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 --

I look across
the moss covered snag
laid delicately on the forest floor
creating habitat for micro-cilium
and rodent families.
Momentarily disorientated
by the crashing of dry
and disjointed underbrush,
I peer through the Fir thicket
attempting to find the source.
At first I am both startled and amazed
at the sheer size of what I perceive to be
an angry grizzly mother
a territorial male mountain cougar
a ******* bigfoot!!
To my surprise and terror
I hear the crashing get closer
and catch the wafting scent
of my unknown adversary…
nay, my death provider
and the digester of Sam.
Unfiltered fear sweeps through me
as visions of all the things in my life
left undone, pass before my eyes
holding grandchildren, reading to them
holding my wife’s small fingers at the table
of the assisted living facilities dining room,
stamps…
when at once my fear is realized
and I find myself staring into the malicious
deadly
evil eyes of
a baby fawn still in spot
that my reckless forest tramping
has stirred from its hidden slumber.
I blush and move on.

Sterling Jay props an acorn into the crotch of an Elm
Rhythmic drumming follows
Two-thirds the life of a fly passes
Yet the Sterling remains both diligent and determined
From the porch I hear the crack
Followed by the triumphant high-pitched squawk
Sterling Jay has secured a delightful evening meal --

flying elbow smash
top rope lunatic
smashing forearms with finesse
deftly bringing a ruckus crowd
to froth ~
cleverly spouted phrases
heel delivery  
sneering with spittle soaring
microphone weather system /

flexed pecs bounce in time
chanting masses standing proud
electric air
goose bumps for all ~

steel chair buckles
as skin distorts and goes purple
screaming hordes count in unison
each whack brings fresh cheers
sprinkled with groans
their ‘guy’ has been beaten ~

sweat pours from a chiseled physique
and a belt is raised high /

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 –

~


ruffled satin cascades
        deep pools hold attention
strewn pebbles of amber
    give rise to shifting images
like clouds passing overhead
while looking into a windswept pond

a lilting titter caresses my earlobe
and I can hardly focus on the language
       it is her posture
               her smile
                  which captivates

pressed skin warms
without sun or fire
            only our shared space
                 gives rise to heat and comfort
                        our matched sighs
                              tendril to the stratosphere /

washed-up has-been
rummaging through yesteryears
moth-balled memorabilia
catches a momentary reflection
in a cracked and stained mirror –
wrinkled cheekbones and saggy jowls
encircle puffy eyes,
red from lack of peaceful sleep
chapped lips
and hanging skin particles
look back, sadly –
beyond the mirror
and the defeated image
the sun shines
on an open lot
filled with boys and bats
all dreaming of a time
in which they can be famous. –

deep desire to change the game
shame the infamous
expose my
“not-quite-large-enough-for-****”
type, white man’s *******
‘cept
they no grow, only show
and I explode –
looking to cause a ruckus
hostilely point out short-comings
and be a general ‘bad-egg’
in a land of friendly faces
and helpful writers….
but this is not my life –
condescending *******
bent on trolling
and pushing my opinion
on the unsuspecting public
by being mean
in the comments section –
no desire to make fake friends
in a land of creative outlet
and liars,
all pining
for another heart or kind word…
absurd –
but I cannot
unleash this monster inside
deep down I do care
for my community of wannabe artists
of which I find myself
a part.

jumping to stump speechify
my eyes cast upon a darkened horizon
locusts and tsunami
sahara dust storm 1000 miles wide
stretching into the stratosphere
engorged on the land laid out before
fattened and grotesque
the words spew forth
slime coated and green
sickeningly sweet to inferior ears
tales of bigotry and fascism
are spread on the common core classrooms
like molasses
giving everything a hue of diarrhea
**** water paint job
gleaming teeth of innocent school babes
tainted by the lies
and unrealized potential
a nation sits in its **** and waits
for anyone to extend a hand –

