sitting in the dampness
like an extra coat of high gloss
the leftover remnants
of heat dissipation, remain
catching the rising sunlight
and sending refracted prisms
to capture my eyes
and send my imagination soaring
wings of marshmallow fluff
send me gliding
above an alien landscape
of my own creation
neon pyramids
flash by in a torrential
my pulse matches the current
and the acceleration becomes exponential
blurred images careen
mish-mash of memories
and future dreams
collision of past guilt
and joy explosions
fireworks on a new year’s celebration
elation follows
and the trickling dew
slides down the metal plow
its motion bringing me back
leaving me safely,
once again,
in my quiet yard --

yet another savage tragedy
ravages, emotionally,
the trap queens in bandages
screaming to their bae’s
about the vastness of calamities
blunt tips glow showing smoke blown
extensions flowing growing tired of
liars on the youtube
seeking gifs and snap-chat
besties to wrestle
with the cultural festivities
being given proclivity
to policy lunacy –
smart phone glued
claw hand and shrewdly
planning to revamp the system
with hello kitty ***** twisters
and metrosexual waterfall trips…
it’s truly a pip
these auto-tuned post baby-boomers
no relations to crooners
thinking the sooners are only
Oklahoma….
My youth tirade
is partly a parade
like a brass band on Burbon
playing unafraid –

America is
     dying


services
will be held
                        at


                                                    **Disney World

sitting in shame
re-reading Gregory
thinking about the movement
that was civil rights
the death of Medgar
and Dr. King
unity and harmony
for all American citizens
peace and togetherness
equality….
Donald sits atop a throne
shinning white in the sunlight
my guts tighten and twist
at the specter of this racist
becoming the face of my nation –
remember the dream…
think back to stock footage
black and white
black and white
marching demonstrators
in the hot Mississippi sun
looking only for fairness
and a constitution for all
instead,
fire hoses and German Shepard dogs
mingles with the voices
of hate and intolerance
circa 1967…
2016 and a man stumps
divisive messages
falling on ears filled with ****
propagandized lies systemized
no one hears truth anymore
especially written on faded
and water damaged pages –

wormwood visions
the nibiru hype train
prepares to leave the station
once again
taking the prepper squad
and doomer crew
out to look again
at the vastness of space –
april forecasts
200 mile per hour
straight line winds
2016 the year of destruction
same as 2012
or Y2K
or the bicentennial
the age old crisis
of an incoming body
ready to destroy humanity
for the umpteenth time –
6000 to 8000
biblical years of existence
150,000 year old cave art
made by co-magnum
breeding with Neanderthal
looking to heavens
at the rogue planet
or failed dwarf star –
another checking of the packs
another inventory of the ammunition
one more sideways glance
into the southern skies
seeking validation
and maybe a little more warning
than what the powers that be
will give the population at large –
probably nothing will happen
the odds are this is just a story
like the devil or Santa Claus
just a way to control those foolish
or unsettled enough
to buy in
most likely this year will pass
without a celestial event
designed to alter mankind
push us to the next evolutionary jump
force us to become a single people
working to survive
the electric and magnetized
universe –

cross-over
behind the back
simple wrist flip
34 footer drops
and I sit in awe --
having witnessed
Showtime
Magic, Kareem, Worthy
Vs.
The Parquet floor
and Larry Bird….,
the bad boys,
and the Jordan era
(both incarnations),
big Timmy in San Antonio,
and Hakeem in Houston,
Shaq and Kobe,
Kobe and Gasol,
the reign of a new king
shinning like the sun in Miami...
they all sit back
like me
mouth open
feeling a state of awe
muthafukkin Stephe Curry
……hope homeboy stays healthy,
I like bearing witness to NBA godliness –

I

creeping up slowly through the dew
dirt and grit stuck to a slimed back
trailing off into the pre-dawn purple
pink elastic head pushes forth
exploring new territory for foodstuffs
on a chilly morn
near a dilapidated barn
greying wood darkened
both by the time of day
and the coating of early morning moisture
stretching out and doing
a masterful accordion impression
the tiny flesh-colored soldier
presses on so as to eat
before the sun finds and cooks him


