retracing footsteps these shoes never traveled
connecting to a lifestyle
I have never experienced
I see myself in pages of Native American texts
experiencing a oneness with the land
which birthed me
and sustains me to this day –
it is in the simple actions of nature
that I derive peace
seeking to be as balanced as the tree
never tipping despite the wind and rain
to be as honest as the predator
only killing to live, sleeping secluded
it is in this way of being
that I find myself for the first time
looking to belong –
I sit in the pasture
surrounded by the sounds of bees
fixated on the outlined mountains in the distance
and it occurs to me
I am at church
and this moment is what religion looks like for me –

~

            sea spray


                               casts thin shadow.......



-I'm hungry!

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

you cross my mind and stop my tracks
momentarily I’m trapped
my only ability, it seems
is let go, fall into the dream

standing in the hallway frozen
passersby barley even glance
I stand motionless, my feet stuck
feeling a slight sway, almost drunk

eyes glaze and memories take charge
mere minutes have passed since last touch
it may as well be a lifetime
since last I held your hands in mine

radio crackle brings me back
my surroundings come into view
forced to be present in my life
when I want to be with my wife

**** it up, Sam, this is your lot
the little voice inside me says
each eight hours you are apart
gives you the time to rest your heart

absence they say makes for fondness
too much of good things can be bad
I risk being so totally sappy…..
she is the only thing makes me happy

broken winter grasp

ice gives way

blooms dot the valley

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.


:)

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 –

dog sits

black fur wet

wafting odor

I spray

Febreeze

heat emanates
drawing my cool skin closer
pressing my leg
against the back of her tight
sleep finds me again –
rustling leaves flutter
just outside the open window
morning breeze sending a shiver
I wrap myself tighter
snuggling deep into her skin –
ah, to be a tick
or bot fly
but I would wish no disease
just to be closer
silence of the lambs style….
let me wear your skin –
pressing fresh and smelling faint shampoo
a smile passes my lips
as I think more crazy thoughts
before getting up for work –

I want to write
Poetry so lovely
That you would come to my home
And attempt to take my wife
As you fell so in love
Just by reading my feelings –
I long to spin verse
So magnificent
That you quit your job
And run to the Cascade foothills
To start a new life
Among the fir trees
And the maple saplings
Listen to the whistling elk
Carry his long note across the valley –
If I had the repertoire
of words
the ability to conjure
and create images
forcing you to change your life
would I feel satisfied with my work
if you came to me in the streets
and told me tales
of growth and evolution
based on what I had written
could I stop…..
no.
I could not.
I am compelled to yarn
I am driven to create
And the written word
Is my canvas
Are my paints
Clay
Marble
I sculpt
And manipulate
Sounds and rhymes
Ideas and idiosyncrasies
Seeking to become an icon
Or an enigma
While still living my quiet life
On a small farm
Overlooking the foothills –

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 –

void watching
daydream state
akin to hallucination
enfolds me and I float away
transposing imagination
for reality based life
my cells expand and contract as the ocean
blood flows as the amazon
and I expand
neural pathways elongate
and spiral into galaxies
sparking light years apart
as the information soaks in
I am all
and so are you –

slowly, I watch the second hand journey
around
and around
each minute taking me one step closer to death
each tick another lost instance
one more opportunity gone
eyes cross and vision blurs
at the mindless spinning
never ending swirl
capturing perfectly
the uselessness of this time
I am a babysitter
for grown men.
Working in prison
is all about time
line-movements
CB calls
and the eternal counting of bodies
every minute accounted for
each body forever monitored
authorized areas only –
I find myself doing time
not necessarily ‘hard’
but consistent…
I watch new guys enter the program
as old guys leave with degrees
the revolving door of college inside
yet, I remain constant as the tide
or the rising and setting sun
I am a voluntary lifer
a small, but important club.

