2011

I knew in two thousand eleven,

I had exhausted all my dreams...

My boat too old to navigate,

The world's yet untraveled streams.

Reduced now to pedestrian,

Hiking the blue roads of the earth,

I've discovered some humans are liars,

My “aloneness” has given life worth.

I loved the dogs that made me laugh,

The cats who brought me mice...

The nature induced states of awe,

Every sunrise, worth the price.

My mind is now a diary,

Remembering days back when...

Incredible hours on this planet,

I will sadly, never revisit again.

As the final chapters are written,

On my cliff, my inlet on the sea...

These tides floated me towards everyone,

And everyone, away from me.

The Luckiest Man

Neal hit his head on a mail box,

Bertie Blower got stung by a wasp...

Virginia died when hit by a car,

Her mother, in the Holocaust.

Laura had terminal cancer,

Her baby was doomed from the start...

I smoked cigarettes for forty five years,

Damaging teeth, both lungs and my heart.

I wondered if any one ever survived,

Drinking, smoking, french fries and a tan...

Discovering this photo, I will assume,

He's the world's luckiest man!

Dawn Takes Wing

The full moon folds into a cloud,

Bull frogs submerge, muting their choir...

Dawn skies turn 'burning embers' red

As Starlings assemble on telephone wire.

The sun appears a bright diamond

Crowning the mountain tops, kings...

Rising above the marsh cattails,

Lifted by wild duck's wings.

My Most Incredible Christmas Eve Ever!

I had just finished eating a peanut butter sandwich and a can of soup for breakfast in an attempt to use up the last of the food stamped, “Best if used before Oct. 2004”. It was Christmas Eve day, 2004, and I had no further plans until the phone rang. It was a friend who had just purchased a new boat. He thought it a grand idea to travel in his boat from Oak Harbor to a Coupeville pub for a beer and asked if I would be interested in joining him. I looked out over the cove and it was one of those rare moments in December when there was no wind, no waves, and no ice. “Sure”, I said without any thought. I threw on a sweatshirt and was soon on my way to the marina in Oak Harbor.

My friend was just backing down the boat ramp when I arrived and I offered to run down the pier and tie the boat up as it floated off the trailer. It was an easy job. The boat turned out to be just a small aluminum boat with an outboard motor. It was the kind of pleasure craft you had to steer with your arm behind you. I remember now him calling the craft a “Bass boat”. I thought of turning back and going home, but against all better judgment, felt committed and climbed aboard for the journey to Coupeville and Toby's Pub, which offered the promise of a rewarding beer and large platter of fries.

500 feet outside the harbor, and just past the sand bar, we found ourselves in deep trouble as we entered the Saratoga Passage. There were logs floating everywhere and of all sizes. Old growth to small young pines, they were all bobbing about and gently sidling up to the boat. I found a smaller branch afloat, and pulled it up into the boat. Soon I was the gondolier of Washington waters. I stood in the front of the boat and pushed aside each log as they bumped up against us as if squeezing us to extract the last dry space. Turning around would have been quite impossible and we both thought it would improve when we entered Penn Cove. We were wrong.

Hours later and exhausted from pushing logs aside, and growing weary of listening to the dull thuds and moaning sounds of log against logs against metal, we arrived safely at the Coupeville pier and could not get off the boat fast enough. We walked the pier to Toby's Pub and rejoiced as soon as the heat from the furnace hit our face as we entered through the swinging door. It wasn't obvious to ourselves or others one short hour later, that we were two idiots who had consumed one too many beers as we headed down the pier to drift among the logs for the journey home.

There was some trouble at the onset as the outboard motor sputtered and stalled. This it turned out was due to the cooling water intake in the engine being clogged with seaweed. I stated I was a pro at fixing that, and volunteered to run back to the bar and get some toothpicks. I returned to the boat , passing the toothpicks to my friend as he leaned precariously over the rear of his boat, arm in the water, clearing out the seaweed clog from the tiny hole in the outboard motor. “Hurry up”, I said, I'm freezing”! “Get in the boat then and put on my coat”, my brave friend said. I spotted his jacket on the floor of the boat where he had thrown it to keep it dry while working with his arm in the water. I jumped onto the boat only to lower the outboard end to the point where my friend got dunked under water headfirst and clear up to both shoulders! Now we were both freezing; my friend soaking wet under his returned coat and me standing against the evening with only a sweatshirt. We had miles to go and a sea of logs to navigate. We also had a deadline to worry about. Sunset in our part of the nation was at 4:15, a time that was rapidly approaching.

