I left my mittens in the Smokies.
It was that night at Maddron Bald on the ridge
after we'd hiked from Davenport Gap --
12 miles, 4,000 feet.
The girl gave us icicles.
Dazed and breathless, we pitched the tent
and scrambled into our sleeping bags.
  
The morning sun felt good -- Sterling Ridge
on our left, Cosby far below to the right;
Mt. Guyot with its spruces and firs;
lunch at Tri-Corner ****; then down through
the rhododendrons and mud to McGhee Springs.
Raven Fork -- the beech tree, the icy water,
the boulders, the sunlight.
Cabin Flats and Smokemont -- the rain,
the people with pancakes.
  
Campfires, backpacks, flapjacks, barley;
sunshine, lichens, blisters, . . . wood-smoke.

We forgot to make love last night,
yet again like many other nights
we remained distant islands separated by
Bermuda's of bed sheet and air.
The body wasn't very happy
Those thousands of red cells inside you
divided and redivided in anger
Ached and oozed and broke free
from your restless

When I woke up this morning,
I found you lying in a pool of blood.
You decided to go to work
After all it was a Friday and
the long weekend was a week away.

You take too many iron supplements
I fear, one day your body will be so full of folic acid
that it will cry.

We have the Smokies lined up for October
and the Cayman Islands in Christmas
Thinking of planned vacations makes me go to work
every day
Even though I ****
so bad
that I'd rather open a book store
and read all day
and sell a book or two.

My life is still all about you
After all these years
I still couldn't kiss that woman who
asked me on a coffee date at 10 pm by the lake.
or the one who found me cute on our album by the dressing table
You would say "Go ahead , we are not married yet".
I would laugh when I am alone,
thinking of the all the things you say
these days.

You say all the good things in life needs planning
marriage, kids,
buying house on mortgage
convertible sport coupes
vacations in South Pacific.
I find it ironic that I met you on a book store
when I cancelled a TGIF party and had this sudden urge
to buy Alice Munro's short stories.

We were sweet, back then.
Now you lie,
about being anemic on your weekly routine checkup
hide,
your biopsy report soon afterwards;
lie again,
on the reason of your sudden cancellation of the planned vacations for the year end
saying it's work.

Then you disappear, terrify me
Only to come back strands of hair gone from your head
still say nothing,
yet finally disappear saying nothing before I could buy us
the last vacation together.
I regret how much we could have done
together
if we made love more often
my body healing yours
resting, soothing,
purging all the enemies.

On the day when we supposed to be married
I visit the Caymans
laughing alone in a crowded beach
thinking about all the things you used to say these days
having Alice Munro's short stories for company.

6:45,
this sounds a bit Agatha Christie as if the 45 is out to get me and the 6 being an innocent bystander had a gander anyway.

Well whadaya know Cockney rhyming gets in on the show.

Goosey, Goosey
where's our Lucy did Desi get his bride?

Okey choke me Arbroath smokies,
I love a bit of fish
I wish
I wish
and then I pop
will wishing ever make me stop?

Going down to Chinatown
A west end luxury
Peeking at a Peking duck
Which will in turn, turn around to be
a chicken.

Sug

The frame a town in the Midwest time teen years the person a girl I have been touched by the Smokies
Its southern magnificence the heritage it evokes, the Rockies awe inspiring, the Sierra Nevada its
Grandeur commanding sheltered by the San Gabriel’s as I played in Los Angeles these places have one
Thing in common they cause you to look out and beyond on the rich views below and they cause a
Mighty flood of memories to crash ever so sweetly in the soul yes plenty of teenagers were around but
For different reasons each uniquely stood out and apart all that made up the texture of this time its
Greatness the final touches were being added to our lives and from this we would go on the harder
Sometimes tougher road of life but in the midst of it all she stood like a Goldenrod impossible to miss
Bright yellow in the profusion of other vivid colors for Ed unforgettable she possesses an undertow of
Quiet Cool she didn’t make a great stir but a gentle one you slowly stepped and submerged yourself in
The Quiet magic she created truly the pebble had fallen into the pool imperceptibly you couldn’t put
You’re Finger on when but the circles continued to widen and you felt their effects a gentle hush
Pervaded our sometimes rambunctious lives she at times was that indefinable darker hue that brought
Depth to The picture soothing tremble that came into your life touched you then continued to the outer
Reaches Still it lingered and in its make up hope sprang up causing a defense ageist alarm no harm
Defied Her Charm this is just my simple way of saying thanks for being a wondrous part of my youth and
what I am today and also happy birthday Sug