II


still wet, a brown milk cow travels slowly
bell clangs randomly
as if the uneven ground were sheet music
and her hooves the fingers of Bach
long lolling tongue stretches forth
to clean away nostril debris
and reposition yesterday’s cud
one large eye scans the farmhouse door
looking for a light or signs of life
as the daily fest arrives
with each breaking day
a low bawl escapes her mush filled mouth
an attempt to signal as the sun cometh


III


upon a post a small finch lights
without fanfare or announcement
a song bursts forth
filling the quiet valley with whistles
followed by chirps and tweets
the greeting is returned  by a thrush
hiding in the brambles
soon a chorus erupts to greet the sunshine
and express gratefulness for another
beginning
bouncing down and fishing a twig
the little finch, proud of her concert
returns to the job
nests do not build themselves
and the young will come in short order
mashing the twig
into a muddy slot
and stamping it perfectly into place
eyes cast across the meadow
seeking flying insects unaware…



breakfast at the farm takes many forms

struggling to read
this week’s choices…
Sandberg was smooth, interesting
a poet which I truly found enjoyment
both reading
and contemplating
and then came Dylan Thomas…..
can I read another poem with the word “worm”
please….
can I stare at rambling whine-fest
any longer….
I find myself opening word doc after word doc
trying to write away
a mind full of someone else’s ideas

misty eyed children shift in gossamer sheets
spider web silken swaddling  
hold arms and legs at bay
whilst the neocons pull delicate straws
from deep pockets
lined with south African diamonds
and Venezuelan crude
slowly they sip the crimson life
from the babies *******
piercing hearts and slurping long
pulling each and every droplet
into an insatiable void –
feverously unwound and placed back
into wombs forever altered
space creating blank eyed apathy monsters
only fixated on technologic advances
and trending topics
broken minds unable to grasp critical thought
only seven second processing
and on to the next hashtag
expressionless blight on humanity
also, the future of civilization –
tears well as I sit across from children
lost in phone
lost in space
faceless emotionless creatures
bravely feeding medication
to their elders
for 16 dollars an hour –

Her hair, flaxen wheat,


                           danced in the early autumn…


                                                   ­       
  
                                                      ­        my heart danced there too.

I was accepted into my MFA program!!

Two years from this Fall I will have a Masters in Fine Arts of Creative Writing with my concentration in Poetry from Eastern Oregon University.

I just wanted to share my joy and happiness with my fellow writers and (sort of) my peer group.


:)

I sat on the grass reading a book of poetry
Relating different passages to my own life
Attempting to put myself in the shoes of the author
Reading and re-reading each and every line
Recognizing some deeper truth behind the words
Experiencing a kinship with this style of expression

I had to try my hand at this style of expression
Begin my journey into writing poetry
Make it a part of my life
Just as was the way with this author
But how to come up with a first line
How does one choose which words……..

I began searching for the best words
To encompass my type of personal expression
In order to create ‘Sam specific’ poetry
Something that would take on its own life
And become more than just the work of an author
For those in need, an actual life-line

But I had to begin with just a single line
Built of the greatest most impactful words
This would be the only way to release my expression
And truly encompass poetry
Make it the most important part of my life
Re-create myself as a successful author

But I was no real author
Just a man seeking the perfect starting line
A hunter carefully tracking special words
To give life to my joyful expression
Wishing only to give someone else what I received from poetry
Wishing to share this part of my life

I had never felt this way in my whole life
The way in which the language was used by the author
How cleverly crafted each single line
The purposeful choice of certain words
Creating a fully formed expression
Laid forth within the walls of poetry

My routes of expression changed with the addition of written words
Each line brought me closer to the dream of becoming an author
I knew that my life would be forever filled with poetry

I knew we would never, ever be blue
When I looked into those eyes
Shoo-be-doobie-shoobie-doo

Our love was so pure and true
Filled with long gazes and loving sighs
I knew we would never, ever be blue

