So it was just the three of us; Rider, Bailey, and me
We borrowed my great uncle’s car
Promised to bring it back by uncle’s work the next morning
We weren’t planning on going too far
Just east to the outskirts of the city by the train tracks
Just shy of the fields and the woods
Before we went out, we got fast food and beer
Planning to stay out as long as we could

On the other side of the tracks
Was an orchard ⁠— neat rows of trees
And in them a deafening sound
Like out of your more horrible dreams
As the rows went in deeper
The deeper the darkness seemed
Rider swore that it was coyotes
But coyotes’ howls sound like screams

The sun was just starting to go down in the west
And the howls started to fade
So we turned up the radio and cracked open our beers
To laugh our worries away
The sun bid all of us her final goodbyes
And disappeared behind the earth
We opened up the car doors and stretched our legs
Outside in the evening’s birth

On the other side of the tracks
Was an orchard ⁠— neat rows of trees
And in them a deafening sound
Like out of your more horrible dreams
As the rows went in deeper
The deeper the darkness seemed
Rider swore that it was coyotes
But coyotes’ howls sound like screams

Bailey and I were standing around by the tracks
When Rider turned on the car’s lights at our backs
And out in the trees on all fours like dogs
These humanoid creatures rolled and crawled
Pale and grey, with leathery skin
Naked and sickly and disgustingly thin
We screamed and tripped on the rails and fell
As we ran for the car like a bat out of hell
We could see the creatures coming up on us fast
So Rider slammed his foot on the gas

On the other side of the tracks
Was an orchard ⁠— neat rows of trees
And in them a deafening sound
Like out of your more horrible dreams
As the rows went in deeper
The deeper the darkness seemed
I’m not lying to you, I swear it
Those weren’t coyotes’ screams
There are beasts out in the orchard
If you go where I’ve been

there’s nothing like fire and stars when you’re drunk
i sleep
to crickets and coyotes and rain

this half a heart becomes a whole
whether or not you know it
out here i am never alone
spent most of my life
in places like these
and i’m always looking for more

recount the gossamer threads
because i love those words
and the nonsense means nothing
but i love nothing
it feels like home

there’s nothing like fire and stars when you’re sober
it’s not the alcohol that makes the scene
it’s the scene that makes the alcohol
obsolete

i sleep
to crickets and coyotes and rain
i drink
to crickets and coyotes and rain
i breathe
to crickets and coyotes and rain
i believe
in those gossamer threads
fire and stars
alcoholic words

i love nothing

it feels like home

THE COYOTES’ MESSAGE

You never know when you’ll see one
They pass quietly through the night
Keep your eyes and ears open
And, one or two will come into sight

So quickly they come and go
Moving with a mystic kind of grace
Once they see you, they’ll turn around
Slinking away at a quickened pace

You are one of the fortunate ones
They allowed you to see their face
Quietly into the night they will go
Returning to their den without any haste

As you see them leaving
You look up to the sky
Thanking God for what you just saw
He chose you to see them but you wonder why

He has a message for you
He uses the coyotes to spread the news
What are you waiting for
You have nothing to lose

He promises everything will be alright
Let go of the past and begin anew
It is time for you to move on with your life
Just like the coyotes returning home will do

The tale below was carved one night
upon the stone, by candlelight
...most won’t believe, but some just might
.........most won’t believe, but some just might



                         Preface

An angel smiled, though teary eyed,
when James made Beth his lovely bride
...their bodies bound, their spirits tied
.........their bodies bound, their spirits tied

Upon her hand, a shimmer shone,
as bright as blood, a ruby stone
...and brighter still, as love has grown
.........and brighter still, as love has grown

Soon James was sent to man a sail
so Beth removed her wedding veil
...her eyes were moist, her face was pale
.........her eyes were moist, her face was pale

“Well, I’ll be here when you return”
said Beth to James, who kissed in turn
...a kiss that made her body burn
.........a kiss that made her body burn



                         BETH’S TALE

1.              The Dream

One night, within a dream deformed,
the cawing of a crow informed
“...the ship was struck where winter stormed
.........the ship was struck where winter stormed

Midst winds and waves the thunder boomed,
the Ship of Death was surely doomed
...the surf engulfed, the sea entombed
.........the surf engulfed, the sea entombed

Your James… deceived by Davy Jones!
With spirit freed, his flesh and bones
...now rest beneath the ashen stones
.........now rest beneath the ashen stones”



2.               The Quest

Awoken by the ebon wight
and beckoned by the baneful bight
...I left before the morning light
.........I left before the morning light

Throughout the realm I rode a roan
until, in time, I reached the stone
...where shades in dreams of darkness groan
.........where shades in dreams of darkness groan

While skipping up and down the sky
a missing moonbeam mocked my eye
...enough to make a swallow cry
.........enough to make a swallow cry

For someone stole a star or two
and something else that fate withdrew -
...my jewel of joy, my James Bijou  
.........my jewel of joy, my James Bijou

The shadows of the evening swelled
where demons of the dusk had dwelled
...and in the far, a vesper knelled
.........and in the far, a vesper knelled

The stone, beneath the sky, stood cold -
between the runes, a vapour strolled
...a cloak of fleecy fog consoled
.........a cloak of fleecy fog consoled

A raven on a branch, enthroned,
her wings waved once, a wail intoned
...beyond the bay, a banshee moaned
.........beyond the bay, a banshee moaned

I lay beside the stone, his bride,
I lay beside the stone and cried
...but were it I, instead, that died
.........but were it I, instead, that died

The rainbow of the moon fell dim,
a midnight swan soon ceased to swim
...as if to hide all hint of him
.........as if to hide all hint of him

Between the willows in the swale
bewailed a bird, a nightingale
...which left me faint, my body frail
.........which left me faint, my body frail



3.              Contact

I felt him breathe within a breeze
responding to my anguished pleas
...and leaves blew by abandoned trees
.........and leaves blew by abandoned trees

“Eternal love, my darling Beth”
enshrined within his final breath
...re-echoed from the Ship of Death
.........re-echoed from the Ship of Death

The stone lit up a ruby sheen
and clouds were kindled crystalline
...with consequences, unforeseen
.........with consequences, unforeseen

Above, the wretched raven soared
to where the Ship of Death’d been moored
...below, the icy ocean roared
.........below, the icy ocean roared



4.               Release

I’m joined with James beneath the stone,
and twixt the stars our souls are sown
...for nevermore to be alone
.........for nevermore to be alone



                         Epilogue
That night the wayward winds were weird,
the Ship of Death had disappeared
...coyotes called and mortals feared
.........coyotes called and mortals feared

At dusk, the craven shadows crawled,
at dawn, the winds of mourning called
...upon the stone two names were scrawled
.........upon the stone two names were scrawled

