considering Native medicine
and our overriding connection
to the all that lives within

not really knowing how to begin
outside of quiet reflection
considering Native medicine

no desire to just go ‘there and back again’
while being conscious of my lack of protection
to the all that lives within

longing to understand the purpose of Juniper, outside of making Gin
does it help headaches or aid with an *******?
Considering Native medicine

I need to be sure, I will not just pretend
though I must practice some discretion
to the all that lives within

one with the natural world, no envy or sin
just thoughtfulness while making a selection
considering Native medicine
to the all that lives within

His wild beard haunts my dreams
As I think about the loss of my father…
As a child it was Black Velvet and Canadian Mist
Once the liver damage was too great, the ******
Now, fifteen years after his death
The “what-if’s” still plague me all the time

If only we could have had more time
By the time he passed we were both shooting ******
Destroying any ‘normal life’ dreams
Living as though we were trapped in a fog or mist
This was the way with me and my father
All the way up until his death

It is a funny thing about death
Especially when relating to a mother or father
Sort of changes the dreams
And alters the meaning of time
A little like how it works with ******
One’s whole life caught in a swilling mist

I looked out the window and was confronted by morning mist
And I felt as though I were still in a dream
A dream in which I still had my father
And we had nothing but more time
No worries of disease or death
Living a life free from ******…

But I cannot remember my dad without ******
Only wake sometimes from troubling dreams
Eyes clouded by the subconscious mist
Heart struggling with the passing time
So much has happened since his death
I have become a man without the aid of my father

Thinking back to the wild beard of my father
Dark eyes set deep in my dreams
Shrouded with the cloak of death
Standing stoic in the mist
A slave to the master called ******
A victim to the ruler of us all, time

The time had come to confront my father’s death
I peered through the mist of my memories of loss and ******
And saw my father standing as if in a dream

Her long delicate fingers took my hand
Then she looked me right in the eye
She was the perfect one for me according to the universal plan

Figuring out what it takes to be a man
Work hard, be home, and never lie
Her long delicate fingers took my hand

Taking out the garbage, filling the recycling can
Making sure to buy two-ply
She was the perfect one for me according to the universal plan

Scanning the horizon, looking across the land
Thinking about my desire to fly
Her long delicate fingers took my hand

We made the commitment with a tattooed band
Watched my mother start to cry
She was the perfect one for me according to the universal plan

For this life and the next, from wind and rain to sand
Ours is a love that will last after we die
Her long delicate fingers took my hand
She was the perfect one for me according to the universal plan

Looking across the crashing Sound
Spirit broken by the waves
I sat upon the cold, wet ground

Only able to muster a frown
As I considered my awaiting grave
Looking across the crashing Sound

Captivated by each wave's pound
Their song made me a slave
I sat upon the cold, wet ground

T’would be but an instant for me to drown
No coast guard to perform a daring save
Looking across the crashing Sound

I took a deep breath and a long look around
Tried making my way to the damp sea cave
I sat upon the cold, wet ground

I tried in vain to get my mind unwound
No longer desiring to rant and rave
Looking across the crashing Sound
I sat upon the cold, wet ground

1- Totes inaprope dope smoker swisher toker blunt wrap roper you be like my ole aunt groper
2- She be grabbin ***** on all ya’ll in the Fall by the ball court short shorts and written reports
3- ******* dorks and eatin pork like nanu nanu Mork with a stork baby drop on the porch
4- Carry the torch to the couch jump up ta bounce see a fool to trounce and slap in the head
5- Make him brain dead said I see red in bedrooms full a un-wed mothers slack jaw brothers
6- Druther act like one another than smother muthafuckers with rubber maid garbage cans
7- Hand feeding planned partenthood in the hood acting no good wit mad wood ya shoulda
8- Put those down came round and found a pound for slingin, bringing back the Ringling elephants
9- And cellophane wrapper sandwiches ******* snitching on rich kids for gambling small wagers
10- Drunken rage-ers deranged rangers feeding bears strangers and rearranging body parts
11- Carded farters impart special gasses on mass media fascists  allowing brash