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

my eyes were caught by the midday moon
the gravitational pull grabbed my arteries
and influenced my veins
tugging as if I were part of the ocean
and releasing me back into my body
it were as if my very cells themselves
carried tiny tidal pools
forever driving in and out
by the forces of night
and the power of Luna …..
the moments stretched out
moonbeams elongating over an open field
seeking the shadowy places
within my heart
all the while birds chirped and the sun shown
lawns were being mowed
as grocery carts found themselves emptied and returned
the world traveled as it does
in the sunlit afternoon
and I stood
impressed and motionless
by the influence
of the midday moon –

dirt and dust
encircling a sea
painted ******* and wooden masks
stand out
and instantly fade
as the slow march around the eight
fills the sunny weekend –
fifteen stages from spoken word to belly dancing
dubsteppers mingle with dead heads
and the mushrooms flow
like wine –
It’s been seven years since the hippies
proved to me capitalism is the greatest sin
and yet I find myself drawn back
pulled by familial remembrances
and the overwhelming feeling
of being welcomed home –
This year marks the beginning, again
third times the charm…
of my acquaintanceship and relation too
the Oregon Country Fair
and when I close my eyes
and tell myself the truth,
I am excited and happy
to be going back home. –

I am not here for accolades
hearts, notifications, messages
this place is a way to develop
hone skills and become better
I appreciate the love
but would rather have
real editing interactions
based on critically critiquing
and attempting to re-create ourselves
into the greats of tomorrow…. or today –
I find it difficult
to read piece after piece
love poem after love poem
discrediting my landscape
though so much fodder
very few truly grab my attention
and in complete honesty
the first 5 lines decide if I continue my read –
I am a poet
lamenting, sullen, fixated on despair
enthralled by beauty
natural and interpersonal
devastated by incompleteness
and ……..
it would be nice to hit 50 followers ;)

~


I didn’t see her at first
the frolicy bounding yearlings
                       had my attention~

When I looked back to the south
         I was stricken
               her hunched straining body
                   ears frantically twitching
                        one large black eye
                              fixed  ~

she must have just begun
             her morning ritual
                      as she kept
                                going ~

I have never claimed to be the most
                          mature man
so this spectacle
                 made me laugh
my noise added to her
                         rigidity
which inspired more
                       uproarious laughter ~

duty complete
              she flipped a large
                          white tail
and cast a disgusted glace
back at me
     not once or
               even twice
but three separate looks ~

the third was more than
      I could bare
so I shouted out
across an empty field
to one indignant doe
a heartfelt apology ~

Dreaming of freely bringing my ***** out in public
not for *** or show, no
but to catch a breeze or please a passerby
give an old lady a sigh, and why not?
we are so hung up on these ideas of modesty
and deftly trying to live up to an ethical and moral code
that was written in stone 3500 years ago
by a man with horns
who spent 40 years lost in a desert….. nay, I say
whip it out and swing it about
the same with *******
give them girls a tan, and when a man stares
poke him in the eye with an ***** ******, it’s simple
soon, **** dimples will be the norm and only in stormy weather
will we worry about coverage….we are above this rage over
breast feeding babies and ****** and rabies
one humanity naked in the sun
all skins bronzed
all eyes mere slits to the brightness
of the whiteness of my ***
it is not about wealth or class
or poverty hags with well-groomed half-breed puppies
it’s all about me and my needs to express the sin of skin
to all but my kin
as that just seems weird –

**** near enough torque to bust a motor mount
little pig contorted her body
and sneered a smile
soundless barks
mouthed
she wiggled backwards all the way to the couch
turned, took a breath,
and went right back to wiggling –
rescue mutt
lab **** cut and pasted on a bull dog
front end
looking like a 73 Barracuda
***-end way up high…
little spots above her eyes
reddish in the sunlight
show Rottweiler markings
so, at best, she is a three way fat head…
picked her up with the name Gunther,
for a little girl dog…. –
We called her Gunny
but almost instantly
she became a wiggle pig
a gunny pig bear
and the great spazzgunno…
never have I owned a better ****** –

wildly winding mountain road
descending elevation blurs
careening towards freedom
the darkness seems to follow ~
white knuckled and madly steering
screeching wheels struggle to grip
gaskets swell with petroleum pressure
radiator coolant hisses and spits ~

