Archive for the 'Poems' Category

Braveheart + Worker Man [ Bridge] About Ready for ground level framing.

August 15, 2017

Man vs. Nature – Investigative Poetry

April 18, 2017


Recollection 2016 – September-October

B&W 35mm film – Nikon

with great thanks to Niki Taylor for chemistry, time + know how and Travers Tuttle for the kind lending of fuel receptacles to keep digging with.


No. 01 RE-INITIATION (prompts to form complete verse)

March 17, 2017

MUTE EXPRESSION WILL NOT PROTECT.  story    u n f o l d s   i n   s  p a  c  e   a n d   t  i  m  e

Man vs. Nature – Investigative Poetry

March 7, 2017

2016 Re-collection  WINTER – SPRING – SUMMER – FALL

Peaks Island

35mm film Canon / Nikon


Wendell Berry – of the essence of this time, Thank you , Jeanne.

February 24, 2017

It is hard to have hope. It is harder as you grow old,

For hope must not depend on feeling good
And there is the dream of loneliness at absolute midnight.
You also have withdrawn belief in the present reality
Of the future, which surely will surprise us,
…And hope is harder when it cannot come by prediction
Any more than by wishing. But stop dithering.
The young ask the old to hope. What will you tell them?
Tell them at least what you say to yourself.

Because we have not made our lives to fit
Our places, the forests are ruined, the fields eroded,
The streams polluted, the mountains overturned. Hope
Then to belong to your place by your own knowledge
Of what it is that no other place is, and by
Your caring for it as you care for no other place, this
Place that you belong to though it is not yours,
For it was from the beginning and will be to the end

Belong to your place by knowledge of the others who are
Your neighbors in it: the old man, sick and poor,
Who comes like a heron to fish in the creek,
And the fish in the creek, and the heron who manlike
Fishes for the fish in the creek, and the birds who sing
In the trees in the silence of the fisherman
And the heron, and the trees that keep the land
They stand upon as we too must keep it, or die.

This knowledge cannot be taken from you by power
Or by wealth. It will stop your ears to the powerful
when they ask for your faith, and to the wealthy
when they ask for your land and your work.
Answer with knowledge of the others who are here
And how to be here with them. By this knowledge
Make the sense you need to make. By it stand
In the dignity of good sense, whatever may follow.
Speak to your fellow humans as your place
Has taught you to speak, as it has spoken to you.
Speak its dialect as your old compatriots spoke it
Before they had heard a radio. Speak
Publicly what cannot be taught or learned in public.

Listen privately, silently to the voices that rise up
From the pages of books and from your own heart.
Be still and listen to the voices that belong
To the streambanks and the trees and the open fields.
There are songs and sayings that belong to this place,
By which it speaks for itself and no other.

Found your hope, then, on the ground under your feet.
Your hope of Heaven, let it rest on the ground
Underfoot. Be it lighted by the light that falls
Freely upon it after the darkness of the nights
And the darkness of our ignorance and madness.
Let it be lighted also by the light that is within you,
Which is the light of imagination. By it you see
The likeness of people in other places to yourself
In your place. It lights invariably the need for care
Toward other people, other creatures, in other places
As you would ask them for care toward your place and you.

No place at last is better than the world. The world
Is no better than its places. Its places at last
Are no better than their people while their people
Continue in them. When the people make
Dark the light within them, the world darkens.

-Wendell Berry


June 15, 2016

Investigative Poetry, nature vs. man

February 18, 2016

35mm color film
raspberry buds, hub, Jesse, blue flag blanket.
recollection: 07.15


November 8, 2015

image image

Saga – Mary Ruefle

February 19, 2015

Everything that ever happened to me
is just hanging—crushed
and sparkling—in the air,
waiting to happen to you.
Everything that ever happened to me
happened to somebody else first.
I would give you an example
but they are all invisible.
Or off gallivanting around the globe.
Not here when I need them
now that I need them
if I ever did which I doubt.
Being particular has its problems.
In particular there is a rift through everything.
There is a rift running the length of Iceland
and so a rift runs through every family
and between families a feud.
It’s called a saga. Rifts and sagas
fill the air, and beautiful old women
sing of them, so the air is filled with
music and the smell of berries and apples
and shouting when a gun goes off
and crying in closed rooms.
Faces, who needs them?
Eating the blood of oranges
I in my alcove could use one.
Abbas and ammas!
come out of your huts, travel
halfway around the world,
inspect my secret bank account of joy!
My face is a jar of honey
you can look through,
you can see everything
is muted, so terribly muted,
who could ever speak of it,
sealed and held up for all?

“Saga” Mary Ruefle


April 12, 2013

I read the prompts having made decisions with my heart
accounting intellect
that the analogies in this context are all too exotically common.
mangos, retreats, straw hats, promo posters,
chihuahuas, lack of education, disbelief, belief.