nervous energy mingles with excited anticipation
forms filled and references collected
applications and sample writings
placed elegantly into
the large manila envelope
properly addressed
and postage applied
the waiting game commences –
did I do everything
was everything checked
bubbles filled
number two pencil only
am I good enough
can I make it
will I succeed
do I dare take the step
dip an aged toe into cool waters –
balanced attacks often
lead to lackluster victories
trophy-less athletes
line unattended playing fields
with honorable mentions
going only to the fallen
band geeks –
seeking a Masters
for fun and education
professor Temple
at the helm
leading poetry writing classes
for the incarcerated masses
lucky enough to receive call-out passes…
glass cleaner flashing crass
as the white board mocks me
asking simply,
“have you graduated yet?”

I watched from my porch, the children
Caught up in the adventure of their play
Absorbing the way everything seemed so fresh
To these people, the future of the world
I remembered a time in which I would get lost in wonder
Everything in my life seemed so vibrant and new

Seems these days it’s very hard to find anything new
Or to feel lost in wonder
This is the way of an adult in the world
When nothing glows fresh
Unable to relate to children
Forget how to play

I used to spend hours lost in play
Discovering all the aspects of my world
Completely engulfed in awe and wonder
Just like so many other children
Gazing about with eyes so new
Amazed at the smells, clean and fresh

After a rain everything looked fresh
To the eyes of children
The age of wonder
Each morning begins anew
The only thing on the list for the day: play
When family is the whole world

This was the way of the world
When we were all children
Free to dance, sing, and play
With no regards to eating fresh
Thought towards what is hip, trendy, or new
Or trying to recapture the concept of wonder

Sometimes I sit, close my eyes, and wonder
Breath deep what is left of air that is fresh
Will they be able to go outside to play
What will be left of this crazy world
Can there ever be anything new
for tomorrow’s children

I awoke to a new dawn and thought about going out to play
The smell of fresh air made me so happy to be part of this world
I instantly began to wonder about the future of our children

I watched a hopping little frog
He bounced across the road
He landed upon a mossy log

My feet got wet in the smelly bog
It looked to me a warty toad
I watched a hopping little frog

I heard the barking of a dog
Casing after a ball was throwed
He landed upon a mossy log

T’was hard to see through the growing fog
I considered a shade of green unowed
I watch a hopping little frog

Just a piece of the ecosystem, a cog
Dashing across grass freshly mowed
He landed upon a mossy log

I sipped a glass of eggy nog
And thought of pictured I’d been showed
I watched a hopping little frog
He landed upon a mossy log

All lives matter
the madder I get
At the matter of public opinion
madness of this meteorological  rise
Defies logic and the projects have become project
For white bourgeois hipsters in tight pants
Which maddens me further –
Mothers in moccasins mobilize
In Mobile, Alabama
Misrepresenting the million man march
As a method to success
Monarchic movement
Mitigated by the masses
Is madness –
Medicated and misguided muthafuckers
Maligned and misinformed
Marry in May during the full moon
To better understand Mormon culture
And the issues with lead
In Flint, Michigan –

Ruined

by the June Moons’
                                    tune,


                    ­                     I swoon

                                                     for


                                                             prunes.

I thought I knew the way
But it was not the case
I felt lost the whole day

Looking out the window in dismay
Trapped in my head-space
I thought I knew the way

Clasping hands, pretending to pray
Slapping my own ugly face
I felt lost the whole day

Accused of acting overly gay
Just trying to keep pace
I thought I knew the way

Is there anything left to say
I have abandoned the race
I felt lost the whole day

