I was taught to have respect for all races
I was taught to have compassion for the less fortunate
I was taught to live by the Golden Rule
I was taught that unjust criticism is often a disguised compliment
I was taught a right from a wrong
I was taught to believe in a creator
I was taught that war is a terrible thing
And most importantly;
I was taught that acts of Love & Kindness can change the world.

Reciting Flanders Field,

My tears soak this hallowed ground,

Single red Poppy tribute,

A remembrance of those fallen.

 

I stand in silence ………

And silence speaks when words cannot.

“Lest we forget” 11/11/2017

Day breaks on Doubletop Mountain, shadowing villages below.
Three-thousand eight hundred feet tall, it captures the eye!
And standing at attention there in front of me, a battalion of Sugar Maples in full…. Fall…. Regalia!
Cascading tones of Crimsons, Burgundy, scarlet reds and Golden Hue.

Gazing over Dunk Hill as farmer’s plow  fields, turn again for fertility,
There are only brief streams of life giving sunlight, and now the sky turns to a pale grey.
Me, well I live for this time of year….enjoying the evening autumn constellations,
Or Moms dining table adorned with Indian corn and blackberry canes!

Bessie's Margaretville home begins the fall ritual of canning and drying.
Breaking out winter clothes…as she proclaims "no whites after Labor Day"!
The last bit of warmth now dwells just behind the Catskill’s Harvest Moon,
And the V of geese honk their good-byes to the summer sun.

One of my favorite writers and naturalist John Burroughs. I've read a lot of his essays and think he's one of America's greatest treasures*

"In October, a maple tree before your window lights up your room like a great lamp. Even on cloudy days, its presence helps to dispel the gloom."
-John Burroughs

As I drifted off last evening, I had no idea I’d see you again.
But there you were in my dream and it was wonderful to see you again my friend.
You made your way through this celestial space to meet me at the roily water’s edge,
And a smile came upon your face and it illuminated the skies.
….”and in the distance, I could hear Wolfgangs “Eine Kleine Nachtmusik” playing”

“How are you John?” I asked.
“I couldn’t be better Kurt because this Kingdom is so special” he replied.
And we tarried there awhile and shared memories with one another,
We reminisced of our childhood, growing up, and our happiest moments in life.
….“I felt as though something in my life had prepared me for this time with him”

As the clouds sped above us, you told me how much you missed your wife and children,
and how much you looked forward to helping them cross this river one day.
More than anything I needed John's help with this question... "If you see my Mom, would you tell her I love her and that I miss her every day?”
He assured me he would do his best to give her the message.
…”And just then, a quote appeared and it read “the smallest deed is better than the greatest intention”

And as I stood on one side of the river and you the other,
I flashed John the live long and prosper gesture and he to me.
He began playing one of my favorites on his Sax, and he disappeared into the clouds above me.
I awoke, still hearing his parting words resonating in my head….
**….Don’t cry because I’m gone, smile because I live on”

Today the angels arrived to receive your broken body and,
They placed you upon this peace train to take you home again.

Your non-violent mission for freedom will breathe past eternity,
Because the proverb reminds us… “you cannot cover the sun with one hand”

“Even if I am crushed into powder, I will embrace you with ashes” Liu Xiaobo

Remembering the 19 Granite Mountain Firefighters we lost 4 years ago - I wrote this one for the boys - RIP


We walk together through scorched ravines.

Cutting paths through ashen yellowed undergrowth.

Beads of perspiration, our faces flushed,

The gusting wind embraces us as if to hold us back from completing our objective.



Six minutes of Safety our mission, premise clear,

We attack the fire with grit & opposing force.

Smoldering vegetation extinguished beneath our feet

And a Jack Rabbit makes his move to escape the approaching flames.



And in the distance, the Demon ‘Fire’ & his accomplice ‘shifting winds’ plan their conspiracy,

They look down upon there victims with malicious contempt.

Hands clenched as if to enjoy their fatal actions….