The trip home was as perilous as the trip earlier, except the tide was retreating and the logs were a bit thinner, flowing out to sea in our same direction. Still, my branch pole was essential for pushing away the logs to insure our safe passage and we began to finally realize that the whole round trip was the dumbest venture ever. We also realized that hypothermia was kicking in and we were talking jibberish. It was almost sunset's end as we approached the sandbar and entered Oak Harbor too cold and numb to even stir an ounce of excitement or relief. The logs hindering our speed up until now, suddenly disappeared, as we entered the harbor chugging past the buoy into the safe harbor.

The sun decided to drop while we were still about an 8^th of a mile from the dock.

What happened next, was nothing short of a miracle. The water turned as black as oil, and the sky turned so red that it appeared the water had exploded into a raging fiery inferno. I dropped my pole into the black and my friend cut the engine and we looked at each other, and the sky and then at the water and we knew, unspoken, we would never have a moment like this in our lives again. And then, as if it hadn't been enough to have seen some god face to face, Canadian geese descended all around us from the sky and landed in the water almost without a sound.

The silent flock, as if the escorts of Neptune himself, drifted with us safely into port.

Sadly, our incredible experience that night was to be the last for my friend as he passed away a few short months later. It would have been the last time that I too ever saw a sight like that had it not been for this photograph I found one day on the internet. I do not know the name of the person who took this photo, but will forever be grateful to them for capturing a similar moment and letting me see the miracle we experienced one more time.

Continuum

How strange is the image in my mirror,

The space and continuum of time...

The reflection yields no recollection of me,

I see not one familiar facial line.

The babies were not in your portrait,

When I first caught a glimpse of your smile...

I never pictured us as a life time,

Following you on that first bright mile.

I tried to be the loving father,

As they extracted my every dime...

Feeling my last dreams fade away;

Hope dies, often in one's prime

A Somber Moment

My family is holding a funeral today,

It will be private, we’ve invited no friends,

We honor this somber moment with pride;

Respecting when a loved one’s life ends.

Remembering the deceased’s lifestyle,

We have chosen a burial at sea.

The tides will guide his journeys now

Free at last for eternity.

We encircled the swirling white portal,

Dispatching our friend with regret…

Grieving heads bowed in silent prayer,

As I emptied the aquarium net.

Heaven

Steven climbed the water tower,

Behind the abandoned 7-11,

Every rusty rung on the ladder

Found him one foot closer to heaven.

Steven finally reached the top,

Thinking he touched the moon...

When gravity betrayed him,

He fell to his death too soon.

The water tower's still standing,

Like a giant bicycle horn;

The tribute to Steven's courage,

A reminder he was born.

Steven's evangelical church,

Preached his spirit will never leave us,

Parishioners commuting along I-5

See the horn and honk for Jesus.

The Balance

Life is organized chaos,

A pond's ripple in the rain...

An equal balance of beauty,

Matched to unbearable days of pain.

The future is very simple,

Philosophers take note...

The force that caused the ripple,

Will either quickly sink or float.

Wish Me a Rainbow

Wish me a rainbow and wish me the stars
All this you can give me
Wherever you are

And dreams for my pillow
And stars for my eyes
And a masquerade ball
Where our love wins first prize

Wish me red roses and yellow balloons
And caress us whirling
To gay dancing tunes

I want all these treasures
The most you can give
So wish me a rainbow
As long as I live

All my tomorrows
Depend on your love
So wish me a rainbow above

All my tomorrows
Depend on your love
So wish me a rainbow above

 By: Ray Evans, Jay Livingston

Rest in peace Natalie...

Remind Me

“I truly have lived an incredible life”,
Remind me where I was that day…
I recall being so very happy,
Yet those memories are fading away.

I can remember the excellent rushes,
Brain freezes and brilliant sunrises…
The joys of love and compassion,
Successes with at-risk enterprises.

The constant fight against failure,
Is still present with me today…
I am forgetting what the battle is for,
So at risk of just walking away.