Perhaps things will get better in May
Fleeting hope, there is a trace
I thought I knew the way
I felt lost the whole day

flashes of the past crash into my mass
blasted and scratched, hide chapped,
I clap and shout at the memory
I approve of myself –
Old images of self-worth re-birth
And my fading girth is better for the earth
Large ***** pass gasses collapsing the greenhouse, but
I approve of myself –
Internal health and immeasurable wealth
As if the Delphi oracle imparted me
with love for self
growing stealth
with approval of myself –
affirmation nation retaliating against
infatuation with concentration camp
regurgitation
my patience wears thin and yet still
I approve of myself –
Granting panic stricken epidemic victims
Injections of insulin and bicarbonate soda
So the right wing harm bringers
Will no longer harbinger orangutans
Oh! the will of man…
Planning to land a dodge ram on the spam factory
Rectally cramming grandfather clock hands
Scamming bands of Ayn Rand fans
I approve of myself –
Derailed writings without direction
Making up things like “latterly”
…..better to just end it----
I approve of myself
And much of this message

I sat across looking at my wife
Thinking, “Has there ever been another woman like Tina Lyn”
I was considering our shared love
The commitment we made to trust
Our choice to maintain an open dialog regarding faith
And always go to bed with hearts full of happiness

It’s not always easy to hold onto happiness
But it is easier when you have a relationship built on trust
Like the one I have with my wife
It only takes a little faith
And someone like my Tina Lyn
To have a life full of peace of mind and love

I wish everyone knew there was this kind of love
If only everyone could find their Tina Lyn
Then they too could experience this happiness
And begin to have some faith
Build a life with their lover or wife
With a strong foundation of honesty and trust

I never knew I could have such trust
In my youth I had no faith
Only fleeting moments of happiness
That all changed when I found my wife
And allowed myself to open up to her love
It was then I knew I would spend eternity with Tina Lyn

I still remember the first night I spent with Tina Lyn
And our conversations about the meaning of trust
And how important that was to real happiness
Is it any wonder I made her my wife
I had never known such complete and unconditional love
So I took a chance on faith

It’s a funny thing about faith
When one considers it without god, only trust
I had to learn these things from Tina Lyn
Even though I knew I ‘wanted’ a life full of love
‘Wanting’ is not the road to true happiness
and would have never brought me my perfect wife

I think about my happiness as a man in love
The trust I have in my relationship with Tina Lyn…
Only person to ever bring faith into my heart is my wife

I parked upon an old dirt road
Contemplating conservation
I heard in the distance a forest toad

There came a rumbling from below
Creating in me some reservation
I parked upon an old dirt road

I smelled grass freshly mowed
It begin a contemplation
I heard in the distance a forest toad

Remembering a picture I once was showed
And my complete indignation
I parked upon an ole dirt road

To my right a firefly perfectly glowed
With fierce retaliation
I heard in the distance a forest toad

My broken pick-up needed to be towed
Down to the service station
I parked upon an old dirt road
I heard in the distance a forest toad

her eyes shine so blue
sometimes I get lost
I truly knew not what to do

T’was our love that blossomed and grew
With no fear for the coming frost
Her eyes shine so blue

My heart was for her through and through
I had to keep her at any cost
I truly knew not what to do

The rain it fell and the wind it blew
Trees fell and lines were crossed
Her eyes shine so blue

I fell to my knees, scuffed up my shoe
Looked to the sky with eyes glossed
I truly knew not what to do

I held tight to the thing I knew was true
And released anything mossed
Her eyes shine so blue
I truly knew not what to do

Looking out the window I was transfixed by the trees
The outside edge of a vast forest
It was autumn and I admired the various colors of the leaves
I felt as if I were on pins and needles
Preparing to go out and commune with nature
As was the way with those of us blessed to live in Oregon

I have always lived in Oregon
Though I have traveled to many different forests
Often I am struck by the difference in the leaves
As I wander through my home away from home, nature
Stopping often to examine the trees
Crush and smell the needles

There is nothing like the smell of fresh Fir needles
When standing in a temperate rain forest
Like the one we have here in Oregon
Looking out across the tops of the trees
Entranced by the turning Oak leaves
Becoming one with the surrounding nature

It is such a blessing to have a relationship with nature
And fairly easy if one chooses to live in Oregon
You needn’t have love for forests
Or a desire to play amongst the leaves
The eastern desert has Juniper needles
And small scrub-brush trees

The Oregon coast has wind-swept trees
With branches stretched and tattered leaves
We find the smell of pine when crushing these needles
Along the Pacific in beautiful Oregon
And while the difference is vast within nature
It is all part of the greater Oregon forest