Her words of love rung, oh, so true
Puffy clouds float by in the bluest skies
Shoo-be-doobie-shoobie-doo

Each day together this love just grew
The type of love that never dies
I knew we would never, ever be blue

And the compatibility when we would *****
All up in those luscious creamy thighs
Shoo-be-doobie-shoobie-doo

Never a time I didn’t know what to do
It’s easy when you live free of mistrust and lies
I knew we would never, ever be blue
Shoo-be-doobie-shoobie-do

I sat at the desk considering Whitman
It was a blond desk
Pressed particle board
A few scratches on the surface
Pencils marking and erasing
Marking and erasing
   And the stain
     Coffee?
    Candy?
    Circumstance had created an ugly table
But the tree had to have been majestic
Surrounded by forest
The occasional squirrel
Grey with a bushy tail
Scampering here and yon
Burying acorns for the coming cold
I couldn’t grasp his worth
So much notoriety
And for what…..drivel
Parchment coated in pig ****
Eaten up by the masses
As if it were caviar
  Delicate row packages
Pulled from the soft underbelly of a salmon
Or grunion
The whiting swam as if in a festival of silver backs
Brought home by the seasons to spawn and die
Forever continuing the cycle of Darwin
    The book began to way as heavy as
       My eyelids
       Placing the trash on the table
          Next to the waste-paper basket
I thought to myself….
Better to start again tomorrow…fresh eyes
Better to see what all the fuss
      Is really about –

thick, cold, fresh, molasses
he answers slowly dripped
from crimson lips
bereft of compassion
as if empathy
were less than a ***** word
more a non-existent concept
both foreign and alien…
movements matching her mouthing
I could only shift weight
from one foot
to the other
as formulations and calculations
whirred just behind cautious eyes
caught off guard by the suddenness
she spoke quickly and clear
with such precise conciseness
I had to blink twice
“it’s a deal,” she stated,
matter-of-factly
elegantly turning away
and floating down the corridor
I thought to myself
what mess
had I entered today –

where is it we go
when the energy shifts
we see the tree stands strong
rooted deep and soaking sun and water
only to be transformed
metamorphosed to desktops
and old-time pencil shafts
it exists still
     further explored
     to the fire pit
     homes heated though combustion
     this smoke travels into the ether
     becoming yet another form
     dissipated and displaced
     but real nonetheless
when I slip into smoke
what will be left to circumnavigate the globe
particulates of Sam
jet streaming to infinity
like so many forest fires
our mingling energy
the very air you breath

……. the sustaining aspects –

glossy thick succulent leaf
collecting dust behind bars
and walls of brick and concrete
pushing forth delicate pink blooms
in a place void of color
sans the blue gear
of the incarcerated man
variegated patterns
soft red lines weave
amongst the dark green meadow
as if streams after a spring torrent
were breaking new paths though fields of green
seeking a river or creek
a transporter to grant them every droplets wish
a trip to the ocean
varying stages of bloom
crispy dried
and new buds barely escaping
just offering the slightest breath of color
gifting the drab yellow walls
a splash of hope
tinged with pink –

The little pup sat near the log
And looked over at a small greenish frog
He gave it a lick
And then felt quite sick
And heading off to the bog

At the bog he ran into a hog
Who had a jar of delicious eggnog
They both had a drink
Then spit in the sink
Which instantly started to clog

They both sat with mouths just agog
Like that time in the ole Synagogue
When the Rabbi said “shoot”
and then let out a toot
That smelled like that stinky old bog

Well the hog and the frog with the dog
Ran away from the stank Synagogue
All the way to the bay
For some sunshine in may
And all sat upon a well-traveled log

shapeless form flowing easy
whirling and twirling to infinity
colliding with memories
and creating delusion
synapsis fire seemingly random
shapeless formless mass shifts
altering long held beliefs
and morphing religious boundaries
gifting treasonous ideals
to steadfast personal decisions
without consideration to ramifications –
free flowing thoughts cascade
leaving trace elements behind
fitted with apparatus engineered
to change one’s mind
create a new thought pattern
extend and elongate the process
into criticality
the path to becoming a critical thinker
is no longer marked or taught
it has become up to the individual
to learn this important and valuable skill
lest we all vote Trump
and live on McDonalds –