Please show me which building to enter,
Help me find my place in line…
I appreciate any compassion,
I know I’ve out lived my time.

Falling Bridges

There were many obstacles in our youth;
We encountered roadblocks every day…
Always finding a fallen bridge,
Opening paths along the way.

Later years found the trails paved,
Though the canyons felt larger to cross…
The abyss much deeper and darker
Our bridges free falling and lost.

Dreamt in Error

Often I keep the blinds closed,
My dream world filled with compassion,
A planet where only good things occur,
Empathy, the most coveted passion.

A world where species co-exist,
And humans themselves get along…
Waterholes safe for everyone
Of Earth’s family, to which we belong.

Newspapers let the light creep in,
TV news breaks the window glass…
Allowing the heated convictions inside,
Sucking in greed and hate with the drafts.

I somehow never remember,
The lesson I learned at age five…
Bambi, just minutes into the film,
Orphaned, his idyllic world had died.

Whidbey Island Autumn

The apples are pies and apple sauce,
Half the pears, preserved in jars…
The rest now papered for winter,
In the cool garage, with the cars.

The winter preserves are finished,
Each berry handpicked and chosen…
The corn, Swiss chard and beet greens,
Par boiled and conveniently frozen.

The most storable winter staple,
A Sherman Farm Hubbard Squash…
Now stockpiled in the basement,
With green tomatoes before the frost.

Some octogenarians I know,
Will think they over fed their cat…
Climbing up their stairs in April,
With produce nibbled by a rat!

Fly Paper

Sitting in the local pub,
Blowing smoke rings in the air…
Laugh-out-loud conversations,
We drank too much and didn't care.

Raised glasses toasted our good life,
Celebrating both old friends and new…
We dove head first in tomorrows,
A shared optimistic, yet naive view.

We later followed different paths,
Each acquiring our own unique history,
Till one by one our whereabouts,
To one another was a mystery.

Once magically, we fell in together,
Drawn to events only youth attracts,
Till one by one we fell behind
As life dropped us in our tracks.

We survivors cherish those moments,
Every dance, every song, each caper…
Flying through our dreams and memories,
Until captured by time’s fly paper.

Everything and Nothing

Otis left on his walk today
As large as the whole outside…
Picking up the scent of something,
Shifting into his quickest stride.

The man he thought was hiding,
Was a branch that had fallen down,
The rabbit he chased in the orchard,
Turned to an apple on the ground.

The butterfly he bit, then spit;
A dandelion in the breeze.
The car crash he heard behind him,
Was me, caught in a sneeze.

He barked at a honking heron,
Leapt up towards a flying crow
Then poked his head in a thorny hedge
Where other animals would not go.

The greatest battle won that day,
Was conquering a floating leaf…
After leering at a well trained dog
He judged with disgust and disbelief.

Tired of chasing nothing,
He finally pulled a lucky card…
Watching a tractor dig a hole
In the next door neighbor’s yard.

When Otis’ morning walk had ended,
He was certain of just one thing…
It was a very exciting morning,
Discovering nothing, and everything!

I Am a Middle Schooler

I am a teenager in the 7th grade,
I’m independent, unique, my self
I achieve my individuality by
Trying to look like everyone else.

I blush at every fart joke,
I am an authority on sex…
Melon seeds cause pregnancy,
My stink eye is a hex!

Thirteen year old, six foot girls,
Press four foot boys into a locker,
Forcing one last stolen kiss,
Before kicking their ass in soccer.

The “skanks” most teased and spit on,
By the guys they loved to hate,
Become the high school cheerleaders,
Those same losers hope to date.

Smart girls who could be doctors,
Discovered sexy was acting dumb…
All found soul mates by graduation,
Drunk together, and comfortably numb.

Hindsight

Joni Mitchell on the stereo,
Conveyed happiness led to harm…
Subscribing, I spent a decade
Alone on the Marfargoa farm.

I perched the house on a fish pond,
The bull frogs sang their nightly song,
As I played the grand piano,
Night herons guarded the night along.

Geese gathered by the back door,
Wild pheasants roosted in elm trees,
The horse’s backs to the kitchen window,
Turned against the delta breeze.

Chickens settled on barn rafters ,
Sheep slept in the lean-to at night…
I was the loneliest man in the world, I thought,
Hidden apparently from everyone’s sight.