I stood content, as a part of the forest
Rooted to the spot I stood I became one with the trees
Beneath me lay the softest bed of spruce needles
I thought, “I am living as part of, and in tandem with, nature,
this is what it is to be an Oregonian”
I stretched out my fingers and they became as the leaves

Contemplating Oregon and its various coniferous needles
The natural beauty surrounded me like a thick stand of trees
And the forest held me close, as if I were a freshly opened leaf

Grit grinding between molars
Gnashed against the biting wind
I feel myself clamp down
Chomping at the bit to be safely home
Warming damaged toes
Upon burning ******* –
Lighting up a *** and feeling gay
Will be the way in which I celebrate my arrival
No longer supping on sand particulates
Dining gleefully on grime caught on a breeze
Nay, only sweet goose juice and fine wine
In the shape of kool-aid and burritos –
Grasping at my tattered collar
Pulling it close to my neck and chest
Red skin screaming
Chapped and irritated
Desperate for cover
Perhaps a nice toddy
And some Telly –
Visions of peace and warmth egg me on
the direness of my current situation
a catalyst for movement and action
only death by exposure
awaits me here
fated to the elements
with only a distant porch light
glowing
leading me home –

the little dog’s ears perk
and the tail nub cranks to a fervor
crunching gravel hits my ears moments later
and all of our collective excitement builds –
she walks in a drops purse and backpack by the door
giving quick pats to dusty heads
before looking over
sparkling love shines as our eyes meet
and the realization takes hold
we are but for each other
until tomorrows work day begins –
sharing minutes and debriefing
work clothes have been shed and tossed
making way for sweatpants
or pajama bottoms
who says there are age limits
in footy PJ’s –
**** hits and bad Netflix
**** hits and black ops
**** hits and baths
and bed –
habitual routine takes shape
but when happiness is applied
generously
there is no way
these habits could be negative –

Sweet sweet powder
Sweet sweet powder
Cutting keys wit flour
****** man of the hour
It’s the sweet sweet powder
Sweet sweet powder
Lookin down from the tower
Homeboy, I got all the power

It’s the sweet sweet powder
Like I’m raven from the bowery
I be hittin fools wit trash cans
Wake em up in bout an hour
With that sweet sweet powder
Shootin three ***** like crowder
Hollarin hella louder
Like Aretha in the shower
Got that sweet sweet powder
That I’m given to the *******
Never ****** with those snitches
That are wearing goodwill britches
No I roll with the
Sweet sweet powder
Been running through the ditches
Eating salty ham sandwiches
You act like I don’t know riches
I know that

Sweet sweet powder
Be cutting keys wit flour
I’m da man of the hour
Jumpin in the shower
With the sweet sweet powder
On the ivory tower
Pimpin tricks by the hour
Holding all the ****** power
Got that sweet sweet powder

Now wit that sweet sweet powder
I get ******* like a Scotty
****** Baio was hottie
But with that sweet sweet powder
He coulda ****** gotten Molly
Little Ringwald in her prime time
Slap that *** like a hate crime
Sweet sweet powder blowin my mind

I got that sweet sweet powder
Fuckim man of the hour
Rollin with robin trower
Acting like a lil bow-er
With my sweet sweet powder
Turning trick by the hour
Showering with power
Giving ******* flowers
Got that sweet sweet powder

I have a request for you :)

I am starting my MFA in creative writing this up-coming Fall and would very much like input on ways to improve my writing. I know that for the most part we are a loving group prone to show only care and compassion (at least that is my experience) but I would truly like to have some constructive criticism or even some editing ideas.


Thank you all so much and please, wish me luck!

The thesis for the program is to have a manuscript ready for publication and 4 of the advisors have direct links to publishing companies....I have rarely felt this much excitement!