I once found a unicorn horn
But my peers only met me with scorn
I made such a wish
Turned into a fish
And swan for the sea until morn

I took the horn and held it up high
Said a prayer to the lord of the sky
Thunder did clap
And I fell into a trap
That cost me my left arm and one eye

I cast the horn off a cliff
Into a vast cavernous rift
It bounced right back up
Broke my best cup
Which was going to cause me a tiff

See, my wife had just bought me that glass
And now she would kick my whole ***
First with a boot
Just like in Beirut
Where they stomp you for not wearing a sash

I have fallen right off of the point
Probably from smoking that joint
This was about a fine horn
From a unicorn born
By the oil which was once used to anoint

a religious twist enters the plot
some of you like that a lot
but it was just a trick
like a bordered **** pic
as I turn the piece back to green ***

see I grow for the boys and girls
in a field on top of the world
vast fields of ****
are all that I need
to keep all my drawstrings unfurled

but a unicorn has no need of strings
or any such silly ole things
with a magical neigh
he just sauntered away
so I’ll end this song just as it sings

peripheral  happenstance
it seems as I read
those items in the background
seem to swell and fade
as my eyes travel
from left to right the page
I cannot focus
but only notice
the growing keyboard
pushing fast towards my face
only to so slowly journey
back to a resting place
as the page ends –

A light came from up in the sky

It totally captured my eye

                     Set down on three legs

                            Smelled a little of eggs


                                       And left the ground smoky and dry

In the tress stood a man of wild beard

While walking one day he sort of appeared

                                       Was covered with fur

                                              He let out such a ‘GRRR’

                                                       That I ran away thinking, “How weird!”

distant visions of dancing women
giving pause to the loggers
reeking of pine
wine glasses *****
and clinking friends make amends
sending bygones to faraway lands
bark chips in unkempt beards
appear in the florescent glow
to show a road map to the mountain
crags and snags left
for wildlife habitat
rabbit foot key chain bangs
the leg of a drunkard
who flunked out
yet runs the equipment of
a multimillion dollar outfit
no quit in the eyes
of men realizing self-worth
through **** of the earth
taped fingers set chokers snug
upon trees laid like rungs
up the barren hillside
fireside chats about bobcat tracks
and the rack on the elk that got away –

Breaking waves crashed upon my feet
toes poking into the dampened sand
on my face I felt the sun
and considered its warmth and power
got lost in quiet reflection
and found myself searching deep
within my own soul for some answers
to the great universal questions
but I did not know why we are on earth
or by what mode our story began
I was just as the sand, but a tiny speck of dust
one in the cornucopia of humanity

the wind blew a swirl of sand
large enough to partially blot out the sun
wind gusts with such force and power
I could no longer see my reflection
but stood still for fear of the ocean so deep
when I heard the slightest whisper of an answer
as if the wind sought to respond to my questions
surrounding life on earth
and how it all began
from just asteroid dust
to the gross expansion of humanity
I looked down at my bare feet

I felt on my back and neck the heat of the sun
Worried I was being burned by its power
from both sides with the sea’s reflection
I stepped into the deep
and in the darkness I found some answers
to my most pressing question
about the source of water on earth
and if colliding comets are where it began
mingling with asteroid dust
to create a hospitable environment for humanity
from fins to feet
and back to dust and sand

the frigid water squished me with such power  
there was no more time for peaceful reflection
as I sank further into the deep
no longer looking for answers
I had but one question
was this to be the end of my time on earth
when it feels like it as only just began
am I to just become more dust
catching in the dry and voiceless throats of humanity
I sank fathoms and feet
until I lightly touched down on the sand
but I could see no sun

