#outdoor
The rhythm of the seasons
keeps my heartbeat in balance
if I go with it
and don't lazily indulge
in the provisions
in an easy chair in winter
but put on a coat
and go out, over mountains
or meadows for views
without walls
with a warm sun
in the centre
of my body
expanding my mind
with the landscape
Nov 8, 2025
Nov 8, 2025 at 3:56 AM UTC
from the window indoors
my eye swallows the weather the trading snow for rain
pinhole funnels swallows feelings of strangers
down on the streets
a deep hurty in-breath method
from my desk at home treading water my brain powers down
despite the exercises of welcomed invasion energy does not stick
knotted against the greater surroundings
bound in a metal depression
a puddinged thing
desperate act i switch on a light
but the fight is outside
and a long charging walk
is something i must force myself to take
Apr 13, 2025
Apr 13, 2025 at 1:03 PM UTC
A flattened cricket,
Bright fluorescent lights,
A bathroom stall
Aug 10, 2024
Aug 10, 2024 at 2:18 AM UTC
Oh Big sky,
would you make me look pretty too?
Would my sickly veins be something of a golden hue?
Would my dim-lit soul be of an aura blue?
Apr 16, 2023
Apr 16, 2023 at 1:56 AM UTC
A Poem on hearing the voice of nature
The open field
Bordered by firs elders
Covered in blooming
Lemon clover
Left space
Inside this vast openness
I set down my burdens
My worries
& discomforts
And the burlap
they rode in on
What was left was
clear azure sky
Holding a new sound
authored by birds
Toby’s
soft breath
Inside this dome of space
Oh most definitely,
dogs speak
in the secret language
translated by those
who love them beyond
logic
The sun shoots a cannon
across the ridgeline of the trees
paralleling the emerald horizon
Pouring golden syrup over the eastern trunks
of exhausted autumn trees
The sunrise casts a spotlight
over
this magical stage
pulling back the curtain
over the
enchanted valley floor
Dec 1, 2020
Dec 1, 2020 at 3:16 PM UTC
we talked
ad infinitum
on the docks, at the pier, in the park
it was midsummer, with a warmth like it too
and two sailboats streaked the lake
but for the life of me
I've forgotten what we said
her washed out blond hair
inviting rose colored lips
polka-dotted red & white skirt
and mustard yellow blouse
it was sparsely more than a few
but they seemed to say
"drink it in"
Nov 23, 2020
Nov 23, 2020 at 8:50 AM UTC
Scent of springtime wafts around
the road's slow curve as it nears town,
passing through low swampy ground
where the rills are running down
from the forest, deep and drear,
fog enclosing hopes and fears
for the future. Spring will come,
when winter hibernation's run
will end in waking. Life again
will rise from loamy fecund soil,
will prise from time by endless toil
a season's freedom from its chain.
The early snows have come and gone
Wet fields await the deer and fawn.
Jan 19, 2020
Jan 19, 2020 at 7:58 PM UTC
The sniffer to smell
From the indoors to the outdoors
Rotten and the fresh
The smell of flowers
To the fresh crisp autumn air
And campfire treats
Manure on farms
getting sprayed by a scared skunk
or dumpsters in back
From kitchen dinners
And the freshly baked cookies
and banana bread
Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 5:37 PM UTC
crows near barn faded red white stripe panes
scitter scatter peck at grass
crunch leaves
coated floor scavenging seeds
overhead like gold/red skyscrapers
angular tall
declension
touches down
free fall
folks claim it's passed us by
it jostles senses
ramshackle deck weak 'n worn flimsy 'n haphazard
wobbly uncertain balls on railing
fall into hands
dismantling of childhood
once was no longer is
whistles blow crunchers onto old meeting place
furry Beanie Baby zips across pole
Oct 21, 2017
Oct 21, 2017 at 4:14 PM UTC
I see your green pastures
Coming back to life
Hear birds singing
The woodpecker moves
To the beat of the tree
Springtime has arrived
The waters rush fierce
Moving fish in its current
Leaves slowly returning
The building blocks of life
Arching over like a tunnel
Springtime has arrived
Water droplets fall off the rocks
Creating miniature rivers
Leading to roaring waters
A stream that flows with life
Washing away my cares
Springtime has arrived
Man made beasts
Move through the paths
Post hibernation
Breathing fresh air
And little ones following closely behind
Springtime has arrived
JM 4/9/17
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 8:18 PM UTC
On that warm pavement lang syne sings, on that silky water the present I breath in, on that cloth of heaven I weaved hereafter. A shelter for my glees, woes and reveries. I paused and found myself, I ground my sole to rest. On that path, in that bouldered, airy nest.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 12:43 AM UTC
*Mimesis:
the deliberate imitation of the behavior of one group of people by another as a factor in social change.*
Somewhere, someone
knows these colors to be home.