I open a blank word document
or grab up a pencil and pad
and it happens
every time….
poetry –
maybe I heard a statement
a week ago in passing
or read an article
that inspired
a smell or touch
a sound or the quiet
whatever my surroundings
poetry –
I see deer in the morning
clung to by the fog
seeking the most tender
new shoots,
Venus rising in the east
pre-sunbreak,
an inadvertent flip
of my lovely wife's hair…
poetry –
I wouldn’t turn it off if I could
such is my lot
and I accept it
some folks love math
are driven to be engineers
some need to teach
for me,
my passion is
poetry –
there is little forethought
less editing
half the time
I can’t even remember
what I wrote
for I am compelled
driven and pushed
for more than 25 years
to write
poetry –

~



is it my white male entitlement

    being forty years old

               having a degree in sociology

                               and anthropology



is it a lifetime of observations

           twenty-five years of poetry

                  constantly seeking new information

                           critically thinking



I am not saying I know better

or

that I can live the black or female

experience



I can say with full confidence

***** and ******

only serve to hold you down ~



when any people identify with a derogatory term
the mental anguish brings self-loathing
it is the backbone of the racist and sexist system
that you will willingly keep yourself
less ~



IT’S ABOUT POWER

OWNERSHIP

HOW DARE YOU WHITE MAN!!!






at the end of the day

       I can’t really help

                 being tired of bitten hands

                              I don’t really care to try



this is just some friendly advice

from the devil

from the root of your suffering

from a white man

who thinks he knows /

Will                      William                      willingly
  wish                          worn                          weary
weathered               wanton                        women
which                          will                          willingly
waste                           water                        when
washing              whiner's waists'          wintertime?
                wistful                             when

2 inch tree tops dot the skyline
red brick beneath housing the insane
education office desk
overlooking bars, concertina, and walls
promoting freedom of mind
in a maximum security facility /


he pops his head in asking if he is in trouble
pleading a case before there is a crime
smiling and offering smooth reassurance.
both of us hope I am not speaking out of turn…..


                         there is always a chance I am full of ****

we part ways as he heads to chow
I click clack the keyboard in time
chapel choir muffled bellowing
behind them, radio’s crackle with line movement /

~



thick

                    hide trembles


sluffed ice falls





                    miniature avalanche

                                      miniature horse   /

Purple Cascade Range!
Is God’s vanity so real
I must sit awestruck ?

I think about you often
   while I sit at work
considering your skin, so soft, and
    that I needn’t be a ****
you loving ways that keep my warm
    on any chill dark night
and yet I greet you with rage and scorn
    driving us to fight
why must I be such a silly fool
    and you my perfect muse
I try to place you on a pedestal
     but instead meet you with abuse
my loudest voice and flailing arms
    causing such a scene
promising never to physically harm
   only to cuss and scream
and though these instances are rare
    barely often enough to warrant
they still drive me to despair
    grief becomes a cascading torrent
for it is my desire to be the best
    man ever in your life
one that stands out from all the rest
     gives you joy in calling yourself wife –

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

~



Can I   be

              the    Father


of modern
              
                        American

                       new           Haiku    (samku)




without          having
                          
                          unprotected        ***?   /

don’t bother
hitting the heart
sharing, liking, paying, promoting
save your energy
money
and time ~
we are not friends
associates
brothers and sisters in poetry
I am a rude 40 year old white guy
who writes as release
writes to be the best I can be
writes with an eye to hard print publication
I write for me
this is just somewhere to put it… ~
I barely ready anything here
your feelings, musings, thoughts
useless fodder cluttering my home page
worthless nonsense *******
barley coherent in its triviality ~
remove yourself from me
for a new version is about to break free
the hostility I exude on facebook and twitter
is finding a new home
here ~

