Monday, November 28, 2005


Too much, too little, too soon.
Not here, not now,
not ever again.
Too late, too early,
too many, too few,
Too much, too little, too soon.

Story of my life
Everything is there
but the timing is all wrong.
My path through time & space misaligned . . .
Too much, too little, too soon.

Since the day our paths crossed,
intertwined hand in hand,
merged lip to lip,
though briefly the twining was to be,
I've longed for the day our paths stretch together to the end,
voices, body & soul in harmony.

Monday, October 31, 2005

Indian Summer

Naked the trees against coppery skies
South blows the wind
Leaves lift & swirl in the leeward lies
and south blows the wind.

Heaven & hell in the whiskery wind
Vestage of snow meets its meltery end
Close your eyes dreaming its summer again
when south blows the wind.

Saturday, October 29, 2005

Darkest Dawn

Sunrise is a long far way
when October nights are waning,
when sleepless nights cry out for day
with tired eyes complaining.

Moonless starless dawnless sky
as dark as midnight water deep.
No mountains trees distinguish I
'tween breath and glance and beat.

No bird calls to signal dawn.
No rooster crows the sun from bed.
What is it keeps me going on
while others rest in silent head?

There shall not be a crack of dawn.
No sound shall signal mountain's rise.
No answers shine on questions gone
when sunrise finally paints the skies.

Citizen of Nowhere

A man adrift,
out of sequence, out of time.
A journeyman, traveler,
citizen of nowhere.
Here, but not settled,
present but unrecognized.
Externally circulating among friends, mere acquaintances, really.
Internally alone in a stream of people,
a casual exchange of time-filling chatter.
I am interested, sure, but recognize that,
without a connection of heart & soul,
the conversations mean little & change nothing.

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

October Snow

October snowfall,
starched white and water wet.
Trees heave their heavy branches in surprise,
autumn leaves not quite shed.
Shrubs and saplings reduced to ground-hugging mounds under the load.

The dog takes a first few tentative steps off the deck,
then bounces and rolls in recognition,
trying to lure me into a game of tag,
his favorite winter sport.

The rumble of snowplows,
the squidge of traffic on slushy pavement,
the drip of the eaves,
the woosh and whomp as snow lets loose on the garage's metal roof
and plants a glacier-like mound in front of the door.

The warmth and aroma of the woodstove,
the loving smell of hearth and home.
The quiet peace that only a power failure can provide.
The exuberance of children on a snow day.

October snowfall:
unexpected, much appreciated . . .


Wednesday, October 19, 2005


I feel like a vampire -
up all night, wired & on the prowl;
laying low in the daylight hours.

Progress through burning the proverbial candle from north & south.

It's 2 (AM)? Nothing new.
Striking 3? Way to be.
Sun's a-rising
Not surprising.

G'night all !

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Love handles

Dale Robinette,
where have you gone?
Where have you been?
Has life provided you love,
like the love we once had,
like the love I would give,
if I were given a chance now?

Dale Robinette,
aren't you curious to see
what time has done to me,
the grey hairs, the age spots,
the spare tire, the love handles?
What about the gentle touch,
the romantic heart,
the Christian soul,
the music?

Oh the music! So much music.
Lonely heart and eyesight for beauty in the world - the greens & blues of life, of earth.
Won't you come see them through my eyes?

You & I are different people now,
thanks to 25 years of change,
of treading on different paths.
And I KNOW that all that is left are the good things,
the memories of young love,
days spent at Gilford Beach,
early morning wake-up calls.

To see one another now is to build love on love, build life on life,
merge body & soul, to become whole.
At the very least, or perhaps most,
it might chase you from my dreams
and me from yours.

*Dale Robinette*
*only a dream*

Only a dream
that love handles.

Tuesday, October 11, 2005


A flock of slate-colored juncos have alighted at Cedar Eden for a spell.
Their white tail flags flashing as the flare to a stop.
Pecking and hopping in the green, long, bent grass.
Shattering to flight at each little scare
then returning when it all turns out to be nothing.