Part of me is half awake in this world
Eyes wandering the classrooms and halls
My mind is hardly active in this world
And then, part of me roams my memory
Half of me is off trekking smoky mountains
I'm riding a ski lift up Mt Werner, snow.
It's autumn here in the Smokies, crisp
The leaves are vibrant reds and yellows
And a mountain stream trickles by
My feet go numb in the icy stream,
Here is where I pop off my skis to listen
To the sweet sound of alpine fir trees
Here is feeding the squirrels in Yosemite
And hiking to a water fall, testing my faith
Cramming snow into my mouth,
Followed by hot chocolate at a cabin
Here is Appalachian Summers and picnics
And Rocky Mountain Winters and snow
Or slipping under the turquoise blanket
And exploring underwater caves in Hawaii
Memories are so dear, and always reappear
When everything around me is monotonous
I let myself rediscover what was once mine
And I don't even have to close my eyes
To be part of this beautiful world

I have left this marbled host of the future's tired, brilliant minds at a quarter to four in the morning.
I am still and bewitched from the latest spell of writer's mania. I have reached the highest point of the neighboring smokies.
It's advised that when descending from a hike, one should proceed with caution in order to avoid straining.
So I slowly observe the surroundings I have detached myself from for the past couple of hours. I line my psyche in a goldenrod shade of velvet.
Simultaneously comforted and stimulated.
The observational sky is inky, like the residue resting in between the lines on my finger tips.
The person striding next to me and I have made the conscious decision to enjoy the silence.
We step in unison, their gaze wanders, but their intent is fixed on the destination.
Uncalled for precipitation is falling in a quixotic manner. It is now three minutes past four and there are cardinals chirping.
I bid my companion from this stroll a goodnight. As the elevator closes they earnestly compliment the magnitude of my pupils.
I had been complaining about sleepless nights, but now I am being tucked into bed by the nocturnal kind's ways.
It is now twenty-seven minutes past four.

Your kiss hangs suspended
hibernating somewhere
between here and
the Smokies
Indian Winter
rains pelt
the earth
brilliant feathers
woven though my hair
red *** ***
dot on my third eye
I kneel
a Hopi Corn maiden
planting new seeds
hoping for the
harvest of your
Love

When the soft Knoxville summer
Slips it’s way over the Smokies
Ghosts through Gatlinburg
And passes Pigeon Forge
We opened all the windows
And made love in the mist.
I jumped into a gorge
Naked and full of expectation
Washing the sweat that
Only conquering mountains
Can conjure.
I erupted from the water
New and fresh and clean.
While sullen hazel eyes
Watched water drops
Trace down my *******
A siren drying in the sun
On the rocks.
The trees were dying
White and blanched
In Everest emerald green
While the mountains cast shadows.
My love for you much the same
As the quick moving summer.
A lifetime turns into a blink.
Your body pulsates on a rock
Next to the wild Obed
And you are just as untamed.
You had a past you never mentioned
But always remembered
And a father who forgot you.
I collect stones from the riverside
And dream of you being happy.
I lay in a bed of purple honeysuckles
On a mountain bald
And share a bottle of bourbon
With a man hiking
the Appalachian trail.
He tells me he is
Almost famous
And I laugh at the word “almost.”
He plays the trumpet
And moves souls
With every utterance of his lungs.
He continues on the trail
And I never see him again.
We get late night ice cream
And my cotton shirt sticks to me
In overwhelming humidity
And suffocating heat
But I am laughing
And hanging out the car window
Through winding roads
and wild thorns
And summer has ended
And so have we.

I once stood in the hallowed halls
Of my own hope,
My soul aspiring to reunite with the blood red brick.

One year passed,
And I stand, dwarfed,
Beneath the walls built upon the passion of the accomplished.  

Now: Two duffels and two backpacks – more than I would need.
Monochromatic gray clouds block the sunlight I know is mine.
When last did your ribs expand with freedom?
When last did your blood flow with clarity?
Dormant soul: restless sleep, awake but never conscious.
My ambition has been annihilated, but my heart quietly demands:
Find your light.
My shaking hands turn the key into the ignition.

The kind waitress asks where I am from, her voice sweet as a sun-ripened berry.
Do I tell her I came from from Delaware?
Do I say to her, I am from New Jersey?
Or do I tell her the truth – that my soul has found peace in the mountains,
I can breathe easily now.
I hear now only the fresh water rushing over boulders
I have found my path
And it begins here.
My heart is from here.

When last did the birds’ song charge my soul,
Flood it with the energy of lemons,
Electrified!
I know not when last,
But I know it is here.