Girl conditioner
        Lovingly stroked through whiskers
***** Flatbeard smiles

Hot and flat iron
         Please hipster gods be so kind
Beard becomes calm sea

Personal grooming
         Turned to Japanese garden
Terraced beard landscape

Rogaine investment
          Thick beard glued into donkey
Looks like a Jack-***

Caveman gone ape ****
            Preferring the barber shop
To hot biker chicks

Poor ***** Flatbeard
            No one thinks you very cool
Eskimo status

Rustling leaves fall
            No, just ****** beard in the wind
Peed some while laughing

No love for hip beards
           ***** Flatbeard needs to die
Slow, painful, mean death

dusty bindings sit atop forgotten shelves
longing for interested fingertips
desperately wishing for fanfare
or even faint memories to stir –
fighting against the swelling tide
I lovingly caress faded pages
offering at least a moment of recapture
lost days of importance and worth
musty scents waft through
and I place the treasure
onto the scratched and marred countertop –
coins bounce and clatter
as someone’s life, pen to page
is sold, used, for less than one dollar
U.S. currency –
a wide and victorious smile
greets the waiting world
as I again escape my sanctuary
with the last vestige of constitutionalism
left free from attack,
at least for today…
tucked gently under my sleeved arm,
a cotton blend for warmth,
rests a good book
for comfort –

i took a drive up to the mountains
stopped near a dense part of the forest
casting my eyes over the forest floor I noticed the ferns
and even as I sat in the pouring rain
looking around for elusive Chanterelles
i felt at peace and at home

not an hour ago I had left my home
and here I was deep in the mountains
never one to be deterred by the rain
i stepped out amongst the ferns
becoming part of the forest
i spotted my first Chanterelles

oh! how I love to pick chanterelles
on the floor of the thick, dark forest
lost in a valley of ferns
with just of touch of cool Oregon rain
no thoughts for the worries of my home
just me, communing with the mountains

from before I could walk I played in these mountains
remembering my youth and vast forests
tucking behind my ear the frawn of a fern
tasting the nutty peppered flavor of fresh Chanterelles
truly, this was my real home
an Oregonian child at peace in the rain

brought back to the present by a large drop of rain
i thought about my family at home
and their connection to these same mountains
and while they did not love Chanterelles
they very much enjoyed playing among the ferns
in this special part of the forest

few things hold a place in my heart like this forest
or the beautiful orange grow of a new Chanterelle
i breathe in deep my home away from home
enjoying each and every drop of falling rain
looking across the range of mountains
sprinkled with soft and gentle ferns

i left my home in search of chanterelles
but was captivated by the mountains and made whole by the rain
in the societal forest, I am but a fern

deep sigh escapes
large white face
ticking slow
less than three
and freedom –
she awaits
with bells on
diamonds in her shoes
anticipating
breath bated
ultimate goal
togetherness—
I pace
recheck time
tap pencils
on faux wooden desks
thumbs twiddle
minute hand dawdles
might piddle
considering swaddling –
her face forms
my mind’s eye retracing
soft curves
delicate features
astrologically charted
freckle pattern
sharp blue eyes
pierce
my heart leaps –
formulating excuses
call it an early day
dash homeward
sweet embrace –

sitting, contemplating trends
considering trending
in the popular vernacular
#*** #longhairdontcare
Did you read hashtag?
Did you read number?
#number