Not only the sandy complexion of the boots,
but the laces slipping and sliding
into loops and over
soft tongues and slowly pulling,
constricting, suffocating.
Even its shape—
the shallow curve of a man’s ankle,
the slow descent to the tips of his toes—
these are the sandy silhouettes and generous hills
recalled from their youth.
Someone, somewhere
admires jagged peaks of pale crested mountains.
The same jagged peaks
they have seen rising and breaking
in the wrinkles of loose fitting fatigues,
and complimented by vests,
spotted with the gentle green pastures
once ruled by their jidd’s sheep.
There are chains of mountains
as wide as chests under Mandarin collars
and just as full of pockets and pouches
as military issued BDU’s—
but this is cheap imitation.
It is a failed mimesis.
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 5:52 PM UTC
I felt like a backpacker that night.
I think it was the katydids.
At home it’s the frogs,
all shouting over each other, but somehow
finding a rhythm.
But here,
a pulse presses into me in my sleep
and I roll over to face the seething embers.
I know I’ve drawn things out with X,
but this is what narcissism means to me:
stoking the embers each time.
Tonight I am a backpacker
on the west side of a mountain.
Having slept through the sunset,
now I’m lying awake—
sleepless and small—
as ants find their way across my skin.
If they’re not sleeping, they must be working—
long jaunts between brief naps—
while the queen sleeps.
When I’m home,
I’ll close my windows and,
drown these embers in dry reds—
shiraz and merlot—
and sleep like the queen for once.
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 5:53 PM UTC
Last week I got an urge to lay on a rooftop, and drink ***** under the stars,
so I packed an empty backpack with svedka, a notebook, and a cellphone; and went on a mission.
I spent an afternoon looking around.
Taking notes on how in the hell, I could get up to a place that was flat, a roof, and could see the stars.
As it turns out,
the rooftops are not a place Freeport wants you to be.
in fact, one staircase directly leading to the top of a building specifically said
"No Trespassing"
Keeping me out with a locked metal door.
so I kept adventuring.
It did not occur to me until after I had already spent quite awhile scribbling down notes on locations of
milk crates I could use,
ledges low enough to grab,
dumpsters I could maybe move over just a bit,
how illegal it may be,
(I'M still not sure)
Or how dangerous it may be
(probably quite very)
To go on this adventure.
I texted a beautiful girl and asked if she wanted to drink ***** under the stars.
being the suave romantic that I am,
Having spent my whole morning surveying different routes to the rooftops.
Having planned out such a storybook evening, obviously her answer was,
"nah, I'd rather stay home, smoke **** and watch the new season of Orange is the new black."
********* Ruby Rose...
Stop. stealing. my dates.
After introducing myself to a handful of other potential candidates, I finally find a woman who believes climbing onto a rooftop and drinking ***** would be a swell time.
By the time I pick her up and get back to the spot,
it's late enough that Freeport is a ghost town.
We run down the middle of the street, me dragging her, doctor and companion style towards the first flawless plan:
Milkcrates behind linda beans.
We stack them up like steps and walk up to the top of a metal ceiling
Affixed perfectly above a flight of stairs that leads to the top floor.
I thought, "maybe we could climb the metal ceiling like a ramp."
it turns out
that not only is it
incredibly difficult not to
fall off of a slanted flimsy ramp
with no handles. But it is also: Terrifying!
Eventually I make it to the top and realize:
**** There is still a tall ledge I have to hoist myself onto"
I look down to the short brunette quivering
on the ramp's lowest tier and decide that there is no way either of us were going to make it.
"Hey rose, " (That wasn't her real name)
Let's try a different way up.
attempting to crawl down slowly,
my **** scoots forward, hands behind me,
I slip and start gliding down like a children's slide.
flailing and attempting to catch myself before
falling off the edge and plummeting onto a dumpster.
(Whistling noises)
Thud!
She screams.
I laugh uncontrollably.
She slowly descends our statuesque landmark milkcrate staircase.
Like an angel coming from ghetto heaven.
I lift myself up and hop down off the dumpster.
putting my backpack down,
I check to see if the ***** bottle is okay.
It's fine.
"Good job, *******
"We're fine."
"You're an idiot."
"I could have died, don't I at least get a kiss or something?"
She gives me a disapproving look, then kisses me.
eventually we did
make it up to a rooftop,
Where we laid and watched the stars.
They were warm, distant, and beautiful.
I liked feeling their glow on my skin.
But I loved taking the journey to meet them.
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 2:50 PM UTC