Fall is late this year,
dark damp days and hillsides of muted colors,
narrow gold cherry leaves plastered along the driveway.
Yellow school bus groans to a stop and happy boy dashes out, runs down the drive, sending the little grey flock treeward.

Monday, October 10, 2005


The prettiest angel must eat & shit.
And might still lonesome loving be.
An ackward glance on the face of it
falls deeper than the likes of me.

Blond & pink, she draws the eye
and checks upon the note of I.
Between us comes a young buck bold
and I another tale untold.

A poet unread is nothing.

Sunday, October 09, 2005

Autumn Calling

I stare out on a darkened day,
forshortened and chilled,
damp and grey.
But realize I needn't fall
to autumn's desolation call.

Colors bright or colors dim
can all reflect upon a whim.
I cannot blame the tides of fall
for autumn's desolation call.

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Indian Summer

A day feeling so much of summer that it awakens a jubilant spirit within.
A thousand and one memories flood my mind,
the most prominant is sitting at a table with my little sister in Nana's garage, door open and a warm breeze sighing steadily in the high pine boughs.

Fluffy aphids began to loosely swarm at the end of last week, followed by the major swarm of obnoxious mexican ladybugs. These creatures are harbingers of fall as much as the amphibians are of spring on that first warm night rain in April. How they know the days to take flight is a mystery to me. I suspect day length and temperature intertwine in their feeble response circuits. Unlucky to thrm would be an autumn that plunges straight into icy winter conditions.

Even a few hardy crickets have something to say today. It really is a spectacular day, a spectacle of life.

Saturday, October 01, 2005


Long day at camp
Boy scouts at the lake
Smell of campfire wafts from my person
Sun & shade & loons off shore
Good times with good people.

But here now, home
Loud & bright & distracting
darkness outside envelops me inside
Leaving the campfire behind
a neccesity but not a desire

Rainy Late September Day

Time moving glacial slow
Wind bowing piabald trees
Skies that reminisce of snow
Long grass waves like troubled seas

Traffic churns this troubled air
. .

Friday, September 16, 2005

Midnight Moon

The moon lights a translucent sky
o'er Donnelly's hill faded.
Shadows cast of tree and I
as in sunlight pallor jaded.

Thursday, September 15, 2005


A lone monarch on aster clings,
then sails away on auburn wings,
preparing for what winter brings,
a promise to all of coming springs.

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

Ice ages

"It is mildly unnerving to reflect that the whole of meaningful human history— the development of farming, the creation of towns, the rise of mathematics and writing and science and all the rest— has taken place within an atypical patch of fair weather. Previous interglacials have lasted as little as eight thousand years. Our own has already passed its ten thousandth anniversary."
[A Short History of nearly Everything - Bill Bryson]

Thursday, September 01, 2005

White Mountain Memories

Traveling the backroads of the Great North Woods
White Mountains calling me home
Leaving is something I'll never regret
But I miss them whenever I roam
I left on a day that was rainy and grey
The mist filled the valleys all around
With each turn I take and with each sunny break
Beautiful vistas abound
I dream of the granite cragged steepy rocky slopes
Where eagles and osprey still fly
Trees fill the valleys where clear water flows
through rivers that never run dry.
White water lilies abloom in the ponds
Moose graze contently on the shore
I see it while leaving and dream it while gone.
It's there when I return once more.
My children and I where the Lost River flows.
Exploring each bouldery cave
I look in their eyes and I see it and know
This is one of our most special days
Colors of fall, you can't touch them at all
The reds and the purples and gold
The mountains loom over the seasons that change
It's scenery that never grows old.
Winter is special, a blanket of white
Life all around seems to freeze
Stars sparkle bright over crystalline heights
The wind rattles slumbering trees.
written August 27, 2005 while returning from Meadowlark Music Camp, Washington, ME * words and music copyright (c) 2005 Michael R. Martin

Download and listen to the rough recording at

Sunday, August 14, 2005

August Rain

Gentle summer rain falls
and bounces leaf to leaf.
A soothing eternal sound
linked to memories across
so many years.
It'sjust so wonderful to hear.