The raven sits, with wings outspread,
atop the stone which shades the dead
...it sometimes shimmers ruby red
.........it sometimes shimmers ruby red



                         Epitaph
Between the sounds, where silence seeps,
their love lives on and never sleeps
...and yet, the weeping willow weeps
.........and yet, the weeping willow weeps

AWAKENING

Sleep and slumber, dreams of wonder... weaving,
morning’s vacuum broke the spell
Pitted pillow, note of parting... leaving,
“from your friend, a fond farewell”
Sunrise throbbing, twilight aching... grieving,
daydreams, flashbacks, nightmares knell
Pale phantasms, visions sneaking... thieving,
plot to fill the empty shell

12 DELIRIA

1st Delirium: COLLAPSES

Fractured sky bolts, billows bursting... rumbling,
heavens tighten, turn the vise
Horsemen saddle shafts of lightning... tumbling,
jagged highways must suffice
Ruptured skyways, hailstones crackling... crumbling,
naked pearls of paradise
Toxic tongues of laughter stinging... stumbling,
ocean buckets choked with ice
Droplets drumming, thunder muzzled... mumbling,
washed out whispers pay the price
Smothered blazes, cinders smoking... humbling,
ashes shaped in sacrifice

2nd Delirium: DESCENTS

Asphalt alleys, ashen faces... frowning,
blowing bubbles, chewing gum
Drinking ale from tavern tankards... downing,
moonlit beads of painted ***
Stony stars and sea misshapen... drowning,
humble rivers’ rhythms hum
Apparitions aspirating... clowning,
diamonds dying , minstrels strum
Incandescent candles conquered... crowning,
vacant vapours, cold and numb

3rd Delirium: FATES

Tempest turmoil, tapered turrets... holding,
dungeons, dragons, chains and racks
Wheels of fortune, Tarot temptress... molding,
Hangmen, Towers, One Eyed Jacks
Sand dune castles, cryptic candles... folding,
warping walls of liquid wax
Idols colder, combed and coddled... scolding,
hide in fissures, peek through cracks

4th Delirium: LOST SOULS

Sunken cities, pilgrims peering... gawking,
squinting eyeballs, blazing sun
Janus facing, shepherds chasing... stalking,
friends embrace before they shun
Tearooms steaming, tumult teeming... talking,
lovers listen, poets pun
Broken stones unanchored, quaking... rocking,
slipping, falling, one by one
Beaten pathways, footsteps marking... mocking,
wedged in webs which spiders spun
Circus shelters, big tops tumbling... locking,
people pacing, soon they’re none
Numbered exits, zeros numbing... knocking,
midnight daylight’s days undone
Moon blood shackles, shivers shaming... shocking,
starlight striders streaking, stun
Hushed but harried hermits waiting... walking,
restless rainbows on the run
Pixies, elves, and echoes bouncing... balking,
fading fast when dawn’s begun
Bantum butterflies are flitting... flocking
sometimes conquered, overrun
Hocus pokus, seers focus... squawking,
voodoo wavered, witchcraft won

5th Delirium: INTROSPECTION

Sundown furnace, fires fading... coughing,
dusky dew drops drain the air
Empty chalice, sipped in silence... quaffing,
thirsting shadows unaware
Looking glass and lattice scorning... scoffing,
local loser gapes and stares
Faces covered, dancing naked... doffing,
peering inside, hope despairs

6th Delirium: THE VOID

Tales of taboos, mystic mythos... missing,
windows shuttered, bolted door
Kindled candles, tongues and anvils... hissing,
heavy hammers, echoes roar
Dark deceivers, raven charmers... kissing,
draging demons from the shore
Hopeless hollows filled with doubters... dissing
standing empty - nevermore

7th Delirium: SEARCHING

Martyred monks haunt runic ruins ... waiting,
banging broken bells below
Vaulted hallways, voided voices... grating,
churning Chinese chimes aglow
Granite graveyards, spectres spooking... skating,
blackened bushes, roses grow
****** dwarfs seek mutant migrants... mating,
packing parcels, ice and snow

8th Delirium: NIGHTTIME

Throbbing drumheads, fingers blazing... steaming,
coins of copper, beggars plea
Rusty residues of resin... streaming,
opal amber filigree
Orphan shades in shallow shadows... teeming,
steeping twigs in twilight tea
Cloister doorsteps, Prophets gaming... scheming,
tracing tracks of destiny
Blacksmiths blanching, horseshoes glowing... gleaming,
partially sheathed in black debris
Phantoms feigning, nightmares scathing... screaming,
dusty dreamers drifting free

9th Delerium: EMPTYNESS

Water wheels in wastelands... turning,
drowning relics in the slum
Rumpled rags of fashioned burlap... burning,
lit by bandits blind and dumb
Pastured prisons, ponies bridled ... yearning,
forest fairies under thumb
Sounds inside of cauldrons coughing... churning,
blaring bugles, tattooed drum

10th Delirium: ALIENATION

Rain unravelling, wistfully weeping... falling,
treacle trickling, fickle sky
Mushrooms sprinkled, visions sprouting... sprawling,
seagulls drowning, dolphins die
Rabble gasping, spirits broken... crawling,
lonely lonesome swallows cry
Babbling brooks and breakers ebbing... bawling
puppies paddle, puppets sigh
People passing ripple past me... calling,
rainbow colours, collars high
Chaos seething, lepers looting... stalling,
stealing stallions on the sly
Pencils pausing, scholars scrambling... scrawling,
scratching scribbles, asking why

11th Delirium: JETSAM

Silver sails sway pallid pirates... prowling,
Jolly Rogers, wind and sound
Parrots perching, tattered feathers... fouling,
tethered talons, tied and bound
Shipwrecked foghorns, trumpets stranded... howling,
spiral springs of time unwound
Magic moonlight, shimmers shaking... scowling,
burnt out matchsticks washed aground
Prairie wolfs, coyotes calling... yowling,
witching hours, midnight hounds
Tightrope walkers, grizzlies grunting... growling,
seeking islands, lost and found

12th Delirium: RELIEF

Slumber shattered, vapours captive... haunting,
chained in mirrors, breaking free
Scarlet skylines, daylight dawning... daunting,
rivers rushing to the sea
Silence softens, sandmen whisper... wanting,
piercing rafters, turning keys
Shadows shudder, notions fluster... flaunting,
moonbeam bullets meant for me
Mind in migraine, meadows trembling... taunting,
sparrows speak in harmony

REAWAKENING

Pitter patter, teardrops paling... pearling,
salting scarves in secret drawers
Mist amongst us, smoke rings rising... curling,
climbing from the ocean floors
See-saw circles, senses swerving... swirling,
swept away with silver oars
Courtyard jesters, sceptres twisting... twirling,
push the past to foreign shores
Passing pangs of passions heaving... hurling,
burning bridges, closing doors
Roses wither, icons waning... whirling,
time decays and time restores

Are my scars saying words,
Too frankly to you?