And with swift exploit they entrap the men.



As the men peer through the flames they see what seems to be Angels on the Horizon.

And they arrive to carry off their heroes to paradise.

Making their way through the Milky Way……. past Jupiter & Mars,

Bound for a place called “The New Jerusalem”.



A welcoming carpet of stars marks their arrival and the Son shone bright!

And as they approach the city, their smiling faces are welcomed by oceans of loved ones & friends afar.

No more tears, no more pain, no more worries…only happiness abounds

Because the hotshots from Granite Mountain have arrived home, safe and sound.

In my mind, I must have tried to paint your face a million times.
Throughout the years, I’ve patch worked you together, one piece, a little at a time.

The Art of Memory suggests that I should start with the color of your eyes
As I recollect, they were flow blue, and I was simply mesmerized.  

Brush splashes across this canvas with lightning bolts of golden hair.
Reminding me of ocean waves, ebb tides riding currents of trade wind air.

And the freckles I painted so lovingly upon this porcelain face,
Are like a constellation of stars that surpass time and space.

Its only when I close my eyes and go back in time
That the completed image parts the clouds and the sun begins to shine

In this space and time, that we call memories,

Eyes closed tight…we wince to recall special moments long gone.

Some, we merely exist to relive, and others are meant for painful lessons learned.

Strumming through the cobwebs, we coerce ourselves through this jaded door,

Only to find, this time, a feeling of sorrow followed by expressions of grief.



Like a bank account, we deposit memories daily,

Some are easily recalled and others are over and done.

It’s those memories that reside within our hearts that cause special remembrance,

And miraculously, we have the ability to morph these from anguish to memories of tranquil joy!

*Sending a smile and all my love to you…….. I’ll be watching for you in the stars.

There is nothing quite like a Caramel Apple Thumbprint Scone
I bought two tonight, one for the road and one for home.
Sometimes I buy one for me and one for Mum,
Didn’t bother to tell her I ate them both…every… last… crumb.

Tonight on my way home I decide to buy a baker’s dozen
The trouble with that is I ate six and got an upset stomach
Now here I sit upon this throne, tootin’ and thinking all alone
That there’s nothing like a Caramel Apple Thumbprint Scone….hic!

K.E. Carman
2017

As Sunday wakes, I watch the sunrise
Peaking over the yawning Sawtooth Range.

Idaho's Rocky Mountain loving arms wide open
Stretch to embrace the East fork of the Salmon

It’s at this bend I feel the need to take in
All the wonderment, that emerges to take my breath away.

I load my rod and chart a path for my line,
As I spot two survivors, drifting in and out of the undercut.

Feeling good about this, I offer up a clodhopper,
It drifts by unacknowledged, not even a balk.

WTH I think to myself, as I tie on a dropper,
And make one last presentation…………….

“Well I’ll be ******, never seen a trout yawn.”


- K.E. Carman 2017

Its in these waters, when I was merely a Parr
Or as you might refer to me as a fry,
This wise but young Brook Trout cruised the slow water with my kinfolk fry.

Moving to and fro hiding among the biome vegetation
The sunlight supported my living space and warmed my growth rings.
I dart in and out of the oxygenated seams which help me flourish.

Some days, I had to use stealth to outwit the pine marten and warblers,
I shadowed the cattail and watched them fill their bellies with those around me.
But I felt fate had a purpose for me to be something special.

And When the time was right, I'd propel myself above the water into the night air.
The large circle of orange light filled my eyes and the night sky was filled with luminary.
I imagined what it must be like to live outside this riffle domain.

This morning, through my refractory vision I spot some floating objects,
And through an inherited sensory recall I can see these are hatching green Drakes.
I immediately shoot to the surface and fill my stomach, then swim back to the undercut for cover.

As the years pass by and maturity abounds,  I find my self settling in behind a large boulder
Right at the tail out of the back eddy, providing me with an ample food supply.
And it's here I prefer to live my life in the slow current, content and peaceful.

