Cold rain falls in the river, flows down to the sea, gets into the skyline, circles endlessly. Same old rain on the wind, same old pain in my soul.

Saturday, February 28, 2009

I've spent a lifetime feeling out of place, searching for my place. I've never liked my name and I've never liked my face. When I was a young boy, my father nicknamed me Beaver. It stuck. And to this day, in my hometown, no one would call me by any other name. There was a time in early adulthood, a pretty rough stretch of substance abuse, where I was trying to change; to maybe better fit in. I went to a convention, sport fishing or some such nonsense, and felt hot and swallowed by the crowd. From behind a booth, an ogre of an ass, most likely named Biff, and his buddies saw the name "Beaver" sewn on my jacket. Well they cut up pretty big and had obviously been drinking and I said nothing. Just shook my head and moved on. So many times I have wished I had climbed that counter and tore him apart. But I was too busy searching for serenity in a world full of bullshit.
I've never fit in very well though I've managed to not stand out as a loner in an act of self preservation, I suppose. But like it or not, I am what I am and whatever it is, it is not as the ruling majority.

when I'm alone and crowded,
I dream of oceans
and far away places
both near and far

Cuz I don't understand.
there's so much
I don't understand

people say apple
but they mean banana
and all the while I offer
the apple, not getting the joke

So I search for safety
in the alone
but only find the hurt of the crowd
and I dream of oceans
and far away places
both far and near
and the circle continues

a sea tho brimming with danger
makes no judgment. it just is and kills alike.
caring for the whale no more than the krill
which is not at all,
only a blind fairness

far away places are strangers
that don't lie in request.
just a stoicism that allows my being
and ignores my iniquities

people carry me away
on waves of blows, eager to judge
pointing and wagging
always knowing the better

the ocean doesn't lie
or practice demagoguery
it's waves only mean to carry
to far away places
or to death, no matter

Edward should never have come down
from the hill. Oddities grow old in their oddness
and townsfolk bold in their coldness
but how could Edward have known?

people who pat and coo, most always,
do so to their own amusement and sport.
cheer them and it's drinks all around
tell them of your pain
and they check their watches
and cover their yawn
a fickle lot for sure

they say the meek shall inherit the earth
I say not without a fight
so I dream of oceans
and far away places
where love is love
unconditional and tender
where apples are apples
and a kiss is not to placate
where a friend stays a friend
where God loves sick children
and where there's never a joke
for me to get

the loneliest place ever I've known
is lost in the crowd
the friendliest comfort on beaches bare
silent and non treacherous

So I dream about oceans
and far away places

Friday, February 27, 2009

Going to Egypt

Daydreams are funny things. They have minds and plans of their own. You can preach common sense and wag your finger but they just won't listen or obey. If you're not careful, you could find yourself in Egypt.

Honey, we're going to Egypt tonight.

she said it so matter of factly
like let's tea at the Williams
her blend is always the best
and his fires crackle with delight

But the Williams don't live in Egypt
nor is the Nile their copper driveway
these things take time, and planning.
airplanes and motorbikes

you can’t just up and off
you must order and correct
dot your eyes and feed the cat

this isn’t Dubai, you know

Honey, we’re going to Egypt.
Can you believe she said that?
why yes, and I suppose we’ll rocket to mars
tomorrow afternoon
and perhaps throw darts at the pope’s fat ass
on Sunday morning
these things just aren’t done,
you see

stamp twice, copy thrice
notarize seal and deliver
that’s the ticket!

not throw your ring at the bottle
and win a stuffed moose
sure we pitch pennies to the fountain
but believe? I think not.
just part of the game,

wink, wink

who would gather our paper
and feed our fish, and what would the neighbor's say?

no, this will never do and how silly the thought-
Honey, we're going to Egypt tonight
No, No my dear, we'll stay right here
we'll make chocolate coffee and draw the blinds

we'll dust and vacuum and dress just in case-
the Deacon drops by with his sour wife

and tomorrow, yes tomorrow
we'll talk about Egypt and deserts scape
of myth and lore and treasures galore
and someday, if the cat is no more
the paper too silly and riches do poor
if plans are made and goals met
trophies lined, itineraries set
well, then maybe, my dear
just maybe perhaps
we'll go to the miniature golf down the lane
and walk the great pyramids
and see Pharaoh, dipping our toe in his fine river

no, not tomorrow, I'm sorry
we have tea at the Williams
her blend is so fine and his fires so good
and they live, oh they live,
in so fine a neighborhood
but the day after that, we'll talk once again
and I'll listen, I promise. and nod to your dreams
but remember silly one, dreams they just are
and lands across oceans, oh, dear, they're so far
Honey, tonight we're going to Egypt


Thursday, February 26, 2009

I'd like to walk with you

There are kindred souls that need no further intimacy but acceptance through a smile, a word, a touch. To friends.