What of my wounds,
That have yet to heal?

Is my courage too loud,
For you, Sir Proud -

Am I too brokenly real?

There we stood, my dog and I
The wide open expanse of the winter
Field beneath our feet. The vapor of our
Breaths mix as we charge through the
Snow, side by side. I see the earnest expectation
That shines in his eyes. A bond is formed.

A sudden stop, ears perked, there exists only
The dead silence of the space between us and
The woodland trees in the distance. The thin
Border between our world and the wilderness.
We **** our head towards the sound from the
Trees- the distant yip of coyotes. A tension grows.

I see the silhouettes, they silently glide across the
Dark horizon of the forest. The taunting yips call
Out to us. The hair stands up on his back, on my neck.
Blood in my ears, the taste of iron at my teeth. We
Crouch and stalk, a snarl forms in his toothed mouth.
The opponents stand, sizing up. Yellow eyes lock.

My veins pulsate with blood, our hearts pump as one.
The dog looks back, his eyes begging for the command.
Pleading for the shedding of blood as the animosity fills
My eyes with blackened darkness, hearkening to the days
Of spears and stones. My fists clenched and a snarl forms
Around my lips and my teeth. The space shrinks.

I can taste the blood, I can hear the wounded screams of
Our opponents as they fall at our feet. Tearing of flesh
And breaking of bone as his teeth rip skin and my hands
Crush necks. And yet a sudden moment of clarity visits,
And I grab the collar despite the desperate cry. A retreat is made.

I can imagine

myself as a midwife or a medicine woman—
waking early
               wandering
the wooddesertmountain
with bad-*** boots & a patchy coat, pockets filled with rosemary and crystals
driving an old truck that smells of rolled cigarettes and gasoline
drinking hot tea out of a mason jar.

i see all of this & I wonder where this image will land me.
   Portland in the fall?
Nevada in the Winter?
                              Colorado? Montana?
But I need the trees.
My power is in the mountains.
Or maybe it is in the moon—and her face isn’t bound to the side of the mountain

i need the howl of coyotes, the smell of pine, the sound of running water over rocks, cold air, wind.
i crave this to the center of my
bones.

i want to dance with fire women, sing air songs, pray to the earth, bathe in the water, and
speak with the
spirit mother & the red father that binds all of these together in a chaotic harmony i will never understand.

i need to paint my body with the stain of poke berry and

run, foot against stone, against decaying leaves.

there is a savage within me
that needs to run free

that needs to bark at the moon and breathe clean air.

Hailstorms with big winds, trees writhing in breezes
Coyotes howling in moonlight, dogs when they sneezes
Alloys and carved toys, stone gargoyles with wings
These are a few of my favorite things.

Skunk smells carried gently on nocturnal breezes
Sly double entendres and tickley teases
Beautiful salmon colored sunsets that make my jaw drop
Smell of pine 'n cedar in my sauna and wood shop!

Dolphins and doggies and toddlers and mooses
Saunas and cold plunges and honking V-flying gooses
Small mutts and storytellers and Pixar cartoons
Crazy call of the Maine dark of night loons
These are some of my nurturing tunes!

Volcanoes with lava and magma all oozing
Cross country skiing just gliding and cruising
Receiving massages unwinding and unbruising
I love my collections of adhesives and strings
These are a few of my favorite things!

So when the wasps sting
When the bored people whine
Wen I'm feeling dispirited and sad
I just think of a few of my favorite things
And I don't feel…so…bad!

The first inductees were named I sat there half hung over and a stiff drink in the wait to  kick the party off once again.
The names were called and they were the people who actually started this site not just came long afterwards to pick the bones clean of a already dead animal that ones for you like button zombies.

They were all there Bathsheba ,Richard Shepard although his where is Waldo new persona had not allowed him to be seen yet again.
Chris Smith they were all announced minus one name that shown through the dark like a true beacon  of total debauchery  the man the myth the walking train wreck yours truly Gonzo.

After the announcement everyone made sure to give the lucky panel a good dose of the clap once I'm sure wasn't the first time some of are panel had encountered that.

What?,They are all excellent writers and deserve the applause get your mind out of the gutter you loveable pervez  you.

I knew there must have been some mistake so I approached the strange little **** who runs the show here to ask had my name been forgotten by mistake.

Hey there person I cant say your name or you will banish me to the hello closet with your co owner and life partner .
Yes Gonzo can I help you ?
The dark lord himself said in his usual why wont this ******* die and leave me alone little naughty  voice of his.

You mean in a ****** sense ****** ?
Adolf looked at me in his usal look of is this ******* insane or just ******* with me sense .

Look you misspelling ****** what the hell do you want?
For ****** and **** to become legal and Justin Biebers  head on a silver platter .

That is in such bad taste.
Yeah I replied I know maybe just the ****** thing cause that man **** is terrible have you ever seen deliverance?
Made me want to never go camping again I mean honestly why couldn't it have Mark Walberg being rode like a piggy mmm twisted .

Gonzo what the hell is wrong with you !?
Honestly Adolf to much to explain in this write I believe it all started when my mother sold me for crack yeah she only got like four rocks duh I'm at least worth ten what a ***** love ya mom.  

I swear you drunken perverted halfwit if you don't just get to the point I'm going to shoot you myself you insane ******* .

I was shocked by these words never had anyone said such nice things about me with there outside voice once was strange being we were inside at the holiday Inn convention center deep in the mental wasteland called Ohio .
Yeah I know why Ohio?
Well cause Hello has no money that's why we beg more than those cheap hookers at PBS.

But enough with the foreplay children.

Adolf I will for once in my semi sober existence speak clearly .
Why the **** am I not a part of the ******* hall of fame being I was here from day ******* one before half the people who think there hot **** ever ******* were you ******* cyber ****!

Was that clear enough ?

I must have hit a chord for the mighty cyber warlord shot me a look of pure rage that made me wish I had brought my trusty **** whistle.
Sure   I know that no one will respond I just like blowing it the whistle that is cause Gonzo don't swing that way yeah sure there was that one summer in college and I know  what your thinking.

Gonzo went to college?
What it could happen hell were did you think I got my black belt in drinking?

Look you demented ****** you may have had a audience of perverts and teenage girls and demented old ladies who raise coyotes for there ******* job fooled into liking your work but I will never ever ever Put you into the Hello Hall Of Fame ever ever he continued on for awhile beating his little fist on the podium he was such a loveable little **** kind of a mix of Elton John and Martha Stewart.