Forty years later, I’ve traveled the world,
Those years on the farm, history…
I look back on the life that surrounded me,
Now those years mean the most to me.

Amduat

We all must cross the desert
Either by foot or on a camel…
Completing our final destination,
Swathed in gravel or soft flannel.

(I honestly don’t know where to file,
The million photos inside my head…
Grammar school, jobs, stray dogs and weeds,
Both in my own and the flower bed.

My music lives on with my iPod,
All experiences both happy and sad…
Are gathered along with my poems and thoughts,
Uploaded and synced to my iPad.

I celebrated my life each day,
The ruling king of my own dynasty…
Shackled to earth with my fellow man,
Dreams, the wings that set us free.)

Every second, of every hour,
Another cell in our scheme does die,
We think less of the dirt we trod,
Focusing sights upward toward the sky.

Our lives, a beautiful span of time,
Fond memories; a mind filling feast…
We pack our bags, the boats await,
Leaving the west, for our journey east.

We don’t need the servants or the guides,
There is no fearing the crocodiles,
Following the path from memories
As Pharaohs we’ve walked these miles.

Update 56 Years Later

Self Loathing

My blond hair suddenly darkened,
An erupting doo of pubescent frizz…
I hated every physical feature
That demonstrated what reality is.

I spent half a summer vacation,
Not leaving the station wagon…
Intent on listing all my bad faults,
Only cured by double head baggin’.

People in swim suits on the beach,
Ignored me cupping my fat nose,
And my high top Converse tennis shoes,
Concealing fat ankles and short toes.

My father condemned me as selfish,
Aware I was faulting his genes…
Of course I was unsympathetic,
I knew the pain such ugliness brings.

Fast forward sixty years later,
My idols, now gargoyles in France…
Or employees at the local Wal-mart;
Ringing up my still same-sized pants.

The Bluff

I found a house nobody wanted,

Splintered and windblown on a bluff…

A few patches would last my lifetime,

I thought at the time, “That’s enough”!

My youth tricked me into buying it,

Repairs were made one board at a time…

I tailored it all to suit my needs,

Then realized the home was never mine.

I shared the light pole with an eagle,

My fish pond was water for the deer,

Windfall apples fed shy coyotes,

Hungry rabbits and crows all year.

A quarter of a century later,

I feel the wind pull the boards apart…

Of the home I foolishly purchased,

Never realizing, I remodeled my heart.

Buffleheads

Each year marked a Penn Cove reunion,

As leaves turned red and fell to the ground,

Bufflehead ducks gathered by thousands,

Wintering at home in Puget Sound.

Now every year, their numbers drop,

Audubon attempts to calculate,

How many years the ducks have left,

What’s contributing to their fate?

Years ago, I admitted defeat,

Unsubscribing to National Geographic…

I could no longer bare the elephant photos,

Their faces cut-off for Ivory traffic.

Now every year I sense it more…

The magazine’s message has hit home…

I hope to die before bearing witness,                                                                            

Of the last Bufflehead duck, alone. 

Pimples on a Picasso

Life starts as a white washed canvas,
Our experiences are the paint…
The colors with time become bolder
As images grow ever more faint.

I no longer strive for perfection,
Was never hung as best of show…
Still people in the gallery notice me,
Like pimples on a Picasso.

Andy Is you There?

Oak treed Indian burial grounds,

Stockton, California is where we played…

Riding our bikes through dry creek beds,

Long before the land was paved.

“Michael”, he screamed, “Where is you”?

 “I is here, but where is you?”

We played hide-n seek behind the school,

As  Amos and Andy characters we knew.

We idolized the Stooges,

Were towel-caped heroes in the dell…

Answering "Do duh", when interrogated,

“Name Ruby Begonia ring a bell?”

John Hunter, you done saw what you seen!

Cane Mutiny

I’ve hidden away, my life display,

Leaving no ID for a sticky wicket…

Giving my time to a start-up crime;

Standing on a street corner to picket!

Hopefully there, will be others to share,

Our jump into the political thicket…

Uniting all friends, against conservative trends,

We can relax in jail and kick it!

Goldfish Rapture

I often felt an omniscient presence…
As if someone was staring at me from behind,
Only to realize it was the fixed and inquisitive stare of my goldfish.