I tried to locate my reflection
but my own face was lost in the deep
I cried out for an answer
but my mind only reeled with more questions
mainly relating to if I was still on the earth
had I been taken back to when time began
before water and dust
long before the taint of humanity
I felt as though my feet
were caught in a quagmire of mud and sand
unable to ever be dried by the sun
never touched by ultra-violet power

distorted and skewed as the water was so deep
but holding answers
to my questions
it came up from the very earth
and I began
to strip away the flotsam and dust
and stand up for all of humanity
in an instant is was just at a few feet
stopped suddenly in the sand
and shown me the grace of the sun
in all its glory and power
I saw my own reflection

I, at once, knew the answer
I no longer needed the questions
we were part of the earth
that was how we began
from magnetized and electrified dust
we mounted a charge to become humanity
growing legs and standing upon feet
walking away from the shore and sand
to stand in a meadow grown by the sun
feel the mountain power
and experience the quiet stream reflection
that can take a Being so deep

free from the bane of answering questions
I felt free to fall into the earth
become as it had began
dissolve back to dust
and let go the trapping of humanity
trade in my five-toed feet
and melt into the dunes of sand
warmed by the setting sun
granted power
through reflection
there was nothing so deep
as to have all the answers

I sat upon the red clay earth
thinking about how it all began
scratching around for a handful of dust
that represented humanity
I tossed it into the air and it flew a few feet
and landed amongst the sand
sat baking in the sun
void of power
lacking the ability for reflection
falling off the cliff into the deep
seeking answers
finding only more questions

was this how it all began
truly, no alien force or god hand, just dust
morphing into what we know as humanity
clapping hands and stomping feet
on the chemically altered sand
drawing energy from the sun
to give our homes power
no longer seeking inner reflection
to anything running very deep
instead seeking only safe answers
by asking mundane questions
never considering one’s place on the earth

my teeth clamped tight and crunched some dust
wishing it were the bones of humanity
starting with toes and feet
eating mankind like the ocean does the sand
like comets to the sun
like power
does to those impoverished and lost in reflection
leaving bodies buried deep
offering no answers
to any child’s question
to the state of the earth
to how this all began

it started with the civilization of humanity
when we planted out feet
firmly into the sand
grew crops in the springtime sun
and felt the corruption of power
lost sight of our reflection
somewhere so deep
that the true answers
only come across as more questions
as we slowly destroy the earth
same way it all began
by turning the land into dust

I saw my feet sink into the sand and get burned by the sun
Its power caused a reflection and my soul sunk deep
Looking for answers to questions about the state of the earth
Then it began to all turn to dust and I watched the end of humanity

rag tag *** hag grocery bag in drag
maxed credit and bragging about having a stag party
farty party girls in shart coated pantyhose blow wasted kisses
to fisters in trousers bumping mump victims blisters
hitting wristers like the Williams sisters
coyote trickster with a brand new mix tape waits
with his **** taped to his own leg like Ricky Lake
on her fist date
another Cosby **** escape hot-plated shared space
I’m no racist cause my skin is white and pasty
I’m tasty and **** like Britney sans the braces insatiable
and my testicles are reckless needing spectacles
done wrecked the hull Captain Pickard
and a test-tube girl –

she slid across the bubbles
placing no weight on my body
but still offering the arousal of proximity
leaning in
she softly kisses my cheek –
gracefully floating
from the kitchen
to the dining room
her effortless motions captivate me
as she lights delicately on the couch
and kisses my cheek –
angels sing from the patio
I peer out to see only her
smiling in the afternoon sun
she glances over and offers a wider grin
and spins in my direction
sweetly placing a kiss
upon my cheek –
I felt a warmth
cascading down my neck and back
slowly turning
I found myself face to face
with my lovely wife
a smile passed her lips momentarily
before she kissed me
upon the cheek—

deep blue of twilight
fading shades to washed-out green
sea-foam aquamarine
mingling perfect with watercolor splashes
oranges blend with vibrant pinks
opaque vermilion
washing the morning sky
silhouetted, Jefferson stands statuesque
glacial peak steadfast
perfection via shape and form
swerving to regain control
I turn the Kia down Joseph St.
and stop staring in the rearview –