So maybe next year ?
No ******* .
So what your saying is maybe after I'm dead and the world has gone into a state of thank the ******* Lord we don't have to read this long winded ******* work anymore  then maybe?

Don't you understand the word no?
Well being I hear it all the time from my teenage wife you think I would but hey I've learned like after some very manly crying and begging like a dog eventually  she caves  in or if I pay her like her other clients  .

I'm kidding I'm a writer I have no money.

It was clear this egg wasn't going to crack or go sunny side up for me now maybe get a little scrambled in-between as you sit there reading wondering what the **** is wrong with this guy writing this story on a poetry website.

It's cause I'm black isn't it Adolf ?
Do you own a mirror Gonzo?
Duh what do you think a snort my lines off of ******* besides  my heart is more black than that of any twisted freak ego maniac who enjoys a good drink and some even better hookers .

Look Gonzo I'm tired and I got to get out of here cause if we don't clear out we have to pay a late fee besides there's a star track convention waiting and you know how those nerds get when they when you put off them meeting there messiah William Shattner .

True those strange little hamsters were worse than rednecks at a monster truck show with no beer in sight.

I had to for once admit defeat Adolf held the keys and much like a hot ******* chick The Hello Hall Of Fame wasn't in my cards .
Yeah rules and stupid laws can be such a **** block.

I was broken so I did what any grown man in the same situation would do went to the bar and pouted in a corner and flipped all my old friends off then realized that the bar was filled with a bunch of Sci Fi nerds who kept wondering who the **** is that weird dude crying in his beer flipping everyone off.

And after one to many insults the nerds decided to go all Chuck Norris on my *** I'm kidding they threatened to call there parents and have them give me a good scolding and being it was the first time Mom and Dad  got them out of the basement this year I knew there would be hell to pay.

I looked deep into my darkened soul and had to think fast .
So I did what any good con man and half *** writer would do.
Told them I was Gene Roddenberry's son and signed autographs and took there free drinks and had a good ***** with a green chick .

And who said I didn't believe in happy endings .
Live long and stay crazy hamsters .

Gonzo

I sat there before the man puzzled in a loss for words now I finally understood how most people dealing with me felt for a change.
So what do you think?

The man asked with a gleeful look in his eye minus the ****** gay *** musical covers of once kickass music .
Looking at the cover of what was supposed to be my master work A Cold Beer Beats A Warm Heart yes a shameless self plug really if that's the lowest you believe I have sunk in life I feel sorry for you.

I viewed the cover looking for a nice rational response to my publisher let's call him **** for brains ******* I wish would die!
And you thought I hated the like button.

It ******* ****'s **** amigo.
What ? ,Are team spent hours designing this it's catchy and edgy
it screams you .

I knew this man without a doubt was on far better drugs than I had ever tried in my life once told me one thing.
I really needed to figure out where this guy  hid his drug's.

Okay what don't you like about it?
Duh who wants a picture of Leonardo Dicaprio  on there cover of there book.

What? The man looked at me stunned then looked at the cover again
that acid must really be kicking in for he kept doing this several times before finally breaking his odd silence.

It's a picture of a water bottle next to some swiss cheese .
Duh ******* I said in a respectful manner like I said who wants a picture of that ****** bag Leonardo Dacaprio on there cover .

What the hell are you talking about this cover is brilliant we have been working like almost  one whole day to put this together  now what's the ******* problem with it?

The publisher said this to me in his outside voice and being it was indoors it led me to believe the stuff he was on was wearing off .
I had to try another approach I had to  get down to his level and this couldn't be achieved with any store bought whiskey so I broke out
my trusty mason jar and took a big hit of some good corn whiskey.

After finally catching my breath and when my vision slightly returned I broke my silence.

Look my friend it's simple when selling a book with my name on it
the reader expects a few simple thing's
One bad taste and bad spelling.
Two long writes of total ******* with lots of mentions of ******* .

And most important a cover with some hot half naked  strippers duh
what doesn't say poetry like hookers ?

Okay and your point is this strange man who signed me to a contract
yet thought for some reason the crazy **** I spoke of was simply a act.

My point is you can't put a picture of Leonardo Dicaprio on my book.

It's not a picture of him it's a water bottle next to some swiss cheese .

Shh I told this delusional man, far worse than myself .

I motioned him to lean closer and in a whisper I said what about the curse?

What ******* curse he said once again in much to loud of a voice I swear this man was far harder to train then one of my barley legal girlfriends  course I didn't have my whip or coyotes I'm kidding I don't have any coyotes what do I seem like Lily Mae ?

Look sir everyone knows  about the Dicaprio .
The what ?, Are you ******* insane  ?
Well yes but that's not the point here sir by the way what's that sent your wearing?

Oh it's axe do you  like it's broke back swallow lighting.
No actually I was going to ask had you ran over a skunk or a French *****  .

We rambled on a bit and after couple of hit's from Mr Gonzo's  family recipe.
Then just to drag this ****** out we spoke about how axe body spray is great if you want to smell like a French ***** not that I know any but hey message me I'm always here cause I have no life .

But enough with the foreplay children.

I told my ever so high and drunken pain in the **** friend the legend of the Dicaprio and how if you said his name four time's in the mirror after the fourth time he would appear  and then take you hostage while torturing you with the cruelest act possible .

Making you watch all his boring *** movies while jerking him off on the couch till you were bored to death.

Oh my God ! ,The publisher responded in terror !
We have to stop this book from getting in the hands of young people everywhere !

The publisher knowing just how serious this matter was called the publishing house slash back room in a Atlanta **** theater .

But it was to late the books had already been sent out .

And soon something far worse than a zombie outbreak would take hold of the world one city at a time .
Dear Lord what had I created ?

It all started off so innocent just like a **** movie with script really does anyone care to have art direction in there ****?
Some little hamster would buy the book in some bargain rack thinking why is that ****** bag Leonardo on the cover ?

Then they would show it to a friend the book I mean whatever they do in there private life is up to them I'm not judging but if there hot chicks send me a pic or two I'm just saying throw a dog a bone  .

But then the two hamsters would always mention hey have you ever Dicaprioed?  
And as always that heartless ******* would strike again dam you James Cameron  what did you unleash upon this earth.

I would go in hiding in shame for my creation of course I still spent my royalty checks on hookers ***** and *******  but although I seemed happy inside I was hurting .
Duh I'm kidding  hell anyone dumb enough to summon the dark lord of boring *** movies gets what they deserve.

My publisher would hang himself well I can always wish .

And as all ten of my devoted fans scratched there heads as to why is there a pic of a ****** bag on the cover .

The answer was simple .