dragonfly wing beat

mother sits on my shoulder

spirit eternal

it’s a god-awful small affair
to the girl with the mousy hair
10,000 hipsters stand in the square
with ***** makeup and ****** flare
prayers fly into the dim lit sky
as a generation asks god  ‘why’
it’s a god-awful small affair
to the girl with the mousy hair
I sit here in despair
for a god of whom I did care
well, just a man with a master’s eye
for making all of the people sigh…
and now I sit here with my head in my hand
just trying to understand
what this world has come unto
can there ever again be skies of blue
and while *swishy in her satin and tat
frock coat and bipperty-bopperty hat
there can never be another like that –
the morning news brought a cold chill
as the icon of us undesirables
came to be laid at rest
it’s on America’s tortured brow
leaving us to sit solemn
as old records spin
telling tales of space men
and life on mars
a little china girl
and one man who feel to earth
it’s on America’s tortured brow
the fashionista of glam rock
the birther of Ziggy
the man who sold the world
forever changing
chameleon
in smart shoes –
spinning grooves
and scattered cd’s
tears slipping away
as memories already start to fade
it’s the freakiest show
look at those cavemen go
will they ever know
just who left us
take a look at the lawman
beating up the wrong guy
it’s a god-awful small affair
to the girls with the mousy hair
now she walks with a sunken dream
and the cream that once rose so high
so too will come the time to die
and as all of us let him go
there can be a bit of hope for those
who carry a torchy flare
to the girl with the mousy hair
and will sing in the dead of night
with face paint and a big spot light
******* and the party boys
come out with their fancy toys
but it’s a god-awful small affair
if you find you’re too square to care
‘bout the goblin kings sad depart
from this earth and from hipster hearts
see these kids have no loyalty
to a man who helped define me
when the world gave me a frown
for kissing boys in a dainty gown
ole Davy gave me peace
with a confidence that never ceased
oh Mr. Jones I’m in debt to you
for turning my grey skies to blue
now I’ll forever carry this torch
from green valleys to my own front porch
but it’s a god-awful small affair
it’s nice to know some of us care…
about the earth and sun and stars
and yes
there is life
on
     Mars –

Looking though opaque curtains
at the fog setting delicate.
Placing gently droplets of condensation
ever so gracefully atop individual
blades of grass.
Barely audible
whistles travel through space
softly capturing my ear
and gifting me with the morning song
of a Lark or Turn.
Breathing deeply,
the surroundings fill me
and a smile passes
over my lips…
thankful and connected
to the land and life around me
on this new day
I experience contentedness.

                                     A cold nose shocks my finger tip……

The old lab looks up,
near smiles,
and we share
the moment.

Dropping crops in the hottest bus stops riding in a drop top actin like I’m the Rock
White skin shinning at the shin dig with my dawg Jim, I’m grinning cause I’m winning
and my life is just beginning. Don’t let the grey hair fool ya, I be a cool brah with a tool kit
fix your drain pipe in the rain won’t complain, ****, I don’t even need paid. sound insane?
Then run away, but if you stay you just may see the day when money fades away
Replaced with face to face interpersonal rela –tionships… spinach dip? Kung-Foo grip…
Please don’t trip cause I’m I be ripped like Snoop in the ‘09 coup de ville, I still drive an old ride
But its paid off and is environmentally soft, I mean it don’t pollute unless I have my boot
and sweet  vermouth…  that ain’t the truth I was a drinking youth left that **** back at the booth
now I only smoke on the herb and swerve through the herd not a star wars nerd but I no like the beep
beep beep, **** ain’t cheap gotta work too reap the benefits of this nation rise above your station
and start with contemplation, make a plan and take a stand be the man like the marvel cat Stan
see that’s a little nerdy but we all have those traits I just keep mine at bay saying praying is gay
******* swinging both this and that a-way. Truly do not give one **** bout your luck
of the rims on your truck, more impressed with duck eggs and the ruckus made when a barn gets raised
like I’m an Amish Bruce Wayne. Getting paid in meager wages still rocking a pager never wager on sport
teams and smudge with white sage.

rattling prattlers straddling the erector set
injecting discontent in unarmed encampments
antagonizingly protagonisic double fister
resists the insistent reminiscers lists
of misplaced catfish….
switching grisly wrists braces
the faceless rapists playlists
include only pop hits from 1996….
You finish this  --

voices came in the night speaking of a coming change    
the birth of new age for all of humanity
an age filled with light
an age of unconditional love
for all the people of the world
and to thank, we have the aliens

messages came from the minds of aliens
to those not afraid of the light
to a segment of humanity
which will be the ones to save the world
offering just one simple change
move from a place of fear and hate to one of love

it is up to us to show the love
to each other and the aliens
those who engineered this world
and all of humanity
we glow in their light
and become the universal change

we must invite the cosmic energy for change
to become a beacon for humanity
forever live in blessed love
with peace on our world
under the direct care of the aliens
there can be only healing light