a long exhale on a straight stretch
a droplet of harsh mortality
leaves the temple
and travels its own downhill journey
twisting along the neck
banking on the pectoral incline
picking up speed slaloming belly hair ~

slamming the transmission into first
engine whine echoes
howling moan bounces off canyon walls
as the cramp in my colon reaches
maximum ache
I drop the metaphor and head to the toilet /

broken bottles and battered buildings
hide tormented parents
and their heathen children
backlash flash bang tear gas flies
Amerikkka holds its breath
as the Midwest burns down –
naked in the van Mr. Grey lays lifeless
lingering thoughts of drunken debauchery
surround the station
when all at once crowds gather
riled and red-faced
ready to revolt
against revolting police practices and procedure –
A nation of ADD suffers turns on the news
make-up clad news father figures sit behind desks
costing more than those the impoverished they report on
cut-scene and a black screen have new meaning
as the green party can only wait
for this to pass
as all things do --

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 –

spotlight on the injustice
nationwide racial profiling
reliving civic unrests and marches leading to nowhere
the broken back of the black American shines white in the desert sun
and all of our blood is red when exposed to air –
feeling helpless and slightly lethargic
I shield my eyes from reality
looking instead at the unicorn and fairy forest of humanities youth
when magic ruled
and not on a card table –
faithless monuments dot the horizon
symbolizing a people’s fall from grace
and the loss of ethic and morality –
my hands vibrate with anger
as I am helpless to fight
against the enemy that is my skin
and a war that is based in my country –

I heard him say my name
just as clear as these words you read
concise and with force
as if I were a child again
on the precipice of mortal danger
as if at any moment
I could very well cease to be
or perhaps
fall so far as to have never existed –
the tar melted
smelling of old lemon acidity
pooling in the low center
of a blackened tablespoon
70 brownish cc’s
sat, still warm in the syringe
I pictured his face
and took the plunge –
I heard him say my name
but he had been dead five years
my father called to me
and then left me to consider
the meaning
what does it mean
when  ghost calls your name….
was I supposed to stop….
was I supposed to act…
I shot the drugs
into my left armpit
and pushed the job offer away
I shot the drugs
into my left armpit
and let his voice carry me to sleep
I shot the drugs
into my left armpit
and threw another five
years into the addiction soup
giving it just enough temper
and spice
to block the sounds –
I often think back
to a double-wide trailer
just at the edge of Hubbard
and the night my father called my name
while I stooped
in a ****** slumber
considering what was to become of me –

a low grumble and a hard thud
as I walk into my abode
old man jimmy rolls on his back
greeting me after my time on the road—

his thick floppy jowls hang free
as he looks up me upside-down
a bit of the tail wagging ensues
and there is no way to maintain my frown –

more guttural vocalizations
followed by pressing all his weight against my legs
looking up into my face
wishing I had something to try and beg—

I give a few sharp pats on his head
and command him to get outta my face
more grumbles as he slowly walks to his station
even an old crotchety lab has the ability to learn his place –

parental idealism
and information sought
bucking the family traditions
or embracing long-held values
our first break from individualism
is being born into a pre-existing structure..
well-defined gender lines
and sublime reminders of the familial crest
through dinnertime blessings and dressing
in your Sunday best..
t ’is a tie, we find
seeking the second in line
winding through the mind of the bound concubine
eternally enslaved for simply misbehaving
the charade (long A) displays a case
for race mixing and fixing the broken capitalist system
as either the church of choice
or privately funded institutions
publically traded on wall street
take the reins and betray a nation
by infecting the most manipulation-able citizens
and treating them with poisonous nutrients
and filling open and willing minds
with lies about Jesus and George Washington
brain-washing them
embalming them
condemning them
to slow death….
before considering bringing
another human into this system
re-examine everything you have been told