Cause publishers are stupid and more high than I could ever be so
don't sign **** kids or you to will be driven into the depths of further madness much like yours truly .

Stay crazy.

Gonzo

eph you see kay etouffee if you see Kay tell her a catawampus catahoula hound hog dog crossed bayou levee last night all right what did you say if you see Kay tell her a catawampus catahoula hog dog crossed the levee last night all right i heard what you said the first time why you got to repeat eph you see kay you ******* ****** **** what? what did you say you ******* ****** **** heard you the first time you **** a **** a ***** a ***** hello stop end begin believe conceive create no thank you i already ate what? what did you say begin believe conceive create no thank you i already ate quit ******* repeating yourself  you ******* ******* hello stop end begin believe conceive create eph you see kay etouffee if you see Kay tell her a catawampus catahoula hog dog crossed the levee last night all right

the renown physicist dressed in brown wool suit brown leather laced shoes white shirt burgundy knitted tie wild curly graying hair climbed the stairs walked across the stage stood at the lectern adjusted narrow support pole height reached down into brown leather briefcase retrieved his thesis concerning the relative theory of everything tapped microphone composed his posture made a guttural sound clearing his throat looked out at packed full auditorium it became evident to the distinguished audience the renown physicist’s fly was open and his ***** hanging out it was unanimously dismissed as a case of professorial absent-mindedness

all the creatures of the earth (excluding humans) convened for an emergency session the bigger creatures talked first grizzly bears stood upright explaining demand for gallbladders bile paws make us more valuable dead than alive sharks testified Asian fisherman cut off our fins for soup then throw us back into the sea to die elephants thumping heavy feet stepped forward yeah poachers **** us for our tusks rhinos concurred yes they **** us for our horns wild Mustang horses neighed about violent round-ups then slaughtered processed for cat food whales complained of going deaf from submarine sonar tests then sold for meat many dolphins sea turtles tuna swordfish sea bass smaller fish swam forward pleading about getting caught in long line nets barbed baited hooks over-fished colonies chimpanzees described nightmares of being stolen from their mom’s when they are very young then used in research labs for horrible tests song birds chirped about loss of their habitats land tortoises spoke in gentle voices about being wiped out for housing developments saguaro cactuses dropped their arms in discouragement masses of penguins solemnly marched in suicidal unison to edge of melting icebergs polar bears and seals wept honey bees buzzed colony collapse disorder bats flapped about white nose syndrome coyotes and wolves howled lonesome prairie laments the session grew gloomy with heart-wrenching unbearable sadness sobbing crying then a black mutt dog spoke up my greyhound brothers and sisters and all my family of creatures i sympathize with your hurt but it is important to realize there are people who care love us want to protect us not all humans are ravenous carnivores or heartless profiteers a calico cat crept alongside black dog and rubbed her head against his chest an old gray mare admitted her love for a race horse jockey who died years ago a bluebird sang a song suddenly lots more creatures advanced with stories of human kindness Captain Paul Watson Madeleine Pickens Jane Goodall a redwood tree named Luna testified about Julia Butterfly Hill the winds clouds sky discussed concerns by Al Gore lots and lots of other names were mentioned and the whole tone of the meeting changed every one agreed they needed to wait and see what the next generation of people would do whether humans would acknowledge the cruelties threats of extinction and learn grow figure out ways to sustain mother earth father sky then the meeting let out just as the sun was rising on a new day

there is a cemetery in Paris named Père Lachaise buried there are the remains of Jim Morrison Oscar Wilde Richard Wright Karl Appel Guillaume Apollinaire Honoré de Balzac Sarah Bernhardt the empty urn of Maria Callas Frédéric Chopin Colette Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot Nancy Clara Cunard Honoré Daumier Jacques-Louis David Eugène Delacroix Isadora Duncan Paul Éluard Max Ernst Suzanne Flon Loie Fuller Théodore Géricault Yvette Guilbert Jean Ingres Clarence Laughlin Pierre Levegh Jean-François Lyotard Marcel Marceau Amedeo Modigliani Molière Yves Montand Pascale Ogier Christine Pascal Édith Piaf Marcel Proust Georges Seurat Simone Signoret Gertrude Stein Louis Visconti Maria Countess Walewska and many other extraordinary souls it is rumored at late dusk their ghosts climb from graves gather drink fine brandy from costly crystal glasses smoke fragrant cigars and once a year on November 2 party hard all night culminating in deliriously promiscuous ****** **** it’s difficult to know what the truth is since the dead don’t talk or do they

Stage Design/American Drama


Down front on America’s stage—
awash in a universe
of light arranged by
the ultimate technician.
Come closer.  Anticipate
spectacle.

First sun-splash
on these shores fashions
fool’s gold of surf that heaves against
foam-smoothed, lobster black,
slick rock beaches of northern Maine/
bubbles about black rubber boots of men in boats—
another day, another dime,
shivered away in ancient rime—
adrift in fog on the black
                                          glass
                                                   harbor
                                                               surface.

Grand Canyon sunrise
          EXPLODES
               copper and white/
                    orange and green/
                          blood red/
over many thousand pounds
of brash brown
        dirt—
in every direction/especially down.
       Soldierly shadows armed with swords
       of slivered sunlight hack through scrub
       like so much meat, to each day’s final
       battle at the canyon’s rim/
while a mile below the torment
called the Colorado
turns silver and gold,
black, blue, and
thundering
mud.

Louisiana bayous trickle chlorophyll caramel over twisted hickory sentinels, monumental elms and sycamores—even the alligators.  More mystery here than far-flung nebulae—and everything fighting back ***** green kudzu.

The Badlands of South Dakota, striped like the surface of a ***** peppermint planet—sizzling in the sun, bone cold in the shade—knobby tan canyons wrapped in ribbons of rust that dribble sounds one can neither recall nor reproduce.

Same phenomenon frames dawn over spongy folds of tall green cilia ocean called simply The Plains.
Kansas, Nebraska, horizons so far away thunderstorms creep along like dark, threatening slugs.
Distant night fireworks laden with punishing hail hide tornadoes and winged farmhouses in the horizontal gloom.  In the morning—those sounds again.  Critters?  Wind.  Ghosts, maybe.

Spectral mists of the Great Northwest cloak clear-cut sores on Nature’s sacred,
fragrant, deep green shores, falling steep to the creamy Pacific.
Light's a plaything here.  Big Sur
renders color to gem, sparkles
down the coast
to rusty Golden Gate and grimy LA,
where the sun goes down brown
and the rain shines
like gun metal.