look up to the sky and bask in the light
one representative of growth and change
a light that holds for all of humanity
a hope of peace and love
co-existence with our brothers, the aliens
harmony surrounding the whole world

this could be the fate of our world
if only we could accept love
and step into the light
remember we, ourselves, are the aliens
and use that knowledge as a catalyst for change
and truly understand the meaning of humanity

there is a change coming for all of humanity
where we have to choose the light in order to know love
pray this world has more hope than just aliens

reinvigorated by an atmosphere
creative juices flow
seems a lifetime since I sat
surrounded by stories of religion
having a 'god' experience –
memories flood through barred windows
as smiling familiar faces
dressed all in blue
great me with love and acceptance
again –
gratefulness hardly encompasses
this blessing
the joy
of this holy union
blessed by our love
for one and other –
same speckled tables
same off-white chairs
same same same
yet
so very different—
growth and change shine
similarities shift
re-membering a sacred membership
and once again
sharing this time –

t’was darkly in the winter morn
before the sun’s rays were born
before the sheep were set for shorn
before the maids had milled the corn
I heard a noise from upon the step
reminding me of a traffic wreck
or when ole uncle slipped off the deck
woke in hospital with a broken neck
I jumped on up from my bed
with legs and arms just like lead
a face with anger, colored red
but a sense within akin to dread
t’was just ole Santa on Christmas night
reindeer dancing with delight
the feeling escaped me, the one of fright
and instead I thought, “I must check my sight”
I’m near 40 and of no Christian ilk
there is no tree, nor cookies and milk
yet here I am in pajamas of silk
standing eye to eye with a mythical elf
large red nose and twinkling eyes
just like in the stories I thought full of lies
looked him up and down as if for size
and leaned down placing my hands on my thighs
needing for a moment to catch my breath
thinking I may be quite near death
or that this was some flashback from LSD or ****
when he spoke I could only hold my breath
“you’ve been quite good or so it seems
so here I am to haunt your dreams
and give you gifts with ribbons and strings
but mostly to remind you of other things
like somethings you will never understand
there are concepts that live quite out of hand
and dimensions that exist without air or land
and a cosmic joke with no real plan
you’ve gotten to wrapped up in esoteric visions
forgetting to experience this life you are livin
so this be the best gift I am given
here are the keys, you’ll no longer be driven”
and with that bit of fluff he was gone in a flash
leaving me to quietly stroke my moustache
and tighten the rope on my wintery sash
when it hit me like lightening with a blinding loud crash
I was now free to do what I please
Santa had gifted me the ability to see
I breathed in the ocean and exhaled the trees
and fell to the ground on my hands and my knees
good ole Santa Claus had done showed me the way
a way to live and know just what to say
the ability to leave behind the dismay
and recreate myself anew each day
I went back to bed feeling renewed
no longer needing validation or food
gone was the desire to be sarcastic or rude
truth be told, I was still going to need the food
but the point holds strong and the meaning’s the same
a change took place that altered my brain
taking me from a place unhinged or insane
and leaving me safe with no need to place blame
yes this is the year Santa changed my life
gave me a gift that near matched my wife
offering a change from a place of depression and strife
to one of hope and love, of joy, and of life
oh Santa dear, how could this be true
I was one who never believed in you
like a pagan, a wiccan, Satanist, or Jew
or the little old woman whom lived in the shoe
but from henceforth and on every new day
I will think of the night that you came my way
appearing through the fog and the snow that did spray
changing forever the meaning of Christmas day –

I stood in the cold rain
Feeling consumed by overwhelming hunger
Trying to make sense of all the lies
Wishing there was a way to stop this **** wind
If there were any truths to our shared dreams
And if I would ever be free from these memories.

