Author’s Choice

This is a collection of stuff from the vaults, and my latest favorites.


Candidness surrenders

Lilting lightly on the lily pads of love affairs,

Laughter is luminescent on a long distance line,


Daydreams delve deeply into the darkness now devoid,

Declining to demonstrate your demonizing dickering,


Faces and fancies frequent my fermented fascination,

Fragranced with the flattery of your facsimile,


Conundrums, confusion, converted and contorted choices,

cauterised by candid confessions of clichés,


Shady suppositions and sandy salutations,

Sent soaring in songs of silent serenity,


Wild and wonderous the willingness to wing it,

while whorls of writing writhe wetly on the page…






Road Trips

The heat suffocates, wraps around me like a greasy outer layer, plastering my thin summer clothing to the curves and contours of my body…

Waves rushing in from the solar tides are ebbing and flowing on the pavement in the distance, and my eyes get sea sick trying to sail on them…

The engine mumbles and grumbles to itself on a ceaseless march across yet another dry hot stretch of featureless grassy hills. Pale and brittle this grass, like the carcass of an insect, rustling in the breeze by the roadside…

A buffeting of wind through an open window, a hot dashboard with a half melted chocolate, blues on the stereo that roll away like the landscape, and bare toes that make dusty prints on the glass…

Collecting bugs on the grill and cleaning them off the windshield. Fighting to keep them out of the food, out of the car, and stop them from sucking your blood while you sleep. They wine, they fly, they crawl, swim, jump and creep into any unprotected areas…

Sunset brings a blessed relief from the punishing atmosphere. Cool breezes linger on the sweaty flesh and soothe the discomforts of travel. Moonlight softens the harsh qualities in the passing view and lends a romantic beauty to an otherwise monotonous stretch of highway…

Day birds flutter and fuss about barbed wire fence lines, and night birds call softly to the shadows…

Moon follows the sun, clouds race across the blistering sky, and seeds of summer are carried on the winds of change. Time blurs into a succession of coffee cups, cigarettes, rolling papers, gas stations, introductions, goodbyes, soda cans, layers of lotion, munchies, laughter, phone emergencies, odd encounters, spiffy hats, peacock feathers, road signs, CD changes and fights over who has the lighter; all of it seen through a haze of heat and sleep deprivation…


Memories sparkling behind my closed eye lids like a scattering of constellations, callouses on my toes and a tan on my skin being the only evidence of my travels. Stumbling into bed with a grateful sigh and a reeling head like someone recovering from a binge of gargantuan proportions…

Facing the next afternoon when I eventually emerge from the caccoon, only to find I am floating in a limbo of my extended absence with a thousand things to accomplish: Call the employers, rake the yard, clean the house, hang with the dog, collect the mountain of mail, trim the driveway, do the laundry and find a place for all the pebbles I collected along the way…

Realizing I will do none of these things, I stand there in the middle of my bedroom, at the epicenter of solitude, at the confluence of past and present, caught in a flood of thought and perception as my mind begins to really examine the impressions that passed by too quickly for my concentration. The emotions and epiphanies from my three weeks of gazing on new horizons. Struck dumb and stumbling by a head full of images careening around too quickly to pin to my page, I reach desperately for a pot of coffee…

Perhaps a slow cup on the porch where the ground is in no hurry to go anywhere, and sanity may settle back into my skull. For now my imagination is still riding the rippling freeways, merging and weaving on the endless asphalt serpent, diggin’ on BB King while the miles roll away…






Goodbye Kiss

Decadent dreamers, descending daydreams,

Drawn dancing down delicious desire,


Tempting, torturous, tasty tenacious teasing,

Tickles teeming temptations, tangled thoughts,


Lightly lingering, luscious little lips,

Luminescent longing, leaves laughing.






Love’s Ghost

With an untamed sunset wild in the sky,

Filled by the colors in my squinting eye,

Catching the breeze in my hair as it passes by,

My contentment, with a smile, wearing a sigh.


Found a flower today, now tucked behind my ear,

Like the memory of laughter, your ghost appears,

I reach for the promise, holding you near,

Knowing that one day you would find me here.







I Give To You…

These verses cannot fell the gates, nor bring the mighty down,

But if you listen very closely, you’ll hear their subtle sounds,


Caressing your ears, with the fingers of thought,

Like the strokes of a lover, in the darkness sought,


Moving within you, ’till you strain tward my voice,

Like a dancer on the sand, with a wild rejoice,


And I will catch you as you fall into my pages’ embrace,

Wiping the tears from your upturned face.






Autumn Paintbrush

Leaves are falling somewhere

On a shady, wooded road

Where blue forget-me-nots and daisies play

Courted by the sleepy drone of bees

Along a white shoulder line


A crimson splash of maple, the yellow spackles of alder

Painting colorful patterns on a grey asphalt canvass

With the light hand on a brush of wind, they are sculpted

Into spirals and whorls that decorate bare autumn soil

Where chanterelles  and morel will soon be hiding


The river that had whispered through warm summer days

Is beginning to mumble and toss about her stony bed

Swollen on the feasting of mountain rain

She becomes restless, reaches, ever more to the sea

Washing sand castles and stone piles from the shores

Where salmon had finally come to die

Cleansing and combing the long sweet grass

Where she will leave baubles for driftwood prospectors


Grouse are surely calling in the soggy cottonwood groves

Along trails where deer pass on their way to the valley

And eagles are presiding over a river of mist

That creeps up from the low lands


Somewhere, I’m sure, cold puddles are sprawling in the moss

Reflecting brooding skies, and the dark flash of a crow’s wing

But not here in the islands, where trade winds still blow fair

Spinner dolphins play with the boat’s white prow

Plumeria blooms oblivious of mountain frost

And the only sign of the encroaching season

Is my basil plant going happily to seed


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