Day after day, they gazed through the glass…
Into my world, an unknown hostile environment to them.
Was there some curious allure? Their world never changed.

After their death I realized, on a few occasions …
Through rarely opened blinds, and wind parted privet,
They could catch a glimpse across the bay, Coupeville, and the Cascades.

I wonder now if they were just dumb fish,
Or did they experience the rapture of an over-whelming beautiful vision,
Like Atacama astronomers, granted sight into a universe beyond reach...

And superior to any previous or fantasized dreams...
Did they feel just for an instant, both grandiose and important
Only to realize when the blind closed, they were just fish?

One Man

Historically when life’s unfair,
Men bury their heads in the sand…
Yet every year we owe a debt,
To the courage of just one man.

This man may challenge an armored tank
Standing alone in Tiananmen Square…
Or single handedly halt a train,
In support of unions everywhere.

He may be the man who threw himself
On the exploding hand grenade…
Or the dreamer armed with ideas;
A million starving people saved.

Each of these men are Superman,
Insuring the apathetic have a choice…
Each made the world a better place,
The only tool, their courageous voice.

I know who you are and I thank you,
You took a stand and spoke for me...
We cowards again wait for Superman
Insuring our lives are free.






Photo: Seattle PI Re: Scab labor grain shipments

Autumnal Omens

The sailing season quickly ended,
Sea planes returned us to our homes...
Then departed with migrating geese,
Toward more temperate weather zones.

Fishing boats have hoisted nets,
Crab traps lifted from the cove…
Storm windows locked again in place,
Heating oil ordered for the stove.

Fall sunrises elicit memories,
Like many a Joni Mitchell song…
Another bookmark pulled from pages,
New chapters seem to last not long.

My Body is a Temple

Lyle Tuttle crafted his art;
A fish on my back, embossed…
Years later this body, my temple
Is akin to a bombed out mosque.

A lasting statement of my youth,
The tattoo once made me unique…
Now fish gasp for air at the surface,
The Koi pond has sprung a leak.

Unlike an ancestor’s painting,
That remains on the estate’s wall…
Mr. Tuttle’s art gets buried!
The collector keeps it all.

APP's

I’m soaking up the new technology,
Like a celebratory sponge…
Multiple operating systems;
Risking viruses I can’t expunge.

I Google scientific futures,
Photo shop my boring past…
I copy movies seen on YouTube,
Manipulating the plot and cast.

The flip side is I’m losing,
Simpler times I used to know…
When Polar Bears were plentiful,
Not adrift on some ice flow.

Credit cards bought my latest needs,
From the desk chair where I sat…
Yet every day I age some more;
There is no “app” for that!

Felix

Throughout my life, my best friend,
Has lived within a phone call’s reach…
One day a stranger’s camera caught,
Myself and Felix on the beach.

A friend who never let me down,
While I dealt with life’s conflicts…
A constant source of inspiration
Lent me his magic bag of tricks.

I'm the Ship

Fingers gnarled, hands deformed,
Genetics and time I did not choose…
Spurs on bones, and plastic veins,
All ailments I’ll never lose.

When Otis dies and leaves me,
Alone , and miserably free…
I want to go to Hawaii and Tahiti,
On a cruise, by myself, on the sea.

Escaping the Washington winters,
To nap once under bent palm trees…
I’ll hope I learned Otis’ lesson well,
To leave paradise with his canine ease.

Shadow Box

Heirloom china
A wedding ring…
A cherished memory
Just broken things.

Dying in the Digital Age?

How does one die in the digital age?
Does their game card start to fail,
Daily decreasing operating speeds,
As the color screen starts to pale?

A few quit before the guarantee,
Some I am sure died of “User error”
Or died because they never defragged,
Over worked with improper care.

Or is it the memory reaching max,
Incapable of one more bit?
I bet it’s quite often the hard drive,
Deciding simply to quit!

A Bottle Cap on the Straight

This afternoon from my bedroom window,
I gazed out upon the now still
Blue water of Penn Cove.

The view constantly changes; often in minutes,
Turning from black mirror to silver whitecaps
Obeying the strict cruel wind of the Straight,,,

The Straight of Juan De Fuca. I greet each morning
With thrown back covers, anticipating and predicting
My day by this house and myself still standing,

In defiance of time and weather. .. and time.