Georgia soil—
homicidal redheaded cousin running loose, looking for trouble—
grows swampy hardwood groves/
leaves hung limp from humidity/
masking antebellum secrets/
offering sanctuary to voodoo practitioners and moonshiners alike.
Magic, danger, ******, and ghosts
of slaughtered slaves wander tight-packed old-growth forests.
Some say the soil is red from ancient conflict,
unanswered pleas for mercy drowned
in the drenching rains
of hurricanes
strayed north from the Gulf of Mexico.
Others claim tears of countless mothers will never leave
Civil War blood completely dry.

Northern New England foliage--
master maples drunk on fresh cider/
psychedelic finger-paint exhibitionists high on
the year’s last harvest,
intoxicated by Nature’s largess/
symphonies of scarlet, tangerine, lemon, even purple--
regal birds migrate over lakes so blue
you could chip your teeth on them,
and a diehard hemlock conducts its final green opus to a sea of primary colors.

Iowa is quiet and corn, obscuring whole towns and the lives held captive therein.  All the green on Earth is planted here; all the sun, all the sapphire sky feeding knee-high-by-July crops, bleaching spare white churches, white picket fences, white-on-white generations and all their vanilla dreams.

Linger beneath Montana’s cobalt crystal canopy to know why it’s called Big Sky.
Stark, Crazy Mountains chase stuttering clouds above treeless, tumbleweed towns,
bathed in the same blues as Wyoming, blown through a wild man’s horn.

A wink of sunlight
mirrored in unseen peaks
perhaps hundreds of miles away—
snow so white/Rocky Mountains so hard and gray—
behind a universe of wheat flatness beckoning the eye to infinity, slowly,
slowly, the Continental Divide rises
from the horizon like a monster parade balloon filling with gas on another continent.
The Flat Irons--majestic stone slabs lounging against Boulder's nearby foothills--
were cursed by ancient observers.
One peek at their precarious slopes compels you to return.
Been back three times and I’m still not sure I believe it.

Southwestern deserts’ blaze,
haze, and halo—spotlights hot,
focused on towering sandstone totems.
Deep gashes of flowering canyon, adrift in the flat and barren,
rage water, mud, and death during summer storms.
Scrub and sand, dust and desolation, land unfit for demons.
Get thee behind me, Arizona.

Endless, straight, lonely two-lanes
carve the lunar landscape of west Texas
into parcels of wasteland, miles marked by
bleached carcasses of ranch animals
and their predators, some hung
on fences as a warning
that people really do
live there.

Cities have their place,
                    their places,
                    their placement--
but my heart can’t pound to the beat of traffic
like it does to waterfall spray.

Turn your back to the fire in sufficient twilight and a mountain range sharpens into a line—
coyotes prowling, howling on the perimeter.
To spy on a wild animal lost in thought.
The sight--and sound--as swans alight or leave a hidden pond.
Northern lights and swamp gas,
everywhere the stench
of Earth.

This
is what matters—
all around us—
this alone.

Not politics,
not religion,
not countries.

Just this—
stage.

Between the night and daylight,
     As twilight begins to shower,
Comes a lull in the day's preparations,
     Cherished as the Kittys' Hour.

I hear in the kitchen beside me,
     The patter of tiny feet,
Rumbles of varying motors
     With "meow's" gentle and sweet.

Leaping from counter with agile grace
     On my shoulder with a purr;
Sail grave Thomas and sweet Lady Jane,
     And Susan of golden fur.

A "meow," and then a long silence,
     I know by mischievous eyes,
They are scheming and musing together,
     To vanquish my weary sighs.

With sudden dash from the hallway,
     Tortie bounds into my arms!
Felines of all colours sit starring,
     Delighting me with their charms.

Frolicking with skillful ease,
     Tossing and batting their catnip-mouse;
If I run to escape, they surround me,
     They appear to overflow the house.

Suffocating me with their kisses,
     Furry paws patting my face;
And though they have torn the kitchen blinds,
     They dazzle me with their grace.

I hug you all close in loving arms,
     And will n'er let you depart,
Nor ****** you dears out to coyotes,
     For you each have won my heart.

And here shall you dwell forever,
     Cherished more each golden day;
Till this glad house fall into ruin,
     And I in dust shall decay.

                 **~Hilda~

Just up ahead is a trail
Where people seldom go,
Sidling down the gravel hill
Into growths of ash and birch and elm,
Thickets of wild plums,
Chokecherries, leaves turning dusty,
Verdant armies of stinging nettles
Protecting coveted stands of juneberries.

Bittersweet vines entangle aged elms,
Siphoning life, to produce four petaled reds
As summer goes down to autumn.

Leaving the wind above
To batter the old truck,
I descend into the silence,
Trees stand tall, but low
Below the breeze.

Down in this steep place
The wind cannot come,
The sun, when it finds its way,
Warms gently on the coldest day.

The spring my father dug
Before I was born,
Set into the weeping gravel hill,
Runs steadily,
Strong enough
To fill the battered tank,
To keep a goldfish or two alive,
To host strange crustaceans:
Tiny shrimp, just larger than ants,
Pebble crusted creatures
More insect than fish,
Frogs in the tank,
Toads out...,
Mosses and mud
Thirty years or more
At home.

Deer come to this tank,
On hot days or cold;
Coyotes, too.
Porcupines dine on treetops
Swaying quietly
A hundred feet below
Wild Montana winds.
Cattle in winter find life
In the quiet, constant water
Flowing here.

I am taken back
To a stifling July afternoon,
But cool here in this protected place,
Dragonflies floating
And cicadas sawing in the trees,
My mouth full of juneberries
As I circle my way,
Eating more than picking...
Coming face to face with a coyote.

Was he dozing?
Passing through?
Or, do coyotes eat
Juneberries, too?

We stop hard,
Stunned.
Then bolt in opposite directions,
My juneberries flying
From the milking pail;
His tongue between his teeth,
Tail low,
Feet flying into the brush beyond.

You sound so beautiful
In the rhythm of your heartbreak

So regal in the words from the mouth
Of a giant trumpeted over the plains
At daybreak

The way the elephant stands
Ivory gnarled and precious
Perfect and rare
Like the words you spin from your ivory teeth

Sometimes only glinting from the
Corner of your coyote snicker
A bitter trickster
Playing the beat

And I am in awe
Expecting there to be thunder
From the pound of your feet

But you manage to muffle the
Roll of the rain clouds
So as not to scare the other animals into hiding
So we can all rejoice at the rain

Then the crack of lightning
As it strikes the temples of those
Who stick around long enough
To appreciate the burn inside

You are the regal sound of
elephant trumpet thunder
And the late night
Howl of coyote’s laughter

Knowing perfectly
That it’s your timing
That keeps all the other animals
Up at night

A cold autumns night.
Trains and coyotes whine in the midst of dead silence.
Thoughts strewn about like leaves on the front lawn,
Dead and soon to be weathered away into thin air,

Happy thoughts weathered away in the wind,
gone with the breeze goes the last shred of sanity I had left.
Back to bullying and prejudice,
where the word “gay” gets slung around to anyone who likes to dress different.
Who does the school play instead of the football team,
who didn’t get the nerves to talk to the girl he likes because he knew she wont even listen,
but he’s tranquilized by her poison and that poison is the look she gave him in class today.