I am never sure
when I start to type exactly where I am going
I am not the type of writer
who
does outlines
plans
organizes my thoughts in order to create flow
nah, not me…
instead I am stuck like with lightening
one word or phrase
enters the void
and I am compelled to poet
all over all of you
thanks for the outlet –
fanciful visions play across my mind’s eye
much faster than ever I could six finger type
so I pick the bright ones
and try to explain them
in universal terms
so as to create an emotional response
I feel that if something strikes me emotionally
it is bound to reach someone else
thus, we have a momentary connection
fleeting
but real
we share ourselves through relation to black and white
esoterically joining in a perfect union
our mental images intertwined
embracing –
words fade to white screen as the moment passes
never again to be found
in the same way
each reading bringing different ideas to the forefront
each writing another attempt to rid myself of this plague
each moment lasting forever on separate planes of existence
which means all of you
belong to me
as least for this time –

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 –

beyond wire fencing
chiseled bodies
sweat under new slavery’s sunshine
clanging weights fall without care
as ancient pulleys bear the brunt /
six feet stomp around the track
four laps equaling one mile
the three bronzed men
have walked 736 miles together
so far this year ~
it being only mid-July
they have a goal of 2000 a year…
no one doubts their determination
only if they can avoid segregation /
loud voices echo
as a soccer ball fly’s foul
the loudspeaker interrupts the game
as the yard closes for another day /

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.

sickly thoughts of self-harm
bubble from the void
nothing as trivial as cutting
but the cold steel
pressed hard…
lace wing butterflies flutter
lighting ever-so-gently
colorful powder floats in soft breezes
as my reddened fist
turns to uncover
the guts of gods beauty…
bile rises from the depths
contorting my face into a scowl
hate filled eyes enraged
stare into the cracked mirror
happy fun time is over, again…
I awake with a start
too much fried food
and the anniversary of Mother’s death
have me in a very unsettled spot
wishing I could sleep
thinking about my estranged daughter
lost within myself….

recklessly tracing her freckles
demeanor shifts at the touch
barely perceptible shudder
and a sleepy smile
new day begins
love lighting the horizon –
twisted braid holds grey’s at bay
highlighted strips
blend with soft auburn
a slight red stain brings full lips to the forefront
love cascades from the florescent –
delicate ankles, perfectly accentuated
by the thin, black, faux leather boot
a boot which climbs playfully
up a tone and tattooed calf
love gleams as a refraction
           off the shiny footwear—
dainty fingers tickle my neck
shooting electricity
followed by warm tropical waves
falling feathers caught in a summer breeze
love sets over an ocean of blue –

The email reads,
“you mean the world to me
I am the luckiest woman alive
thank you for sharing this experience with me”
I sit re-reading the words
understanding the meaning
but struggling to believe
I am this man now –
She looks at me with a soft smile
and an excited twinkle
checking this six foot five inch frame out
a warmth fills me
as I know she desires me
…. the desire is mutual
her delicate fingers
caress my neck at the hairline
sending a shiver through my body
I sit amazed that after 13 years
we can still share lovely moments
like it was the first day –

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…. –

One day
parents

will be in court….

over denying



television.

he sits angry
peering at faces
safe behind glass ~


language of confusion spews
double talk cross examined
fact checked by Christians ~


a nation on the verge
looks east and holds collective breathe
troll goddess versus the masked machismo ~


clinched fists slam faux velvet
then reach for scotch, neat…
alcohol blurs party lines /

~




neon   flowers


                      b r e a t h e





         in



and

     out

seeking peace
longing to recognize myself
as whole
tiring of insanity
bouncing from issue
to conflict
pretending to be self-assured
while nervous about the unknown
the cold facts
are I am a mess
humanity flailing
in one small body –
the dust of my bones
longs to return to the ground
to feel only the breeze and the rain
washing over me
endlessly
the birds on wing
the low hum of an electric world
the faint smell of combustion engines….
it is only the fresh spring grass
and blooming Crocuses
that I desire to commune with
this old soul needs a break –
even while writing
I feel my neck hairs stand up
my cackle rising
blood becomes heated
as I am not a quitter
and do not live a life of giving up….
I just can’t understand
why I must struggle so
why the oil of my back
no longer works as if I were a duck
allowing this to fall away
and mean nothing
…………..
turns out,
as a grown man
I care……
but I wish sometimes I didn’t –