……………………………….the advice truly is sound –

open sores ooze discontent
yellowish **** flows down the infected leg
red and hot skin swells and distorts
while thick green pasty rot coats the region
undeterred by the sight, white teeth flash
savage growls penetrate the night
as the pack looks to down the injured stag
gnashing fangs and yips of pleasure pierce the darkness
tearing sinew and ripped fur fly
damaging multiple square feet
I spotlight the affair
knowing tomorrow will be filled with
circling turkey vultures
and the sick smell of fresh death in the field –

breaking out of a broken home
misery makes for interesting bedfellows
the project blocks shrink in the distance
while he makes his way for parts unknown
     thinkin about being full grown

odd jobs fill the lonely days
and hunger pains give the night hours life
looking out from a tattered box
understanding all his dreams are blown
     wishing he was really full grown

on an oil crew just outside of Gnome
spring in Alaska so nice and mellow
attempting to make a living wage, meeting resistance
feeling like he is all alone
     knowing he is not full grown

on his knees he sits and prays
to grant him happiness, to take a wife
without a key, he picks the locks
like a mighty bird already flown
     he waits and waits to be full grown

through his matted hair he pulls a comb
the tangles cause him to scream and bellow
but he doesn’t give up relaying on his persistence
never realizing he is completely owned
     which is the year he becomes full grown

on the soft grass he stares and lays
looking back on the years of strife
imagining himself free like the Fox
escaping his lips, a defeated moan
     I may not live long enough to be full grown

in a nice wool suit sitting by the phone
looking out at the daffodils blooming yellow
a flash of realization hits him in an instance
all I do is **** and groan
    waiting to be told that I am full grown

peace surrounds him and the feeling stays
rest finds him, granting and end to his life
buried now under clumpy dirt and rocks
he died as he lived without ever getting the bone
    not really knowing he was always full grown

Rollin down the street with lil Pauly trollin all the freaks with their Converse conversing on the Servicemen and the suicide rates waiting at the gates for the slow ride to make the left turn at the community estate, I state, its great liven upper middle in the greenest state eating entitlement cake acting like I am vital and any mistake would break the system we bump fists and switch the disk by remote control stroll down the veranda like a Versace panda rockin an ice banana and a Bernie Sanders bandana living breathing socialism planner listen to the police scanner don't have to smoke bammer like Loc in the slammer up in Alabama fresh pajamas flannel and polyester pics of a jester wrestler molesting a waitress successfully doing the Cosby ya'll be callin me insensitive but I'm representative of a nation that don't give a **** --

~
Tiger grass in the Willamette Valley hides canine anaconda
they slither unseen except for the sifting chaff,
westerly breezes give them total cover until the attack
of tongue and slobber. We sit, half expecting,
a pounce and roll. The scratchy paw against cotton blend
inspires distant tree frogs to croak and seek
mates and pools perfect to harbor new life.
Delicate eggs surrounded by slime fly up and over
heads not paying attention, heads that instantly become open caverns
and howl like banshees at splashing hounds in the moonlight.
Disciplinary tones squelch exuberant activity and
three old men with hanging heads gather around the fire,
unable to make eye-contact or even muster up the courage
to lay upon booted feet of angry masters. Only the occasional whimper
rolls across the valley as even the frogs fear for their safety.  /

lost in thought and
lost in boxes
thin dust coated
stacked haphazard
her life
inside –
I began moving and rearranging the space
attempting to reclaim the study
instead memories flooded and tears fell
as each tote
carried a piece of her –
considering the southern trip
in a rented Caravan
more than a year ago
trying to decide what items
I needed to carry and store
in order to properly protect
and honor her memory –
standing in a poorly lit room
staring at her life
under packaging tape
I found myself attempting to
reorganize my mother –
as I placed boxes into the hallway closet
I found myself thinking about her
parental missteps
which then gave me freedom
to hide her away
I saw the old photographs
smiles belying childhood disappointment
not the bike I wanted
wrong style of shoe
embarrassed of the car
the house
life ……
I slide another box into the crawl space –
angry and confused
by my actions
and emotions
I think about her smile
Southern Californian blond  
six foot one shinning like the sun
in the grey Oregon drizzle
taller, prettier, and better educated
she glowed in the dying mill town
and I,
but her child,
felt lost in the shine –
vacuuming the bunnies
and mentally compiling
the inventory list seems lite
as if I lost important packed items
in the shuffling memories …..
I was instantly struck
by what was missing
from the tattered and faded boxes,
as I reorganized my mother
I had found, again
within myself –

reaching out my nervous hand
I met my first “real” poet
excitedly I introduced myself
wanting desperately for him to know my name
but for a better reason

even the greatest artist produces trash
so what chance did I have?
an assignment gone astray
turned into a meeting I will
never
     forget