Swimming, as if through God’s good graces,
Living the river water rushing around me,
I am engulfed.
I am engulfed in life.

My bones rejoice.

Fog indistinguishable from smoke,
Smoke, indistinguishable from breath.
The mountains stare into me,
And I into them.

I continue forward.

Some may ask,
Why?
And to them, I can say only,
It was my soul’s demand.

The mist settles heavy over the Smokies,
Weighing down the weariness of my heart.
I want to scream –
I must beseech of them –
How may I live like you?

As the sunlight lazily cascades over the peaks of this secret, conspicuous place
It casts shadows and hope alike.
Bees sing, dutifully fulfilling their job,
And I, the same.

Days melt into one another
And my paradise fades behind the mountains growing ever smaller.

But my soul rejoices with this place,
And I know that I am found.

When I think back on that night I always laugh.
I probably shouldn't, but I do.
I laugh at our conversation on the stairs,
Lying on the cold, wet ground,
Just laughing at each other.
I laugh when I imagine us not knowing each other
At the start of the year and how,
When I talked to you, neither of us
Knew what one thought of the other.
I laugh because that seems so far away.
Because now when I talk to you it seems
Like we've known each other forever.
Like there was never a time when I stood
Awkwardly in front of you,
At someone's house who I didn't know,
With a drink in my hand trying not
To make a complete fool of myself to you.

I laugh when I imagine how funny
We must have looked that night.
How the birds or the sky must have looked down
On two drunken kids falling through a gate,
Telling each other things they would regret
The next day, or month.
I laugh when I imagine how "scandalous" it all was.
How for months after we would look back and smile
On that day, and wonder how we ever got to this point.

Now it all seems so far away;
Sitting in Smokies after the library,
(Only for 20 minutes though because
I need to get up early tomorrow, seriously Lochlan),
The hot chocolate rendezvous (definitely not dates),
Or sitting in Moyola with Morg and Meg,
Laughing at how ridiculous we all are.

I laugh at how ridiculous it all was,
And I wouldn't change it for the world.

I spent most nights of the summer
Laying in the middle of my floor
Sobbing silently
Screaming your name as my family slept

I miss you..
You left so suddenly
Now it's just emptiness
This time of year is always hard..

Thanksgiving was you're favorite
Mom let you eat anything
Despite what the doctors said
Two days a year..

Thanksgiving
And
Christmas..
Little smokies once a year- just for you.

But that year..
You left ten days too early
To be able to taste them
One

Last

Time

Forty-five hundred feet high,
a tapestry of sandstone,
crimson, and gold covers the
late October Smokies.
I look out at the
                valleys and peaks,
                              rocky and vast,
like the ones in me.
The river is alive.
I cast a line and stare at the
clear rushing water,
wondering if it ever tires,
and after
three quarters of an hour,
an enormous rainbow trout leaps up,
startled,
curved pointed metal
sinking into gasping gills,
her thick iridescent skin shining for miles.
We gaze at each other
as she dies pressed
firmly under my palm,
and a thousand orange eggs
perish with her.
The children squeal when
I drop her head into the bucket
on top of the heads and spines
of her relatives.
Her babies go in next.
This tranquil mountain scene is stained with blood.
A red leaf dances past my face,
I breathe in the scent of campfire,
a Mother and a Murderer–
a giver and taker of life–
I walk back to the old house
to prepare supper.

and to think, someone might find this ******* interesting... well... that's bio- / cognitive- diversity for you; whatever floats your boat, in this ocean of such variance, as is readily available. so that's three czech beers and a few smokies in the afternoon, right? yep.

you know how, ****** hard
it is to get into russia?
     you don't have to be an
edward snowden for easy
access...
            what you need is,
is a russian girlfriend,
         a metallica gig to go to
in moscow...
   and a ******* letter
     planning your tourism
schedule, written by
your girlfriend's mother...
and then going to the russian
embassy in london,
and waiting for about 3 hours'
worth of approval deliberation;
it's not easy to travel to russia
as a common-joe,
****, that's an americanism:
in english:     a john smith.
oh **** me, it's not bad over
there...
            it seems a natural
gorilla behaviour,
       in-breeding within
your own ethnicity...
             and perpetuating it;
what, will some arab decide
to live in *síberia?
i know, the acute alone could
be the stressor, but given
the " " in english, i might as
provide the heresy of giving
the syllable italics...
   a bit like the heresy of writing
italics, p.c. (post-colon - :)...
oh **** me, a smiley.
                      wink? ;)
             english has become so
ugly... well, it was always
a crooked-teeth brigade...
        with doth ye aye...
     the ******* pirate brigade.
try getting into russia for a month
to experience the white nights
of st. petersburg...
    but all i ever wanted, it seems,
is to head toward the faroe islands
and see the orca cull...
      and the sea of blood from
the culling;
      ******* don't go after the docile
whales, they go after the sharks
of the genus...
          i'm not writing this
as if implying it's interesting...
    as i said once, already:
my life is / was so ******* boring,
that i decided to write about it;
but let's just say: not too over-bearing
with the paragraph format of
prose...
            after all... i need to have
a drink ever so often,
   to punch the punching bag of
metabolism, having only one meal
per day...
          and rarely eating
                          anything sweet;
the dynamic of not avoiding fat
   (even lard)
         and replacing sugars
                    with alcohol calories;
    sure, bloated cheeks... but not fat.