I grew up walking in the rain:
in love, or lost, or deep in pain.
A therapeutic remedy
strengthens heart & soul & knee.

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

Sunny D walking away

She's a callipygian goddess.
It is definately in her jeans.
And to see her from behind
is to know exactly what that means.

Tuesday, July 26, 2005


Neil Young plays.
Seagull calls.
Windblown grey chop
reflecting silver sky.

A cool breeze blows
lake-scented air:
tannic water and algae
mixed with outboard exhaust.

A lifetime sitting lakeside
while tourists come and go
ties my forty-five years
to a youth of long ago.

Who knew I'd be here yet,
still pondering life,
still seeking answers
to questions no one is asking?

Why does my eye for life's beauty
leave me feeling so empty?
Guess it's true that visions of zanado
ruins you for everything else forever.

Monday, July 25, 2005

Hot Mtn Day

July 25,
another hot day in the mountains.
Misty showers give way to silky sky.
Whiteface dissolves into the hazy horizon.
A cicada calls long and loud,
like maracas gone wild.
Vervant green hills and fields ripple with escaping waves of heat,
color flattened by the relentless sun.

Tuesday, July 12, 2005


I love the call of the phoebe.
How can you not smile at a bird
that sounds like a squeeky toy?

Monday, July 11, 2005

Smack Momma

Smack Momma,
pulling her child in a wagon down Main Street.
Her eyes almost hidden
by the darkest of circles below.
She ain't supposed to be here.
This ain't supposed to be here.
How did they get here?

Smack Momma,
dragging herself up the hill to the dark side of town?
Does she even know if her child is still with her?
She ain't supposed to be here.
This ain't supposed to be here.
How did they get here?

Sunday, July 10, 2005

Life & Love

(If I showed up at your door, unwilling to leave, would you send me away, anyway. I suspect so.)

Love is like having a baby: there is no right time, and if you wait for a right time, you wake up one day and find life and love moved on without you.

Nothing like music

Nothing takes me out of myself,
centers me, gets me higher,
or takes me away
like playing music.

There isn't enough rum
or drugs on the planet
to achieve the same release.
It is a high without equal,
a buzz without hangover,
a rush without peer.

It becomes more difficult
to span the musicless times between,
when destructive habits move in -
times when I am either trying to deaden the loss
or simulate the experience.

I saw a young woman tonight

I saw a young woman tonight.

She reminded me of you:
when we were younger;
when we first met; and
when last I held you close.

Her hair like a halo,
her smile full of life,
she was clearly happy to be
in the here & now.

A voice like a meadowlark,
eyes sparkling in night,
she was a lone gem
in a car of unknowing boys.

I shouldn't regret
the paths of our lives.
It is part of who we are
and some good in it, too.

But I can't help but wonder
what it would be like now
to have music, and children
and you.

Saturday, July 09, 2005

A Midnight Muse

What can you do if your muse strikes at midnight?
You're tossing & turning, but how do you choose?
Do you lay there & struggle 'gainst your brain infernal,
or rise & hitch a ride with your midnight muse?

Wednesday, July 06, 2005

A Camp Summer Day

Cool & drizzly,
a summer in camp kind of day.
Shorts & a sweatshirt,
walking barefoot
in damp sand and forest duff,
the air misty with
low-lying cloud water
and "wood smoke" rising.

It is a good day to reset one's soul,
clear one's mind,
and begin anew.
Or at least dash madly
into a lake
and plunge swiftly
into clear water warmer than air.

Tuesday, June 28, 2005

Driving to NH - June 5, 2005

Driving to New Hampshire,
My thoughts turn to hearth and home,
The strength of family ever-grown
stronger with each passing year.

{Its funny - New Hampshire, the State of my childhood, always feels like home, no matter how long I have been away.}

4:13 AM, Adirondack time

It's 4:13 AM, Adirondack time,
I listen to the first lone robin call.
I am as pleased with the dawn as him
though I haven't slept at all.

At 4:28 a junco joins in
with its twittery, jittery song.
My mind so filled with thoughts of you,
my heart jittered all night long.