I attempted to recreate drivel
and succeeded beyond compare
eventually turning myself into a goat
complete with horns and an attitude
I just hope redemption
can find the non-Christian

many little moments comprise this ride we call ‘life’
some inconsequential
some life-altering and forever remembered
……….I wonder which today’s will be

electric tingle travels spinally
and I exhale a breath 17 years held
double dose gel cap
freed again through LSD ~

vibrating with bass drops
howling without control
fixated on raindrops sliding
along glass
behind the pane
wet leaves tremble /

furrows of worry smooth
deep inhalation
and memories of peaceful transgression
replace twitching eye lid
and monetary concern ~

having forgotten my old self
what a pleasure it is to see me
again /

sing song poems make me mad
reading rhyming prose is sort of sad
thinking it is so clever to come up with similar sounds
in my eyes, you’ve been had –
some eight grade writing teacher gave you ****** advice
and now you can’t get rid of it, like dealing with head lice
stuck in the same old rut, just sort of hanging around
if it were up to me I would put your hand in a vice –
there is a man, they call Dr. Seuss
after his books, rhyming stopped being of use
he would make up words that no one had ever found
but, when I read your “love, dove”, “mine, fine”…it seems like abuse –
if only you allowed yourself the freedom to really shine
leave all those templates and standard structure behind
pull the corn cob out of your *** and try to get unwound
it is my contention that you might find some piece of mind –
the problem is that we can all go on like this all day
never really presenting ourselves as if we have something to say
following the mold, adding to the mound
if only I could inspire you all we might find a poetic brand new day –
I doubt it, and I am sure I will continue to read this trash
probably, stupid rhyming couplets are the only way to make some cash
but thinking of that just makes me want to hang my head down
**** the wheel into oncoming traffic, cause a horrendous car crash –
of course, this is the way of things and I might as well be spitting into the wind
no one will listen and tomorrow will be the same thing again
I will look it over and wonder what it is like to drowned
….shuffle back into the darkness, consider if I have just sinned –

alleyway stagnation
rivulets of ammonia wander
inhibition slides
out of sight
and shoeless travelers
defecate on pizza boxes ~

worn thin soles
mold to each pebble
reflexology of the pavement
chakras explode with
symbolic frippery
leaving tendrils of aura
slipping into the pastel sunset ~

both hands hold carbon
crumbling and geo-engineered
star souls wait in silence
egg fertilization
key to reforming
birthed again
without fission ~

swaddled universe
howling siren
ships crash on basalt spies
crimson waves alter tourist sands /

~


yellowing birch leaf
   suctioned to a rounded river rock
shimmers

my attention is caught
        the gleam penetrates me
lasers shoot forth from my fingertips
                        bending light weaves
          the forest  
                            a basket

unable to keep my eyes open
      a warm wave washes over me
                 peaceful slumber descends

startled by a new predicament
       I find myself stuck
                  arms and legs outstretched
as if my body were attempting to locate
individual compass points
                  with alternate appendages
and yet, I feel elastic
    able to morph and elongate
               and out of the corner of my eye
                      I see my left hand
seem to shimmer with a yellow glow   /

moonlight on the bamboo shoots
falling stars mark sharp edges
cutting skin with blades of grass
the roots push the concrete out of socket
yellowing drought bringing out
bucket handles and flowery gloves
shoving back the strawberry runners
two by four planter boxes
rot –
brown blueberry leaves crunch
corpses of raspberry stocks bend and snap
complete lack of moisture or tending
rendering fat of homeless cats
in a vat of future soap
gifts for loved ones
never realizing the suds
were once fluffy paws
and sweet meows –
summer drags, the fifth month being the hardest
lard fest at the local poke’a’pig
barbeque, burning maple…
giant oak stands guard, devoid of leaves
only helicopter seeds wait for a breeze
my sweat soaked sleeves need that same air to flow
but, no…
we must languish in the swelter
lakes fade and long dead tree stumps
see the first light in 100 years
fighting for shade, boated fish
swish scorched fins
desperate for any reprieve –

