In a Place that is Safe

We are never want for words, really,
for we always ask
how each other's day was,
or talk about the weather--
how beautiful the ice fog is, or
did you see the moon
last night?
How bright is was reflecting
off the snow.
And there are other stories--
little happenstances that transpired
in our lives
sometime in the near
or distant past.
And yet, there is so much left
unsaid, between us.
Is is as though we stand silently
together
before a wall
of unspoken words,
flirting at the edge, perhaps
afraid
to climb,
to plunge ourselves into
a world beyond
our imagination,
where an epic adventure awaits,
brimming with
excitement,
mystery,
danger.
But I wonder:
Is the fear of our survival
so great a risk
that we remain
where we are,
safely
behind
this invisible
wall?

(Untitled for now)

Sshhh

Come here

Listen

Listen to the silence

Tell me

What do you hear?

Por Joe

Outside the wind

howls

and snow drifts 

pile high against the cabin—

this cold, arctic night

trapping me in,

laying siege

to my log fortress.

So I turn my thoughts toward dinner:

An omelet sounds good—

with a side of bacon.

I toss a couple strips on the pan 

and watch them sizzle I

n their fat.

I start to put the rest

away, but—

Oh what the heck.

Sitting on the couch

with my eggs

and a pound of bacon

and NCIS on the TV screen,

I hit 

'play all.'

And lifting my glass 

filled with box wine

from the frig 

I raise a toast

to a good friend.

Ode to the Flannel

(I wrote this poem several years ago for another blog All Roads Lead Home.)

Roots from the ancient
mystical forest
Rich in lore and legend
The flannel makes it’s home
amongst us
And is friends with the creatures
of the earth.

It comes from the dwindling
Flannel Forests
The magical woods of Europe
To make its home
In our bedrooms and stores
And to give us strength to work

The flannel is soft
To the touch of our skin
But strong like the mighty oak
It comes in a myriad of
Unique designs--
Solid, checkered, and plaid.

The flannel stands
As a proud, valiant symbol
Of the hardworking American way
So stand and salute
The freedom of flannel
And long live the flannel today.

Boredom (An Acrostic)

      Bored
    bOred
   boRed
  borEd
boreD
     bOred
     i'M bored,
if you couldn't tell.

An Apology

Distractions

from different places snatch

my mind away

as we sit

and talk.

I try

to listen, to give

you my full attent—

I should read

this email, perhaps

reply, But…

Oil.

Car.

That’s right. I should change

it soon and

bills

need to be paid and

my room

needs cleaning and I

really should write

my parents and

oh I got a text

and dinner.

What am I going to—

No!

My friends

must

come first.

The rest of my life

can wait.

Pumpkin Spice Lattes

Pumpkins,

dried cornstalks,

and cotton

spider webs

decorate windows and

houses, while

orange leaves

lay wet on

cold sidewalks and

damp earth.

Vapors from my breath

appear in the air

of the late

October weather

as I walk

through neighborhoods

and quiet streets

to the coffee shop

at the corner

of Maple and Birch,

my hands—hidden

deep in the pockets

of my coat.

At the coffee shop,

I see her, my lover,

fiancé,

however you wish

to call it,

and we sit

at a table

drinking lattes and talking

about our day

without a care

in the world.

A Summer Day on the Feather

(I wrote this poem in college and I even got it published in the Internation English Honor Society's Literary Journal, "The Rectangle" (vol. 80, 2005)).

Fly-fish the glassy river.
A trout slaps the water
while my retriever bites at him;
and the flies buzz in my ear
and the mosquitoes bite my arm.
My campfire produces
a faint trail of smoke but no fire,
and the sun burns the back of my neck.
Reluctant to leave, I lay my line
on the water and watch
the stone fly drift
lazily with the current.

A Great Poem I Did Not Write

For my loyal fans (all two of you (he he)), am unsure yet if I will get any poems posted before Christmas, as the next three weeks will including packing and loading a storage unit. So in the meantime, I have decided to leave you all with a fabulous reading of a great poem written in 1895 by a lawyer named Andrew Barton "Banjo" Patterson. Enjoy.

It's official

It's official now. As of last night, I'm an...