did I repeat myself
expressing the same emotion
acting like pain hurts
again
did I bore you
with tales of myself
bellyaching and bellowing
into the night about terror
and woe
last time we spoke
all we did was argue
fussing and fighting
like children
last time I saw you
it was just like the time before
last time –
are you fading into memory
slipping for daily consciousness
no longer striving for you place
in my psyche
are you longing to be free
of my sameness
the lameness
of a blameless life
shamelessly pacing in
high-heeled slippers
am I too believe this is the end
nothing more to say
just staring blankly
off, into space…. –

I read some songs
written down
      by sweet Emily
they seemed to short,
                            and some to long
and none were best to me

I read each line
………….bated breath,
seeking for a sign
to my surprise
      and some dismay
                all she did was whine

using form
     meter and rhyme
can only      go so far
when your subject matter
                                              is so much sadder
than……. a shooting star

songs of death
…………….some of despair
lament and sadness; ad nauseam
I think more life
could be found
in a Roman coliseum…

but who am I
to take this stand
when she,         a master,                                  waits………….
I do not fly,
am just a man
      attempting to impersonate
               the greats

so pay no mind
and take no heed
                         as your legacy is safe
even if
for me, personally
……
……
……
you make my eyeballs chafe –

quiet moonlight
slipped effortlessly
through the tent door
creeping at first
with a slow and steady motion
soon filling the space
with soft white light –
she lay sleeping
unaware of the attack
light covered her body
giving her skin a glowing hue
broken up
only by the tattered edge
of an old afghan –
slight concern
crossed her brow
shifting muscles
attempting to hide
a face plagued
sleep interrupted
rest destroyed
by the softest
and quietest
of assailants –
I lay in stillness
admiring the struggle
knowing the ease in which
I could zip up the flap
gently place the quilt
just over her eyes
but my own selfishness
prevents me
as I have never watched
her sleep disturbed
by quiet moonlight –

watching flowing fields of grain dance in the wind
made ripe and green by the warm late spring sun
I imagined running, falling, and rolling in the fresh wheat
getting up again and spreading my arms wide open
allowing myself to experience the oneness of us all
I felt both completely refreshed and totally alive

It is a wonderful time in which to be alive
to stand and feel upon your face the wind
skinned browned slightly by the shinning sun
matching the color of the fields of wheat
basking in the glow of spaces, wide and open
recognizing a connection to the greater all

there is a peace when one recognizes their connection to the all
akin to nearly dying but instead remaining alive
ghosts float by on old gusts of wind
unseen except in shadows elongated by the setting sun
pausing only to admire the grains of wheat
individual, perfect, and ready to be open

I sat in the car considering all of this with the window open
the low buzz of insects became the soundtrack for all
and I felt my aura was glowing and alive
my soul was taken by a flash of cool wind
and I found myself travelling etheric to the sun
I was but a speck of sand or a single grain of wheat

my relationship changed that day, to wheat
in fact, to all plant life I became more open
understanding they too were part of the all
and that we both were living creatures, quite alive
both of us forced to deal with the wind
both of us totally dependent upon the sun

I felt on my face the warmth of the sun
and looked back upon the field of dancing wheat
for one second I was totally open
and was in an instant not only connected too, but I became the all
it was if everything around me became alive
and sang together the joys of the springtime wind

I felt so alive reconnecting with the universal all
and became as open as the summer wheat
nourished by the sun and sent dancing by the wind

distorted slop fed through a Marshall stack
attacking power cords with abhorrent abandon
random lyrics of pain based guilt
quilted the patchwork of ******* jocks
and played out arena rock
Kool-Aid dye job and slobbish hand-me-downs
earth tones, greens and browns
and drowning in the Northwest rain
insane solos played eating Rollo’s enslaved
to paved roads and dope fiend modes
Kurt’s hurt and flannel shirt
lifted the dirt off my heart
and set me apart from the sheep faced
high school mistakes
faking tans to look
totally Spring Break
holding onto hate and plating
fate next to kale chips and goose pate’
fame gorged but a porridge boy
knows no joy under the employ
of capitalism……
answer in hand the shot rang
and one million tear-eyed teens
sang
sad songs of pain and lament
replaying images
of a ****** prophet, heaven sent –