One third of my life has involved this view,
Though my beloved window is becoming a mirror.
It reflects all my life so far on the cove, in realities

Both harsh and as calm as the unpredictable water,
Sometimes reflecting and laying bare, my memories,
Like the bottle cap forgotten by the pavers,

Melting now for fifty years into the asphalt,
And granted fifty more by the county
Declaring the street private and no longer theirs.

The Straight of Juan De Fuca, I greet each morning
In defiance of time and weather. .. and time.
I am a bottle cap…

And becoming a part of the road.

Hatched

I woke up one day in grammar school,

Shot like a rocket, into the sky,

Fourth grade was polio and Indians;

Sixth, I learned how airplanes fly.

I sadly learned in 7^th grade,

Some presidents unfairly die,

Eighth grade introduced the Beatles,

My ninth grade friends were getting high.

Martin Luther died my sophomore year,

Bobby Kennedy , was shot too…

My musical heroes started dying,

The carnage seemed far from through.

Farm workers united in my Junior year,

Integration laws brought forced bussing,

I couldn’t fathom one more injustice

Without anger and heartfelt cussing.

My senior year,  the Vietnam War,

 We burnt our bras and draft cards,

The hippie movement was coming on,

Status quos broke away as chards.

My college began with a man on the moon,

A student at Kent State was shot…

The draft was now a lottery draw,

Hell is what the low numbers got.

We questioned all our parent’s thoughts,

We even doubted god and heaven…

One by one more heroes fell,

At the ripe old age of twenty-seven.

Shell-shocked and on the safe side,

I dropped out for fifteen years,

Living the dream on a ramshackle farm

Hunting  incubator parts at Sears.

Forty years later this old man,

Finally gave the incubator away…

Now witnessing a bright young man,

Hatching pheasants and quail today.

Night Dreams

I heard the banjo in the breeze

Wafting gently on the Tennessee wind…

Crickets played the rye grass harps,

I dreamed of moving south again.

Sometimes I hear a Chinese gong,

Keeping rhythm in Kowloon…

Last night a skate blade cutting ice,

Split a frozen lake in Saskatoon.

These dreams occur more often now,

As the expiration dates draw near…

How would my life be different,

Had I settled anywhere but here?

The farmhouse in the San Joaquin,

Still the dream I miss the most…

The one reality I gave up,

While migrating towards the coast.

I miss those glorious yesterdays,

My incredible golden past…

Yet my life on the cliff on Penn Cove,

Is a true glory that also won’t last.

Past the 70's Into the 70's

The 60’s were rebellious years,

Questioning how I was raised…

Driving drunk, through mail boxes,

Awaking lost, but still unphased.

The 70’s were enlightened years,

I was incredibly young and hip…

We crowded around the piano,

My ashtray, the Guacamole dip.

The 80’s were the “first class” years,

Art galleries with a full wine glass…

High bidder I won the center piece,

Sliding home on my drunken  ass.

The 90’s were productive years,

Good jobs, and a paid off home…

Best dogs, bad relationships,

I found myself happy and alone.

Looking back in this new century,

I am amazed I lived this long;

How everything turned out so right,

In spite of everything done wrong.  

Estate in Time

I bought this house, a youthful dream,

Remodeling with care, room by room…

One board at a time, well over my head,

I could barely afford a broom.

I never thought a ten room house,

Let alone on a private beach,

Would be a part of my future,

A project well beyond my reach.

I gambled and won.

After twenty years of sailboat races,

Ducking and waving at float planes

Walking three generations of dogs,

I sit on the precipice of change.

The rooms all need repainting,

The Iron filigree’s turned to rust…

The furnishings now have value,

Although covered with memories and dust.  

When does one liquidate an estate?

Or try surviving another charmed ten?

I have decided to get out the vacuum,

And perhaps paint each room once again.

The Crow Knows

The shortest distance between two points,

Is a straight, unwavering line…

A theory related to travel,

Can now be applied to time.

I frequently moved in my early years,

Avoiding commitments and family ties…

Finding the one time I settled down,

Trapped and aging; now time flies.

The crows leave this place in the winter,

Zigzagging south again, to warm weather…

Reminding me of my dismal straight line, 
Dropping one mocking black wing feather.