as in any artistic endeavor
we encounter those who would hate
no matter the level in which we are clever
everything seems to be taken as bait –
when I write, I am purging my emotions
within any given moment, day or night;
it is one of the few areas in which I experience “devotion”
and I don’t judge my work as ‘wrong’ or ‘right’ –
I consider myself something of an artist
and that realm works wholly with perception
never once have I made claim to be the smartest
while it is pretty clear, I have my own direction –
in short, if you don’t like my style of work
just pass it by, there are many types here
I see no reason to act like a ****-hurt ****
just because to you, my message is unclear –
So I will leave you for now, while you ponder this request
and perhaps you will think more than just once
for regardless of my writing, I live truly blessed
and your attacks make you come off as a dunce –

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

as I sit overlooking this day’s group of testers
I am not really in the room
my body occupies space
that much is true
and my eyes track the surroundings
for both my, and the safety
of my incarcerated students…
all the while
I am with her –
I imagine holding her warm body
close to mine
offering soft kisses
and gently stroking her delicate cheek
leaning in so that I am able to better smell
the hint of lavender and coconut oil
mingling with light incense
and the innocence of unconditional love…
these fragrances send my mind to spinning
like a youth after their first real whisky drunk    
unable to properly focus, I examine my other senses
touching her,
listening to her heart beat play percussion
to a slow, steady, rhythmic breathing
periodically experiencing a loving coo
as she too is totally entranced by the moments we share…
placing my mouth on the curves of her body
tasting faint salt
and oatmeal goats milk soap
and an essence of femininity
that stirs a longing that takes complete hold of attention…
forcing myself back into the classroom
I shift slightly in my seat hoping no one
raises a hand…
only she makes me feel like a 13 year old
being called up to answer math questions on the board
with a raging ******* –

When you look at me,
I
Just  
Want
To
Puke

There once a puppy named spot
Who liked eating pancakes a lot
With butter and jam
Sausage, bacon, or ham
But never if covered with snot

There once was an old cat named blue
Who enjoyed life when chewing on shoes
He ate up a Ked
That hurts his ole head
So he switched it to eating up glue

I knew a little boy named Mike
Who had the best red and black bike
He crashed into a tree
and skinned up his knee
and sold it for a yellow kid’s trike

we all went on a family vacation
to see the great spots in our nation
the canyon was grand
Wisconsin cheese bland
Bu the best was grand central station

We travelled three days and two nights
And never once had any fights
Except for the air
When my head got stuck down there
And I’m still not seeing quite right

Of course these are nothing but lies
Like a spy in a gorilla disguise
First put on the mask
Then cover your ***
And try not to attract any flies –

online poetry class
at near forty
seeking to finally learn
form and function
in the attempt
to become more
better
greater
than I am today
but the fear creeps in
as I risk losing the purge
that is poetry writing
for art creation
involving revision and editing
aspects I loathe
despise
and while I want to hate
I choose to learn
so here we go,
deep breath
and the plunge
into community college
online poetry workshop classes
with an eye
to publication –

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—

quietly sitting
     disconnected and disinterested
attitude disjointed
boxer nose off kilter…
moments happen
     thirteen years of bliss
     include irritation
         raised voices
aimless country drives
          full of silent brooding…..

the picture of a successful marriage
carries images of anger
        they just do not tint
                everything red –

It really is the little things…
catching her watching me watching t.v.
our fingers bumping under rich dark soil
simultaneously saying “I love you”
and smiling... –
I lay in bed last night
listening to you breathe
thinking about your story
and you knew
at a kiss…
I thought a lot about my moment
about when I knew –
you stood in the doorway
stunning and aglow
and said the words,
“when I get back you can have me
any way you want me.”
I lay there thinking
“I want you every way
for the rest of my life.” –