But all he hopes for is someone to give a **** about him.
For someone who will actually be there and care about him.
Life savers surround people with compassion and care,
but the preserver is just hung up to dry when his eyes are wet from dragging others out of the sea.

a boy whose never had a good thing to say about his own skin but a million things to say about anyone else’s.
He gets lost sometimes too and manages to find his way home,
like a blind puppy in the woods,
scared and alone in a scary dark world,
he walks and walks until he’s not bumping into trees any more and he feels the soft grass underneath his feet.
Only to find out he is walking into a trap dug by his own thoughts that capture him and drag him underneath the soil,
with the reaper dumping shovel load by shovel load of sand on top of him saying “Don’t worry, you’re home now”.

He cries with the trains and the coyotes on the cold autumn night.
Alone in the woods by himself with nothing but his thoughts,
a weapon of mass destruction to his own mind, and he doesn’t even know it.

Coyote prowls the swamp behind my house,
searching for a duck or goose nest
hidden in tall yellow grass,
thinking of eggs for breakfast,
perhaps a downy duckling or gosling,
maybe some baby mice for dessert.
Coyote sniffs around the nests people make, too;
people who seem unaware,
can’t sense coyote’s presence anymore,
so go about their business
as if coyotes are merely the stuff of old stories.
They seem surprised when coyote finds their nests,
say things like “We didn’t have a clue.”
or “It came right out of nowhere.”
or “It happened so fast.”—
poor excuses for inattention, sleep-walking,
made after coyote has ravaged their nests,
scattered sticks and moss and grass,
then laughs about it when the moon is full.


And There Are Coyotes

that prowl the land inside you, too,
seeking to feed on fears
you thought hidden even from yourself
like prairie dogs in their dens.
**** those coyotes, so wily,
digging up burrows,
feeding on carcasses;
they survive all the poisons
you douse your insides with,
the traps you set,
laugh at bounties on their hides.

To get from the streets to a new life
jungle high
Keeping alive
The will to survive
Months keep seeping
through grates of sub-grieving
no one said life would be easy

Moths, spiders - the size of hands
Creeping through the sands
Aching because they can
And so do I
And so do we

Together, through the darkest night of rain
Coming to the dawn of healing pain.
Come on knees crawling slow
Heaving forth the throne of gold
- Don’t need nothin’ ‘cept Love in Heaven

Thus we cross the lonely river bed
Lying side by side, head to head
- Say was that a bear growling?
Or was it just coyotes howling?

Lonely nights pretending to smile
Medicine only helps a little while
I’m sorry I fall into black holes often
It’s just hard to stand long, once you’ve fallen

I envy your stance, though
I can’t tell if you’re real
Maybe you’re an image of my mind
Created to keep me in line

Either case, you failed me

It’s alright

Life goes on

You don’t know the coyotes are there or how many there are until they hear sirens.
And lots of sirens they hear – police sirens, to be exact.
As the sirens become louder, the coyotes go into a frenzy of dramatic wales and pathetic howls.
These obscure, obnoxious ******* don’t know when to quit.
Inconsiderate ******!
How dare they interrupt a peaceful suburb that lies beneath a perfect, summer, starlit sky?
I decide to do the right thing, the proper thing, the adult/mature thing and that is to simply ignore them.
I put to use that lame, half-wit advice given by every parent to every child – if someone makes fun of you or if there’s a monster staring at you from inside your closet, ignore them.  
Just ignore them, and they’ll go away.
So I give it a try after I scream shut-up one last time.

I’ll be ******… Suddenly they’re silent.
Not a peep from one of those sons-of-*******.
Just the police sirens and they’re getting even louder now.

So I pick up where I left off and begin bouncing up and down on my pogo stick, reciting Shakespearean Sonnets outside her second-story bedroom window.
She can be quite clueless at times – especially right now!!
It’s like, “Hello???
You probably could hear be me better if your window was open, Silly.”

And then I too
am part of the silence
that casts its post-sunset stillness
throughout this swamp white oak's great spread.

It seems as though even the hive of honeybees
and the nearby nest of baby birds
have stopped to admire
the feeling of the world
tilting on its axis; sinking through space.
We all gaze further upwards,
those bees and birds and I.
And nestled in the remaining twigs above,
is the shockingly finite dance
of the leaves... of the stars.

The shadows that hang from the top-most branches
cast their way down around me
and coat their way all over the ground, making it
easy to forget the height—
the ultimate suspension. Because
born within my skin
is a swamp white oak,
stretching its branches through the
grey matter in my mind,
over-taking and over-whelming.
At the end of it all is me:
a tiny little acorn laid
by an impossible evolution
of people into trees.

Every cell becomes leaf and
the heart a listening ear. Amongst
the chorus of the frogs,
the owls, the coyotes—
the chorus of the woods around—
is that shift
so revered.
The shift of the Earth.
The Earth tilting
on its axis.
It’s time to admit that the maps and
man’s little green boxes there,
are nothing but products
of a continually
diminishing temper... showing
that when this swamp white falls,
it won’t just be a wood
that’s finally left barren.
It won't just be a body
left emptied and charred.

Please, I think, as the bark gets flimsier
and flimsier
beneath my feet. As the wind gets fiercer
and fiercer
howling in my ears. *Please. Let this lone acorn
standing here
sprout into something.
Let a swamp white oak
be seen.

Cold winter camping
Frigorific night huddled around fire
Many coyotes auspiciously howling nearby
"Don't worry, they're across the water"
Still I wait at the ready with coyot-basher

Tents in snow shielded from peninsula
By tarps lashed together with rope and ply
"You'd probably die out here" says Oscar
Here meaning Newfoundland
Here meaning the Northern Pen.
Agreeing monosylabically

Nearly hypothermic thinking
Not so bad
Maybe stay another night (says the voice)
Sneak down to water
And jump in ice fishing hole

I was three , no bigger than a west Texas tumbleweed . . . just three .

My mother hung the wash out on the line
and wiped the sweat off her brow with her hand .
Half an hour later the clothes were frozen .
Blue Norther . . . you can see them coming
a hundred miles away .
Wichita Falls , Texas . . . on the Wichita river .

Moses sat on a mountaintop gazing at the promised land but it was out of his hands now .
Leaning on his staff , the one that ate the Pharoh's two serpents . . . sssssssilently a single tear falls to the ground .