And one day as I swam into the current seam, I spotted what appeared to be,
A different looking bug with yellow belly,  so I make my move.
He's not moving much so I decide to raise my head above the water line and sip.

As I grab the hopper I start to slide back behind the boulder,
When I feel a pinch, as if someone try's to pull me towards the surface
I fight with all my might but this force proves to be stronger than I.

It's now I realize a human reels me towards the shore line, and I'm fearful.
This one called a human, grabs my tail and places his hand on my under belly.
Pulling me from my home, he dislodges the hook from my mouth. I gasp for oxygen.

He looks me over from nose to tail, smiles and says how beautiful I am.
He looks me in the eye And says " This was a wonderful fight my friend, enjoy the rest of your life,
He places me back in water, gently reviving me and finally lets me swim away.

I dare to turn and look back at him for a moment and as he continues to watch me,
I hear him say " I fish, knowing everyday on this stream is a gift."

1976 we first met..
A Chicago girl that was always far to special for me.
But you saw something special in this troubadour
Our lips touched and you took me Beyond the stars

1986 you brightened our life's
6 lbs 7 ounce baby boy.....a miracle from God
We three held hands and made the union complete
Now and forever you made me so very happy

1996 we had some rough times
Held each other until the clouds passed by
Always resilient we walked together through this valley
Next peak is in sight.... are we ready for ten more my friend?

2006 our baby moves out on his own
Empty nest tears but ever so proud,
We tell each other what a wonderful son we raised
It's back to you and me baby just like 76'

2016 the start of forty years of loving my perfect mate
We plan out our rocking chair days that are just ahead of us..
You my dear made me the man I am today,
And..I'll be loving you long after my last breathe.


*Happy Anniversary Sweet Heart and lets shoot for fifty!

Once in a place long ago,but not that far away
Lived a Missouri “Show Me Girl”named Bessie Grace.
It was here, at her Catskill home in Margaretville NY that she made all visitors feel welcome.
Goodness, Kindness and tranquility abounded in this place on the hill.

She always found a way to answer my perplexing questions,
With a soft rhetoric that was sure to make you smile.
In a million years I’d never forget all those canned comebacks of hers ,
“The World is a Stage young man” or “We're Like two Peas in a Pod or “Someday I'll mingle with the stars and throw a party on Mars”

These metaphors were her way of teaching you about the world.
One day, my first love ended and Bessie quickly responded “Didn't you know that once your heart's been broken it grows back bigger”
I just looked at her with tear filled eyes and kissed her cheek.
She had such a broad view of life’s peaks and valley’s.


She once said “you know I feel like a cow with a name like Bessie”.
I told her “ With a name like that….You should just pass wind and go full sail ahead.
We laughed until our sides hurt.
Most days she had a pocket full of lemon drops and she would say
“Take a few to sweeten your day honey”

As time passed by quickly, eventually so did Bessie.
And in 1967 she had her party on Mars.
All the stars were there to welcome her to her new home.

She had everyone's attention and to cheers she exclaimed...."My name is Bessie Grace...I'm a Missourah Girl and I've just learned that the day which we fear as our last is but the birthday of our eternity”

At Home with Bessie Grace was added
Sep 7, 2016

The Dream Stream

I transfer the rods energy from slack to a hell bent back cast stroke,
The line straightens, teeth clenched…..I push the casting arc forward.
My delivery is spot on, dead drift fly traveling the same pace as the current,
The trout’s jumping rise brings on a grin and the caddis hatch is on.

I look up stream and catch a glimmer of another heavy hatch of Caddis,
Grandpa’s eyes search for mine and finding them he flashes a toothy smile.
“Having Fun?"He shouts….I nod my head emphatically and give him a thumbs up.
And we keep it going until darkness prevails and the hatch finds sanctuary.

