but seriously now

i joke around too much. people actually have to be told by me that i was ‘just joking’. once in a while though i hit too close to home and my jokes bite me in the ass. for instance never joke about a spouses infidelity. yeah that one can rub the scab right off the wound. best to stay with the tried and true i say.

a priest
a cowboy & a dog…
tell me if you have heard it before

bad moon rising

the wolf moon has begun its transition to a ‘blue’ moon. january is always cold but this year it has and will continue to be a howling monster of snow and double digit negative wind chill factors. so just another version of michigan winter for me. i have seen it all in my lifetime. just a layer or two more and some boots that go to your knees at least. i pull out my faux fur hat. the one with the ear flaps and four inches of cushion on top. yeah i make grizzly adams look like george clooney. all activity outdoors drains down to the ridiculous.

polar vortex
snow angels
in the highway

uncertain healing

the past cant move us. it just is a part of us. how big a part. now that is up to us. do you carry it with you or leave it to its own devices. a bit of both it seems. if you pick the scab you keep the wound. the quiet din of the present can heal you only if you care enough about it to forget it when it is over.

chasing me
down the street
wolf moon

search for the philosophers stone

when gold has lost its allure. i search for the last few healthy years of an already full to overflowing life. have a few more poems left or at least i think i might. the cures have no value to me either now. just to walk out into the snow for one last time. barefoot and alone. letting go is all there is left to do.

if you find this poem just paint the internet with it in my name

the world is perfect at every moment

coming home from a haiku meeting late at night. i am the only car on the road. not more than thirty miles from home i am traveling at exactly 55 miles per hour with farms on one side and a marsh on the other. it is the first day of ‘bow hunting’ season for deer. off to the right i spot the head of a buck. he sees me too. but still he comes as i slam on the breaks and try to turn to avoid him. he makes contact on the left side of the car and flies two feet off the ground horizontally across the road landing in the marsh. i get out to check and he is sinking and disappears. the car is still running. i drive home and find a quiet place to sit. connected forever with a deer i just met once.

the dark night
of a single candle
sandalwood

eating a poem for breakfast every morning

healthy eating is essential to a long and fulfilling life. when i wake up i toast a short poem and eat it with honey on a raisin bagel. verbs are important to any writer so i find this habit totally engaging and inspirational. eating is a very healthy verb.

to say no thing
and yet
the smell of fresh coffee

a close approximation of nonchalance

walking up a small rise in the trail. at the top i see a young doe nibbling on a sapling just a few feet apart we are. we both hold our breath. my camera with a wide angle lens is in my hand. as i raise the camera and click the shutter the moment is frozen in digital time. the next thing i see is a tail disappearing into the clatter of forest.

pretending not to be there the whitetail and i

winter solstice dreams

where i live in the north woods you never know what winter will bring. every night you go to sleep and with the exception of the sounds of the wind you have no idea what you may see when you wake. but it is an exciting time. a foot of snow. minus 30 degrees fahrenheit. heavy winds. and there are always those moments when the sun flies off the trees with the snow. whatever greets you is perfect at that moment. the peace that comes from the terms of a mutual acceptance between nature and human nature.

morning fog the unimaginable always within reach

if not this world the next

they say that the entire universe is expanding. i have to believe they are right. i have gained a few pounds myself this year. my plastic buddha has not varied an ounce since i bought him at the ‘target’ store in the ‘home and garden’ section. best $9.95 plus tax that i have ever spent.

mindful of every living thing i recycle my myself

hell is other people

jean paul sartre had it wrong. hell is not other people. hell is our own convoluted view of ourselves. what takes us off center is our failure to find out who we really are. once we discover ourselves we can be set for life. oh but until we do that. all we can see are the faults of others. and this is hell for them as well as us.

zendo
the flies dont land
on the roshi

Most likely will never be published!