Here I am still prompted by others searching over a huge distance.
My language has not changed that much.
It is rehearsed,and new characters slowly slide their way
into a record of personal symbology.
and I am still prompted by those
who know how to speak my original tongue,
who speak up over a huge distance.
It will never be spelled out in front of me, in front of you.
Mirages are everywhere.
It is in the heart (haaaaaaaaaah)
the truth, that can be known when the voice,
the words, source from there
with sadness and longing.
They are the guides because their immeasurable shapes start inside.

Writing returns to the same topics,
drawings keep
being made to show new things.
The things our mothers and grandmothers
and fathers and brothers never spoke of.
Die before they dare tell us.
Before they even know ancestry doesn’t need a story
is that your make up sweating off?
It is what is carried through the tropics,
the desert, the meadows, the mountains –
For us on the same disparate mission –
we are the ones now responsible.
The curious, bold, silent actors
responding to meetings with those who say :
” You are not a predator, no, you are not prey.
You live how you breathe and you breathe how you live.
You are a teacher. ”

And you put aside those who are kept imprisoned
by the bad teachings of others black hearts.
Toxifying your own to see what its all about.
That place others speaks from
to the so many that think they must bother to give them heed.
You must not.
You already laid a trail.  You must follow that.
The breadcrumbs, the quench of stones.
The gems of light you, every so often, will be blinded by in your rear view mirror.
The colored rocks you see through the settling dust ahead in your windshield.

Don’t mis-identify those pieces that get hacked off, are left for dead on the ground.
You could found them as yours, pick up, take care.
They will purify the black of the heart,
the blocks
in in-operative elements so vital for a continuous high functioning example.

It is all not to forget.
We already have been the cat on too high an edge
misplacing the memory of a broken spine.
The women recommending, drink your own urine to reduce swelling
and raise immunity.
The musician beating a lullabye.
and the child who got lost because someone who can
chooses not to.

If you can remember, the green will feed you, the water will hold you and you will know what is good, sad and long.

I do not know the answers, there is nothing to believe. i just lay in the sun, shedding slowly, ignoring taboos to learn more discipline.

Define: Control

Compare: Mirage to Illusion

Explain: How to build and maintain health.

Make a Map : Of what you know by heart.

Bonus* In your own terms write an elaborate description (without too many frilly adjectives) on how one’s health relates to one’s home.


March 5, 2013
It seems to me that almost all our sadnesses are moments of tension, which we feel as paralysis because we no longer hear our astonished emotions living. Because we are alone with the unfamiliar presence that has entered us; because everything we trust and are used to is for a moment taken away from us; because we stand in the midst of a transition where we may not remain standing. – R. M. Rilke
Photo 2343

If you don’t mind, go through the dark (and other old directives)

February 27, 2013

(write Bronwen)

(Parker is a teenager)

(Fish out of water)


(Paste + Mend)

(Old to new)

(now i get it)

(backing away, turn to leave)

(get a new job – find a good job)

home, home on the range

(obstacles decrease)

(abstinence, patch it up)

(Heta, Cam, spiritually connected)

(Beware the crooks)

Speakerphone on the street
everyone can hear,
the whole world is watching
traffic covers it up
distance is necessary to cover

(start a new project)

(Fridah Kahlo, life jackets)

(let it out, put it down)

(Remedies, find allies)

(give and take, be gentle with yourself and others)

(give more light)

(Open your heart, let out whats in there, hang on)

(be diligent + disciplined)

(know what you see when its dark)


December 21, 2012


for an Eel

December 9, 2012

He left her on the side of the road

Outside of salvation, the second time around

As a matter of fact, the times don’t count

Since all of the meaningful things happen so quickly.

in spite of everything, whether we have been dropped or picked up

Is hard to separate.

so far duality is indissoluble

Still she kissed another before

On a stomach full of apple slices

Chopped up by a statue

Guilty of having a heart.

This statue is one of considerable weight,

This holds the separate parts down.

And while the pressure grows he leans in and whispers:

“She deserves better, we all deserve better,”

And it is a song transposed

I comfort my insides with as we move along

Doing our own repairs, not without feedback

Since the statue holding us

Has monumentally rubbed off on each side

And we are all —

Fuzzily at first,

And eventually, when we realize what we are made of –

Perfectly receptive to each other.

(The Guilt gives way to Love)

And you act one part statue, one part shepard, one part witness to me growing.

As I see you don’t ask me to trust you

Or get down on the level

To show me there’s no consenting to get each other’s back

There are purely warm fires –

An example of duality comforting and ravaging –

With ears and ears, and feet to dance, fingers to fly by

And forget the time the friend stole the sweetheart

From you, from me, from himself!

where does trust hide when everyone steals

from each other, from unknowns

Short circuiting goodness graciousness

Great balls of fire!

there are more scandalous things than having a child

By someone you are learning to love.

Isn’t the right thing as plain as day?

How do I get the sun to shine in a lover’s world who claims to prefer the night?

I ask them to put their hands down


To do good

But all I get is nothing,

A Christmas song,

And a man who says he will only hug me if I do it his way.

Then he says he is not a man,

But I still should do it the way he wants,


I make a map to go my way

Disguised as his way

Because it is too fearsome to make a way that may make ugly babies.

no. 21

October 2, 2012