the tyrd tier of tinking: and tinkering:
soil! sailor! tailor! sire! speer!
the 'ird tomme: of.. off' of
'n' effer: f-f-f'ing
contra "t"-ing...
   the tarded: dart und
darting... Fear the Dubliner ****!

told us it was all about
the buck mc abstainin'
loss of tooth
to speak... easy: IRA...

lord fudge... crapper sentenced to:
that bomb coming from
a shoe-shine... we could almost
wish... this new shakespeare
from the lodging of...
for all the love of shakespeare...

what is... auld lang syne?!
smokies... sung... sang and tatties!
bittersweet loved up crease!

afraid of "us"... U2 soon pops
up closure for leisure...
i am the love thast never become
the sing-along for the worth of...
    
this disglorified:
woman of a lost dublin...
      sacred mow tow and tie..

my: freckled..
fritz... mummy: be...
mommy best...
ralph fiennes...
         amon göth...
                     and all that is /
was ever to be required...
limbo fashioned and a somewhat
soaking up of "talk"...
  
scrutiny of the absolved
"work"...
i better scoff at:
chance and... gamble...
you are me...
better made witness of...
the loitering "bleach"...
better start calling 'im:
bleachboys crescendo!
the mecca-boys the
cupsid copper-necks!
my skins my all borne forth born...
skittle rage and grief born...
born freed from
the shackles of a ****!
mother daughter or the harem!

before one **** is ready...
the next ****** will be readied
for the next anarchist crescedo!
of: glory be to: burn the tire the rubber
turn the ****** the...
      also called a ***** and a shrimp ****
wink-wink: all insinuation...
shame for all the people grativitating
toward racially charged sensibilities
of heart and offence...

me whitey yoyo... when
the ***** sunks a lemon
and you're... along with me...
the bright and lost...
concept of a digestive biscuit?
  *******...val kilmer and...
       pity the blond... spoon-fed soul...
clown bored: bearing... nicole kidman..
            
because the concern for jihad...
once upon a time... was...
the **** of violence of the Bataclan...
was... eating the testickles of
infadels...
a whittle virus: beijing made...
scared... these... originals...
these god-fearing folk...
into: nostalgia...
into a secular understanding
of the world?

                        well... they better be arab...
saudi... not iraqi... yemen oud...
iranian...
      they best be kept saudi...
and best keep them...
barricading the
   tiananmen sq massacre hardons...
like... Eddie Edams'...
bullet to the head...
"contra"... thich quang duc -
whoever was being crucified...
wasn't... by any chance...
also made subject... to... the blood-eagle?
a scalping: just in case:
he should be seen donning a kippah?
was... he's?!

bruise welsh read: fwesh: and red...
ripe... teasing crude pink...
and salmon and *******...
a rainbow trout: rainbow and crevices
of tailor: and abortions for
the tonne load of jerking out...
yugoslav conundrums...
                          genocides...
callz 'em... what doz' 'un callz em...
"janissary" / "mamluk"?
caviate if not... caviar!
          
skin read: with a dipping into
mayonnaise...
some mustard after the grand feast
of worth for the worth of the day!
and i to will come...
like a dog whistled to come
to a return...
                
   an image to burn into my mind:
the owczarek kaukaski -
the caucasian shepherd dog...
big ******* wolves wiz onz
metz.
copernican bluffs...
     corpus "christi" of stalingrad...
   it could almost seem the same...
when one were to be fed...
the same hungry **** on **** warfare...
tsarina victoria contra...
  of england...
                 the oops-and-circumstance
of a parisian midwife...
so much for no ***** no ******...
and somehow...
the sigma of man... "preserved"...
yeah... like **** it will be...
better pray for the ****-gang-up
of the litany of the monghol khan!

      no!
niet! nie!
             nein!