stabbing pain fills my abdomen
the sensation of a heavy rock dropping quickly
hits my bowel
sweat forms down the center of my back
and on my upper lip
the Christians have arrived
and I am sickened by the sight –
cross wearing hypocrites line the streets
holding signs of hate
in the name of Jesus
trying to pleasantly force a false belief system
on little children leaving schoolhouses
throwing rocks at **** victims
whose only crime is not wanting to carry a ******* to term
and bashing the lifestyle of homosexuals
like God gives a **** where people put their ***** –
blindly following aged stories written by drunkards
the sheep-like nature is an affront to me
I stand both horrified and in awe
watching people speak of doing unto others
and expressing that only the Lord judges
do they know how full of **** they seem? –
backing slowly away from the scene
I slip quietly back into the shadows
as long as my country holds true to the adage
that church and state are separated
these lunatics cannot control me
well….except the run the country –

icy winter on the afternoon breeze
gives pause so the sun can lie
and encourage children out of doors
only to kick up vengefully
chapping lips and watering eyes
while simultaneously giving cheeks
a rosy glow –
frosted lawn greets the day
altered dew rests glisteningly
subdued bird song breaks the silence
and my own breathe distorts the image
exhaling clouds
liquid vapors instantly freeze
and fall to the cold ground below –
slapping mitted hands together
and piling up six pieces of fir and elm
I return to the safely of my enclave
arrange the sticks in a 1956 potbelly
and light the match
which will combat
the change in seasons –

Lost in the fluidic movements of Keats
Feeling each line, steady rhythm ‘n beats
Sending my head spinning, beautiful tune
Swooning all love-struck hooked on the spring moon
Glancing gay-fully over hill ‘n yon
Silently anticipating
the breaking of dawn
brought back in a flourish reading aloud
tears well up as I destroy this old shroud
keeping me locked up so tight…life, no air
thinking repeating rhyming couplets
lead only to despair
but here is a romantic from days past
creating lovely pictures that do last
with only his words, ink, quill, and parchment
thoughts, ideas, love, being different,
setting them free on wings of written word
allowed then to soar, spectacular bird
then to perch on tongues of well-spoken men
let loose on the world, set free once again
travelling sounds delighting each sweet ear
giving peace to downtrodden… far, and near
offering some solace to the forlorn  
on the darkest and coldest dreary morns
these sounds which fly so high, brighten the sky
swirl in the mouths of our loves when we die –

Her eyes fill with tears
as we leave the costal campground.
Soundlessly, she sobs…
not for sadness,
but the remembrance of times past.
I cast loving eyes in her direction
keeping the wheel straight as we
careen down Oregon’s beautiful highway 101.
Years flash before my mind’s eye…
Images of present wrappers strewn about
and,
family meals with extra trimmings
and,
placing grandma Sue under her favorite tree
to spend eternity.
Too much time has passed.
I gently stroke her thigh and express my love,
she turns and looks deep into me,
knowing I understand that it is not pain,
but the love of our children
and the times we will never have back
that gives redness and puffy eyes cause to be.
Quiet miles pass…
The green rolling hills break off onto sandy beaches;
white tipped waves crash giving the dampened granules
a darker tone
matching the interior of the grey Saturn Vue.

~





minutes tick away the hours leading to long days and years
and she grows older without a father as witness
no strong hands to help her up or
ever to push her on a merry-go-round
instead they hold my head as I try to push you out   again

a five year old babe on a swing in a park in the sun
moment of memory that I wonder if we share
miniature impersonator of my father and myself
a daughter with sandy highlights plays in my mind’s eye

twice I chose to walk away
and leave you to the world’s device
once as a newborn when ****** ruled my days
and again just after your sixth year


six months until you turn eighteen
a date in the middle of August as important to me
as any moon landing or planned  invasion
when I will give you the chance to decide
if my extended hand could ever fill
the roll of your father  /