No fence could hold me . . . I was over or under in seconds .
A terror at three , a potential runaway .
The police knew me by first name  . . . just three .
The plains of North Texas , jackrabbits , coyotes , rattlesnakes and all . . . were home .

Forty years of desert wilderness ,
till the last man , woman , and child of Egyptian connection had died ,
. . . . . . was such a sacrifice made . . . . . .
Moses was the last to fall .
On a mountaintop of no consequences .

      "Run Rabbit Run"

Tonight we’re aligned with the stars
I’m wearing Orion’s belt
You’re drinking in thirsty gulps from the big dipper
The little one’s in freckles on your chest
And now I can hear the wind chimes
On the porch
I can hear the leaves
Of the Bradford Pear
I can hear the cats and dogs and coyotes and deer and owls
Making nighttime noises
I can hear mom snoring in the house
For one of the last times
I can hear the trampoline springs creaking with age
And feel it bouncing and swaying under us
Like it did in its heyday
I can hear you sniffling, sister,
I can hear you crying
Your warm wet tears
Are drowning my ears
Like all those summers we did swim team
When I take your hand
It’s smaller than I remember
It’s Abby circa ‘99
Though you didn’t let me hold it then
And I never tried
Now our hair is curling in swirling halos
Around the same face
Mom’s face
We never did look like Dad
Now we’re gazing at the same stars
Under the same March sky
Thinking, saying, “God is good”
Saying, believing, “How can He not be?
When the sky looks like this”
Believing, knowing, that it’s true
Even while our hearts are rocks,
Our hands are clay,
Our minds are swarming
Teeming
Buzzing
Hives
But “God is good”
“How can He not be?
When the sky looks like this”
When our mother is a fish
How can He not be?
We know:
“God is good.”
While we’re reading the Braille of the sky
Two foxes slink by
Now we dismount the trampoline and go inside
Where we hear Mom snoring
For one of the last times

It's hard to believe that forty seven years have passed since we picked our first Macintosh off that tangled orchard tree. Fall was the best time of year. We would hop into the old truck and scoot on down the road to the local farm. Together we'd place everything in order for a perfect picnic; sandwiches here, potato chips there. She'd be certain to leave the pickles in a special container cause that sour taste of dill always made me buckle. Forty seven years since we made our first fall adventure, can you believe it?

The autumn breeze always seemed to soften the light as it glowed upon her curly red hair. So young and full of life she was. It was always a sight to see her when she'd reach for an apple and a good ol' honey bee would come buzzing around. Hell, she'd start flailing her dainty fingertips and scrunch her nose, waving her scarf all around as if the bee would surrender. Those were the moments that I searched for. Those moments (I'd swear) she could stop the universe in a shade of gray. Her ability to get so **** mad made her look as cute as puppy who couldn't run as fast as it wanted. When those moments began to unfold before my eyes it appeared I had been deeply connected to the face of God. My heart would leap, Ah, I knew I'd love her forever.

There was one year which was so special to me, I've held it safe as one of my fondest memories. We had been out all night one fall evening. Our neighbors held a festive barn party complete with a hog roast with all the fixens. We danced until our feet hurt. I remember she wanted to leave early but I wasn't sure why. Being the gentleman that I was, I stayed with the one that brought me.

I popped the clutch and off we went leaving the music behind us. Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary but then she reached over and gave me a little tap on the shoulder. She really had a way of getting my attention. "Pull over up here..." she said "down this gravel road!"

I shoulda known better. Shifting gears I made a careful right turn as the tires met with the thickly settled road. As soon the truck had made it fifty yards she opened that truck door and left me no choice but to stop! "What on earth are you doing?" I cried as she exited the vehicle and made her way past the headlights.

Before I could ask another question the drivers side door swung open. The moon must've been full that night cause I can recall light beams bouncing off her beautiful smile. She grabbed my hand and ran towards the forest. The trees lashed back against me as I chased her through the thick of it. I had no idea that the orchard would be on the other side.

Waiting like a tractor for an overdue oil change was a the most romantic thing I witnessed. My pretty girl sure did surprise me. I could have never guessed. Spread out right before me was a midnight picnic. We sat underneath that tree and laughed till the coyotes chased us home. That was the first night we ever made love. Real love...the lasting kind and Lord have mercy, I'll never forget it!

It's been ten years since she went up with the Angels. Every fall I can't help but reminisce of that night we left the barn dance- it's where it all began, but I have yet to return to our spot.

Every time I think about it I can smell the remnants of her homemade apple pie and it brings tears to my eyes. Today, something told me to muster up the courage and get down to the Orchard, it was as if she had tapped me on the shoulder again.

Different it was making my way down there alone. A lot of the landscape has changed and they've added a few things. I'd have to admit, the smell of the autumn breeze still rings true to my memories of my her as I approached the Apple Orchard.

Heavy hearted I headed out on the farm. It was different to see all the children with their families, that used to be us. But the sound of their laughter quickly replaced my own memories as I made my way down the hill to our very first apple picking tree.

There it stood as pretty as an apple tree could be. Her leaves appeared to blow to the sound of the wind, her branches looked like they were smiling. Glancing up I continued to walk closer and I couldn't believe what I saw. Was it true?

Slowly I made my way around the trunk of that twisted orchard tree just to be sure I wasn't imaging something, but I'll be ******, every apple on that tree was gone.

The moment I realized it was true I knelt down and dug my hands in the dirt. A blustery tear rolled on past my lips. I clenched my fist and lifted it to my heart. The moment was too much, I had taken too long to get there. Just as I turned around and decided that I should go- a busy little honey bee flew right past the tip of my eyelashes. I stumbled back and reluctantly began swatting at an almost invisible contender.

Jumping all around like a **** fool I was shoutin' and cussin' going off like a firecracker. All of a sudden the honey bee flew from sight and when I realized that I was so **** worked up, I began to laugh.

You see, it was that sweet little honey bee that made it all possible. It came buzzin' by like a heated stroke of lightening and changed everythin'! That's the moment I realized, if it weren't for the things that made us upset, the moments that brought on grief and heartbreak, perhaps we wouldn't have any reflection on the things that made us happy.

That apple tree may not have had a single Macintosh left for my pickin' but it taught me that my wife had planted enough seeds of love and hope in my heart that I didn't need no apple- just the memories that went with it.

frogs "croaking"
in front of me, in the reeds
crickets "chirping"
behind me, in the brush
countless coyotes "yelping"
from across the lake
bass, carp surfacing
under a yellow moon
unaware its shimmering shaft’s
a magnet to my eye  
and more lullaby to me,
who can yet see spectral waves
but lost cherished vibrations--like birdsong,
winsome whispers--eons ago