I think I'd like to walk with you
over fields of granite stone
in skipping over cracks
fingers touching
keeping balance
a dance of friendship
in youth renewed

I think I'd like to walk with you
down there,
at the edge of town
twenty seven
and not a wisp of wind
large flakes parachuting,
blessing and anointing
our wishes

the snow just deep enough
to chase others to books
as we write our own

you'd hold my arm
I'd clasp your hand
we'd smile, even giggle
but not jabber as others do
for our thoughts would already be
tucked in warm entwine

the snow would give that glow
you know the one
like the moon came down
and left itself behind
it would be so so late
when this we did
and somehow
right on time

I think I'd like to walk with you
on roads of narrow nothing
warm and breezy
soft and slow
sweet wheat high
on waves of tender

you'd look that way
and I over here
as bugs that haunt
summer fields
fly and sing
to our waltz

We'd smile
so glad for the day
and time would be
the world's folly

but we'd talk very little
as a finely tuned piano
should never hide in the rush
when we'd walk
old women who never had
and never would
would," well! dear me! I've never!"
and old men
would lean on their worn tools
and smile at the thought

to know you
on snowy evenings
to smell your freshness
on summer passing
to skip on dance floor stone
I think my mind would be the richer
my thoughts the kinder
my touch more gentle

I think I'd like to walk with you..

Friday, February 20, 2009

every Wednesday

Conversations can be a strange thing. One says one thing yet the other hears otherwise. Who’s on first? Second Base! Some people favor the laziness of Sunday, others the playfulness of Saturday. I love every Wednesday.

have you ever seen an ocean
that devours in love
and blushes in passion?
every Wednesday


have ever you seen the moonlight
when it greens
the pale earth
and lions quit the hunt?
every Wednesday.

I see

brooks sing rhymes in
gentle passing,
mourning doves
coo lovers to sleep,
and soft fuzzy sweaters
know warmth for two.

did these things you know?


I know! I know! every Wednesday you say,
but how can this thing be so?

why not Tuesday, or Friday,
or every third Sunday?
and cannot a Wednesday know rain that discomforts?

Yes, but not every Wednesday.
every Wednesday’s rain
would stream easy in sunshine
and gentle the flower’s growth.

every Wednesday’s snow
would blanket in soft beauty,
yet make for happy snowmen.

what of last Wednesday?
when winds tore and roofs fled?

yes, last Wednesday was bad.

and next Wednesday?
when cars crash?
and people die?

yes, a bad Wednesday indeed.

you admit,
Wednesdays are not always
of beauty and love?
not always of dance
and sweet song?

only every Wednesday.
~ I was just feelin silly and non-sensical. There is no hidden meaning or thought. Sorry


Friday, February 6, 2009


This, of course, is fictional. But not so. Go figure.


I met a lady in the way
Demureness and sunshine
Whose eyes played tricks
Coy in wide smile

All flutter and free
Her beam spoke meadow
Rich in colour
Here a little
There a little
Pixies danced
She feigned no notice

Her name Kilili
But only for today
For names she has plenty
And dead victims
Testify poorly

I nodded how lovely
My hand she took
And we ran
Oh God how we ran
Gamboling night into day

We ditched and dodged
And said “never!”
“Have You?”
But practice was hers
I no match to her lead

You see, warned
Was I
Tis the woman Ishtar
Of old

Beware indeed
I grew deaf and adroit
At shewing
And brushing
Hell bent for the fire

Did Solomon not know?
Did you he not warn
And yet to the fire he ran
Altar upon altar
For their pleasure of his lust

For she has one scheme
That cannot be changed
I knew it well
Death to him
And to her also

But her sister,
No less the deviant
Would unbar and release
Again as always
While history watched
And rubbed it’s chin

Tammuz, Tammuz
Did he know?
Did he run?
Was it of use
They weep for him
Yet today

We sit by the fear
And call it a fire
And stare at it’s coal
What the attraction?
The mystery of the flames dance

Have I warmed you?
Of course
Draw closer
I am your desire
Your need
Then in the flame you are
And she looking in

That smile
Watching you dance
To go to her now
You must come out
But nay
The rabbit is snared
Soon she must go
To find another
The herd to be thinned

Her sister
has you now
Stripes without pleasure
Bonds without tease
No measure to the stroke

To do it again
Would you?
What power of reflection
Could change what is

What is today
Is of old
For practice

Makes perfect
And fire