Month: February 2019

smell it breathe it

last week’s fierce alberta ‘clipper’ delivered over a foot of snow to the keweenaw farther northern territory. minus zero degrees plus forty-miles-per-hour winds added to the long white accumulation in metrops. however, under the present arctic blanket mice families are growing. also tiny eggs are warming in bird nest homes and soon will be bringing new life into the world. while there is crunching under each bootstep, the michigan upper peninsula is already ‘coming into spring.’

recently i posted copies of two new literary publications to reviewers, editors and close writing friends. presa press (editor eric greinke) finished “anatomy of desire,” and gage press (battle creek, michigan) produced a new collection “beyond brautigan creek.” the brautigan creek production also had a dvd attached to the chapbook. i am hoping that my “wonder woman anna” will have the technological wisdom to make the “beyond brautigan creek” dvd available to wordpress viewers.

the next splake collection of poems – “sacred and obscene” – is now at the transcendent-zero press in houston, texas (editor dustin pickering) and will soon be available.

“anatomy of desire”

001anatomy

mexico city blues

poet’s broken heart

wet espresso tears

lost in arctic white out

dreaming of escape

riding greyhound ghost

midnight crossing border

cold beer breakfast

orizaba street café

chatting with jack

# # # #

poet’s roots

“moving beyond parents”

friday night sockhops

“stardust” slow dancing

suddenly replaced by bill haley

“rock and the clock”

blackboard jungle music

crew cut hair and sweaters

chinos with belt in the back

wildly dreaming of

brando bogart james dean

black leather jackets

motorcycle boots

sexy looking tattoos

not understanding kerouac

on the road miles

searching for good parts

nelson algren paperback

often feeling like elvis

a little bit shook up

#  # # #

all or nothing

“in the desert – man is there

god is not”

                                                              balzac

few people find

sacred spiritual feelings

abundant in desert space

preferring holy book passages

religious scripture words

for explanations of life

thousands of years passing

rainwater melting snow frost

creating brilliant red lansscape

massive buttes and mesas

glowing like fiery forge

moments of creation

before bethlehem manger

time of eden

sandstone petroglyphs

describing native magic

rolling piling white clouds

becoming black thunderheads

wild mustangs racing across land

dust devils blowing through sand

today shadowy ghosts

still staring at heavens

celebrating gods

forgotten by others

# # # #

“beyond brautigan creek”

002creek.jpg

something more

late dusky shadows

quickly evening darkness

sitting around campfire

brautigan creek bank

warming hands in embers

remembering summer nights

many years ago

listening to glowing coals

learning greater wisdom

understanding what to think

important things to do

tomorrow leaving behind

important artist’s memories

poet tree sentinel

writings photos paintings

old leather boots

hanging in tree

rocking chair

with jack daniel’s bottle

tin cup waiting

for thirsty traveler

first dawn

following prayer flags

birch tree signs

leading to cliffs trail

traveling light

without rucksack or gear

moving beyond

rocky granite summit

hoping to find true love

perfect place to live

like sam and jill

gilliam’s movie “brazil”

poet’s happy ending

living with paula

chapel rock beach

swimming naked

chilly lake superior

truly free spirits

outside of time

# # # #

Scan 1

 

“a letter”

i was recently blessed with a rare moment of literary praise. my surprise was a letter from an alabama lady who this past summer had been visiting the pictured rocks lakeshore area in munising, michigan. while having lunch in a grand marais restaurant she found and read a copy of my “pictured rocks memories” poems. she said:

“we sat in a quaint diner, the fog of an overcast afternoon swelling off the west bay, and i noticed a stock of books on the window sill of our booth. one so happened to be a timeworn chapbook of poetry-exactly palatable to my taste. while my mother and aunt savored their dishes, i indulged in poetic musings of local nature, serenity and folkways. i was captured by the culture, the writing; my southern heart felt so connected to a place so far from its origin. i felt immersed in the natural beauty of a land i had just recently laid my own eyes upon.

we left town shortly after and journeyed home, but the name stuck in my head. splake. what an odd name, i thought. it wasn’t until winter engulfed my home here in alabama, that i was reminded of the writing. i’m not sure what spurred me to write this, but i believe the poetry touched my soul in such a unique way. i’ve realized how detached i’ve felt from the likes of frost, thoreau, or whitman because of just how welcoming your writing was. i could feel the words around me, i saw it in the swaggering pines, the rushing waterfalls, the towering sand dunes. i felt the culture, i understood the lore, the myths – it was rapturous. i suppose this is a thank you for drawing me closer to the area and heightening my foreign experience of its lifestyle.

t-hanks a lot bama and

‘go tide’

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