We walk and talk all the way home and I can’t remember a better time.
And now I have the honor of teaching my own son this gift.
Generation after generation it’s our duty to pass down our experience & know-how to the next.
And just before I close my eyes tonight, I recall this quote…

“It is not flesh and blood but the heart which makes us fathers and sons”. F. Schiller
- K.E. Carman  2016

"When power leads man toward arrogance, poetry reminds him of his limitations. When power narrows the area of man's concern, poetry reminds him of the richness and diversity of existence. When power corrupts, poetry cleanses." ~JFK

You’ve been so many places in your life and time,
You sung a lot of songs; you thought some were bad rhymes.
You shared your love on stages
With a million people watching,
But you’re in Heaven now and I’m writing this poem for you.

We know you’re in a place where there’s no space or time,
Loved so much you’ll always be a friend of mine.
And now you think your life is over,
But someday we’ll all be together.
You’re in Heaven now and I’m writing this poem for you.

You’ll never be forgotten Leon…..cause I’m singing this song for you


K. Carman 2016

We've  been anticipating this moment for the last nine months,
I feel our spirit force watching over this child that's about to take a bow.

Our eyes wide open as we see him for the very first time,
And Family spirits past fill the room to honor this special moment.

Thoughts of family ****** features start to become visible,
Pepaw's ears, Memaw's nose, Dads Chin, Moms cheeks and an exceptional heart.

Memaw and Pepaw love you Hunter!
Born: 11/4/ 2016
8.2 Lbs
20" tall

Isn’t it interesting how some people are caught up in their dream world?
Broadcasting “Life Is Good” …unaware of those living in the real world.
Self indulging humans only thinking of themselves,
When there so much they could contribute to those that lack wealth.

For God sake, get off Facebook and make a difference in someone’s life.
Share your heart with them and help them wipe the tears from their eyes.
Put some greenbacks in their pocket; be there often to be a mentor and a best friend.
And maybe someday you’ll help them ascend to the life is good trend.

I can’t explain this empty feeling,
A heartache…..painfully revealing,
The sad news of a loved one’s passing,
A picture, a remembrance, Psalm 23 grasping.

It’s in these fleeting moments we try to reconcile,
Why we did or didn’t use time more worthwhile.
I’m praying that serenity will fill your heart and mind,
To triumph over this mournful time.

K.E. Carman
12-OCT-2016

Dear Alex,

I listened to President Obama read the letter you wrote today,
To an unfortunate little boy from Aleppo, and how you’d like to be his protege.
In preparation for his visit, you would gather all you’re most precious possessions,
Offering to him love, friendship and a gift called freedom of expression.

You would teach him and he would share his world with you,
A bonding camaraderie colored in Red, White and Blue.
You my friend, have a heart of gold like a treasure untold,
Because showing love to others…..is a longing in your soul.

Thanks you Alex!

I dream a million fireflies transporting me to this space
A Moon shadow casts a light upon my face.
A Young boy dreaming of tight lines on this Kinderhook NY stream,
Water droplets on frozen fly line, cast a prism sunbeam.

It's this time and special place that etches a constant memory,
Of Standing on that rock casting tight loops across the estuary.
Practice makes perfect as I make a presentation towards this riffle,
I can see a smile on my face, a moment in time that's purely transcendental.

With hope on the rise and a pheasant tail nymph tied to my tippet,
I make my way past the roily water to a calmer spot I'll inhibit.
Stripping line I load this feather chucker and place a nymph on the breezers nose
Zzzzzzz screams my reel and I scramble to fight this foe

As the snow begins to fall, I gaze upon this look of contentment in my eyes
And hover from above to watch myself learning to fly.
I whisper to myself, " Man life doesn't get any better than this",
As I kneel to release my catch, I watch him glide into the abyss.

And at day's end, I find myself walking beside the memory of Lou, Theodore, and Jack,
Three mentors who showed me the way, part of my Wulff pack.
Some Say "if I fished only to capture fish, my trips would have ended long ago",
And now I have something that money can't buy, the gift of learning to fly.