olive drab down-filled vest
shaking every single hand
speaking only of great success

hair never askew or messed
discussing a long-term plan
olive drab down-filled vest

information presented is never guessed
education is the stump he stands
speaking only of great success

the life he leads is truly blessed
though, the new climate is killing his tan
olive drab down-filled vest

never a time for being underdressed
when becoming an Oregon man
speaking only of great success

bringing to our program some Louisiana zest
Oregon seems an interesting place to land
olive drab down-filled vest
speaking only of great success

bless this restlessness
as it is success
but a mess none the less
I confess
when wearing a dress
there is no guess
just bad press and distress
impressed?
the need for rest seems
incessant and persistent
yet I remain resistant
by playing an instrument,
one reminiscent of distant
enlisted men
transitioning
to some sort of agricultural
based life of subsistence
subservient serfdom
on poor farms in Tennessee
with plenty of hens running free
and a still out back brewing grain whiskey
frisky miss’s with pesky kittens
rub dainty mittens
smitten with ripping the
cotton-topped children’s
collars and slipping dollars to poor
babies fathers
while bothering loggers
robbing old codgers –

i heard the sound
of knocking on my door
knocking on my door
on my door
startling my subconscious
and sending shivers down my spine
down my spine
my spine
I squatted and hid
afraid of what was to come
what was to come
to come
peeking through dingy and torn curtains
longing to see only an empty step
only an empty step
empty step
there to my surprise was an angel
hand outstretched ready to take me home
ready to take me home
take me home
I cried out as I looked back
at the pool of blood my body laid in
my body laid in
laid in
instantaneously the realization came
and I reached out for the hand of god
for the hand of god
of god
no more pain, discontent, guilt
I was now free, but still held some regret
still held some regret
some regret
sometimes we come to an understanding
well beyond the point of too late
point of too late
too late –

musta been a million of ‘em
writhing and wriggling
layin’ atop the last damp hole
in all a’ Remines Pond
and the smell…
open sewage mingled with
boat launch at the bay
peppered with wet dog
and old rotting compost
the sun should’ve cooked ‘em then ‘n there
but instead they was just a ’floppin'
t’was late summer
and my youth driven memories
while foggy and scattered
still hold some sharp edges….
I set the pole and tackle box down
Rolled up my pant legs
Tossed my shoes and socks off to the side
Proceeded to step into the swirling mire
Near instantly the pain shot up from my foot
And lit behind my left eye
Screams of ****** ****** followed
As the crimson mixed with the mud
And fish ****
‘bout all I could think,
“I am bound to get an infection”
Turns out catfish have spikes….
Both side fins and the dorsal
……Wish ole pops woulda warned me on that one –

I looked out east this morning
The early light of day was painting the landscape
Much to my surprise the foothills of my beloved Cascades
Glowed with a lovely purple hue
Instantly my eyes filled with tears
As freedom was dying all around me
And the victims themselves
Clamored for more police-state oversight –
Was faint at first, a distant ringing
Like church bells in the neighboring township
The sound bounced aimlessly off the valley walls
Yet each time it struck my ears
My eyes filled and I caught a sob
Deep in my throat
Dylan called them the “chimes of freedom”
But I think they are ghosts of a bygone era
Haunting those of us who remember the dream –
Fascism and dissent rule the evening news
And no one is listening to the wise old bluesmen
When grandmamma is 38 with a “**** it” attitude
And the police shoot unarmed minorities in well-lit streets
Leading with bleeding is seeding discord only
public outcry is for Kayne instead of Kazakhstan
and the CIA led ***** trade
is giving narcotics anonymous new parade routes
truth hurts, like an arthritic hand
gnarled and twisted
in the freedom mist
….better get **** drunk
And reminisce about blissfulness –