Official NaNoWriMo 2007 Winner


And with one day to spare.

Intentional Postponement

I know I have not posted here in quite some time, but my creative poetic juices have been kind of dry. But I will intentionally not be posting here for the next month because of a more important commitment: NaNoWriMo I do, however have a few poem ideas mulling around in my head, which I will try to get to sometime around Christmas.

Between Us

What we have is good,
but to explore it

further

would change

how we
see
each
other,

and it may not be
for the better.

Best, sometimes,
just to keep things

as they are.

I Walk Through Damp Woods And…

my heart stops as
wings beat
like a loud roar
and a blur of brown
as the grouse darts in
and out of birch
and spruce.

My gun swings up.
I shoot and
miss.
Air and trunk are all I kill.
Eight shots. No prize
to show. I guess
it will be beans
for chow once more.

(I've been reading Dumas' "Three Musketeers." And in the story, Aramis writes a poem using only one syllable words. I thought it would make for a fun exercise. And this is the result.)

Picking Blueberries

August in Alaska—
a cool breeze, blue sky.
A few clouds intermittently hide
the sun.

Sitting in the damp, spongy moss
on the side of a hill near Esther Dome,
I pluck three blueberries—
one to save for a blueberry pie,
the other two to eat.

Savoring the succulent tartness,
I stand to leave.
My butt is purple.

Lethargy

Sticky, dank air
sucks energy
from muscles,
leaving body
limp,
tired,
wishing only
for a blast
of cold.

Sonnet 10

(FYI--This is the last of the sonnet series. Hope you've enjoyed it.)

My hope and joy, my passion and desire,
is found in only one and that is you.
And you ignite within my soul a fire
that burns intensely when I am near you.
And all I want to do is worship you,
and be with you for all eternity.
You make me whole, your presence makes me new,
like nature when the spring time sets it free
from bondage of the winter’s iron hand,
who seeks to kill the life of all that’s good.
He hates both you and I and what you’ve planned,
and would destroy us only if he could.
But you’ve freed me and I belong to you.
Words can’t explain how I’m in love with you.

Sonnet 9

I am alone and death is drawing nigh,
abandoned by the world and left for dead.
The earthly light is fading from my eyes,
“But even still I’m with you,” you once said.
And in my darkest hour you’re still there,
to comfort me and calm my strongest fears
with hope of promised life for us to share,
and nevermore shall be, from sorrow, tears
I long for your return. You guaranteed
to take me home where I can be with you,
and see you clothed in all your majesty,
and all of earth and heaven be made new.
So help me Lord to fight until the end,
and not forget the reason I you send.

Sonnet 8

I do not understand the things you do.
The reasons for you deeds from me are hid.
You do not think to ask if I approve;
and I’m left wond’ring what you did and why.
I look around and see injustice reign,
and wish that you would do what’s right and good.
But who am I to question why the pain
runs rampant through this world. What I should
do instead is to give you your glory,
for by your love and for your glory you
have saved the world and I’ve no need to worry.
Because you promised that you’d make things new,
forgive me for my anger and my doubt.
From now on I’ll love you in and out.

Sonnet 7

As vast and deep as all the oceans are,
or better still the wond’rous heavens above,
a non finiteness filled with countless stars,
still greater yet is all your mighty love,
bestowed upon this vile sinner here,
who turned his back on all you did for him,
ignored your pleas and left you standing here.
He broke your heart by following after him;
he thought that he could make it on his own,
and so denied your love and help for him.
But now he’s out here and he’s all alone,
and all your tears are filling to the brim.
But through it all you never left my side.
With love you called me right back to your side.

Sonnet 6

Created for a purpose I was told.
But what that purpose was they never said.
They taught me I should look for it like gold.
But believed the search would last ‘til I was dead.
Confused and lost, I lived in self defeat.
But then you slowly fanned it into flame,
that deep within my heart created heat.
To live by my desires wasn’t shame.
To crucify my passions–that is wrong!
For they are what that makes me come alive;
they give me hope to live and make me strong;
it’s part of who I am. I feel alive!
You gave them for a purpose, now I know.
That you’re my greatest treasure I can show.