Saturday, October 29, 2011


    knuckling wisely fore
the band is truly led by
  noble silverback's

For my dear friend Paul Pate



  Darwin never said
God didn't start all of this
  just wrote all things change

    Darwin never said
God didn't start all of this
  he saw that things change



Rains return

blanching leaves for

matted quilts that will surely

congest my mower's only lung.

The gutters soon report

another year half-spent

drinking overtime.


Friday, October 28, 2011


Silvered son of old Mill Creek. South Jackson knew your trampings well, in times hungered
through those Sebastian fields,
fighting radio wars, saved and faded, all your battles won.

Tireless new foot-fall legs, bent on fire, going elsewhere on the help
from mama’s hand and Mail bags trudge gave
homestead and food for all. Hard tack squinted eyes all set to just- enough.

Hot sweated pay for games yet dear, Hardscrabble-rounds grew you from short to tall.
Grizzly cold autumns of turf on the run,
the man-boys struggles for the hummed speakers call.

Back to home-dirt so dear you Conflict-wing-ed son, a dance so sweet with that Hoosier peach
so young, so long, the walk
down the aisle from home. Grass gone to seed down roads to roam.

Grasping tides now two hands one, Never far, Never far, Never too far to somewhere come.
Moving truck family and unboxed looks
from other folks that just stood still. The voice just sings of Home.

Our patterned banner spliced-quilt wave, for chapters each now untold.
So keep soft your heart as the road is long.
We all hail not near, but are banded tight in love, we five strong.

For my father on his 80th birthday


Monday, October 24, 2011

# 6

  grace was hungry for
those served words not eaten
  but saved by and felt 


Day not yet

Slipping out the unzipped door
And swirling into the cold gloam's mist, my heart,
No, my very soul whirl-gigs upwards
To the stars and still-sheathed sun.
Vapors above the pot,
Warmth to dry new wings,
Raise the dough,form the salt
And hue my skin.
Melt and recast,Yea distill me
In your new form


Billy Boy

You were the dare-devil one of the boys as I recall,
Hard to keep rare cousins straight at first.
Tilting burred head and sheepy grin, a Summered older kid than I.
Fellows like you, we young ones watched

hoping someday to wander with your stride.

Dad mocked and teased us boys with grins and proclamations
followed by a wink he would caw at us a false remorse-
“Better hope I never die or you'll be the ugliest man in the world”,
Billy would just drawl a volley back towards

the sender and the source

Dusty Jacksboro cricket nights, and buckets of small
army soldiers waging ceaseless wars. Never to tire of ink-smell
rolled soft atop news print. We get to feed yesterday’s old
news back to the mawing Linotype.

Carpet pages underfoot of words not yet right.

Rifled hunts down alley ways, with Daisy’s tight in hand,
the wired birds take to wing, safely to the sky for
Billy was the surer shot, more than Roy and more than me.
Fat-oily-onion air at Mary’s whispered of a dollar French fry heaven.

Ketchup always free.

A Tiger of the fabled team, he roamed Jack County miles,
till life's call urged him come. We lunched with him a time or so,
then perhaps a million days ago he faded far too soon.
Cleaning his gun, one warm May afternoon.

Surely Bill was never meant to be, the ugliest man in the world.

For Billy Dennis my cousin who only made it to 20
April 27, 1954 May 11, 1974


Sunday, October 23, 2011


Whispering through the sash at my bedside 
your crisp-night-breath tucks me into sleep and then
curls upon my quilt slowly looking for my toes.

Pinwheels of cold clean sharp rain and then calm
circle through the calendar days by the score.
Drops drum down softly from the attic.....lap.....lapping
though fine iridescent moss, re-gilding every
edge and step and limb and crevice with freshened velveteen

filtering  new puddles of
sea-bound drops.



Holding their cardboard headstones, lives and prayers
hang upon these silent corner ghosts
gathering coins

to rent       
       more time        
                to wait.

while otra wordless trabajadores stand vigil 
flirting with each passing truck

      and wait
              for work

they are bartering toil for true sleep and dreams.


Tuesday, October 18, 2011



  pinwheel clouds spin rain
down engorged green mountains to
  the roots of Stumptown



   snowshoe feet plod on
with pink tongue and eye of blue
 pup heart, extra-large


Jon and Henry's Inspiration

Upon moving to Portland Oregon in 1996 my good and long time friend, Jon Secrest, gave me a book to read - "Walden" by Henry David Thoreau - A fortuitous thing since I had not read it  but it was where unknowingly one of my favorite quotes of all time had been hatched from.

 Now I have read it and reread it and I'm the better for it.It has led me back to visit all the classic's I missed my appointments with to read those many years ago.

"If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams and endeavors to live the life they imagined, they will meet with success unexpected in common hours"

Thank you Jon