I thought back to the many nights we spend talking about our dreams
Turns out, many of these were just lies
Like broken mirrors I tried to piece together the memories
Hoping it would satiate my hunger
Instead I felt on my face a blast of cold wind
Followed immediately by ice-laden rain

I wish we could dance again in the spring rain
Spin like children in the warm summer wind
But it will not do, telling myself these lies
Holding onto broken dreams
Like a starving man holding onto hunger
With eating, his only memories

The treetops swayed in the wind
And I thought to myself I must get out of this rain
Break free from this flood of bad memories
Sprinkled with years of lies
I must wake from these terrible dreams
And do something about this hunger

I felt a churning inside myself, like I was suffering from hunger
But this too was just more lies
I was being eaten alive by memories
Giving myself cancer reliving these dreams
Standing alone in the rain
The only thing on my face, the wind

There can be no more smiles, only the rain
At least with rain, there are no lies
just the feeling one has when they give up on dreams
and live only through their memories
dying slowly from an untamed, unnamed hunger
until they too are carried away on the wind

glancing up over the top of her reading glasses
looking at me, smiling
fingers extend out towards my resting arm
and we touch –
gathering blooms from the miniature rose bush
light footfalls in the garden beds
a soft exhale passes my ear as delicate fingers fall onto my shoulder
and she touches me –
checking the blind spot before a left turn
reaching out absentmindedly to turn down the radio
as I have thought of another inconsequential piece of random…
fingers touch my leg –
soft flutes signify the work alarm has sprung into life
encrusted eyes struggle to open against the new breaking day
a slight change in the steady breathing means she is also awake
she reaches over to touch my exposed back –
each day new ways come to light
every moment new feelings of excitement and peace
I close my eyes to think of her beauty and grace
and I am touched –

slipping unnoticed
past the giant door
opening and closing like clockwork
travelling en masse
away from the center
void of life giving oxygen
making the dangerous trip
though miles of tunnels
only to try and pick up another load
from the lungs
and drop it in the brain and heart –
escaping the chest cavity
the right arm becomes my journey
what looks to be just a couple feet
up and back
in reality is hundreds of inches
passing scar tissue
and trusting that the varicose
with not make a prisoner…
all of the sudden the crowd slows
from break neck speed to a slow crawl
once again this ******* has brought
foreign bodies into the parade
giving each of us an extra load to carry
one that damages our structure
while slowing our travel –
the needle falls to the floor
as another overdose victim
waits to be found
blood rests in veins
clotted and coagulated
wishing only to make another trip around the horn –

icy breath sends flesh altering shivers
as the glacial winds blow
from the mountains
across quiet and still skin
slapping shoulders and hopping in place
the silent fight against the elements
more coats
extra sweaters
grandmothers knitted mittens
hot water bottle
and electrified blankets
all working in tandem
to break the chill
and fill me once again
with the joy that only the August sun
can bring –
fondly remembering sweat and sticking to leather
ice tea and barbeque
warm evenings on the porch swing
instead,
an icicle forms on the tip of my nose
as my exhalation
creates steam
freezing on contact
with the hateful and harsh air
exposed flesh reddens
and chaps –
each movement a fresh hell
aching joints balk at the subzero temps
the slightest stubbing
sending me into tirades of cursing
even rage only heats me up for a moment…
trying to keep moving
while worrying about frost bite
I notice a hole in my pants
and it becomes the focus of my life
each bit of motion
allowing more shards of glass to pierce my skin
wishing only for warm cocoa
and the crackling of a hard wood fire…
looking out at the tundra
the realization comes clear
while it is only a couple hundred yards to the house
I am sure to die
and be found in the spring thaw
rather than ever make it through
this wintery hell –

foreboding shadows elongate
giving the entire property
the feel of a cold October evening
when the first frost lays delicate
on the tips of the crab grass
sending sparkles dancing
across the still cow pond …..
a mounting sense of dread builds
as each step weighs
with the heaviness of broken hearts
and balding men being divorced
overweight girls in gym class
and a backpack full of river rock
at the end of a long hot trail …..
the wooden door looms
looking like the elementary school principle
after the first real fist fight
an angry parent
holding evidence of lies
the boss the day after
too much drink at the holiday party…
a shaky hand reaches for the ****
akin to autumn leaves rustling to the land below
after a stiff breeze
in the cool evening –
upon opening the door I pay for
a soft sigh passes my lips…..
he is not present
and so,
at least for a moment,
I have peace in my home –