At 4:38 it's a phoebe's turn,
By 4:40 the gang convenes -
sparrows, wrens, and last a crow -
I wonder what it all means.

If I could sing a song to you,
the sun rising into summertime haze,
You'd hear love as clear as that robin's first call -
A love first, true and to the last of our days.

Friday, June 24, 2005

Nothing Like It

There is nothing like a radish,
pulled fresh from the warm soil,
rinsed with clear, cold well water,
snapped free of its root & stem,
and eaten right there,
barefoot in the garden.

Wednesday, June 22, 2005

Afternoon walk with dog in our Adirondack woods

Dappled sun through bright new leaves
Wild scents only dog perceives
Shrubs in bloom & flies like bees
Fallow fields sway in the breeze
Grass & ferns brush 'gainst my knees
While pollen clouds disperse from trees.

Cool & crisp, the mountain air
Dries my sweat & ruffles hair
We walk this land without a care
My dog could lead me anywhere
He drinks from puddles here & there
A grouse takes flight - a startled scare.

I'd hate to leave this mountain home
It's my desire when I roam
I long to be here when away
& dream of days just like today.

Friday, June 10, 2005


Poison. Am I poison?
Think long of
My heart and soul
in your life.

Can you honestly say
That the good outweighs the bad ?
The love outweighs the heartbreak?
The time together outweighs the time silently apart?

I still think of you,
wish to be there for you.
I want nothing but the best for you.
Know that. Believe that.

I still sit,
lonely, late at night.
Let it go? Perhaps let it go.
Perhaps less of me IS all the best for you.

Poison. Am I poison?
Think long of
My heart and soul
in your life.

Total eclipse

Once upon a time I was falling in love
But now I'm only falling apart
There's nothing I can do
A total eclipse of the heart

Bonnie Tyler, The Ramones

Thursday, June 02, 2005

Me, on life (again)

Sometimes I feel
like I am larger than life,
towering like a cumulo nimbus
spread across the horizon.

Other times I feel
my life is just threads
weaving in & out
of the lives around me.
Not woven,
just passing through.

Thursday, May 19, 2005

Laying in bed, thinking

Damn it all. I just want to be loved by the woman I want to love, like it used to be. No complications, no worries: I love you, you love me, piece of cake. Without that, my life has a big hole that can not be filled, that drains the brightness from my life.
So much was going well for me when you & I were us. Now everything is a steep climb with no view at the top, every bounce a bad hop.

Tuesday, May 10, 2005

Adirondack Sunrise May 10

Sky of steel grey aluminum overcast.
A lone phoebe calls its name,
calmly, but repeatedly:
"Phoebe. . . Phoebe. . . Phoebe. . . "
"Phoebe. . . Phoebe. . . Phoebe. . . "
A wren twitters in a moment's silent pause.
A distant crow calls once, a mourning dove hoots halfheartedly.
Neighbor's rooster crows muffledly,
shut inside its little barn.
At last the sun illuminates the horizon,
turning the slate-like sky into opalescent backlit tiffany
in illustrious myriad hues of
orange, yellow, pink & blue.

Friday, May 06, 2005


The lawn is green
on shades of brown
Starlings, like rats,
swarm all around.
They fight for bits
of straw & hay
Then, frantically,
they fly away
to build their nests
where'er they please --
in eaves and soffits,
holes in trees.

If only they had
songs to sing.
I do not care
for rats with wings.

Thursday, May 05, 2005

Aborigines & the Early Explorers in Australia

"The incompetence of the early explorers was a matter of abiding fascination for the Aborigines, who often came to watch. "Our perplexities afforded them an inexhaustible fund of merriment and derision," wrote one chronicler glumly."

In a Sunburned Country by Bill Bryson

Monday, May 02, 2005

737-800 Eastbound

737-800, eastbound for Logan
long week, colleagues & friends in Chicago.
Mystery & intrigue waiting at the gate.
A world of pretty women,
a myriad of different looks,
pretty inside or pretty out.

Meanwhile, it's two free drinks here in comfy business class
on this brand new ATA 737 --
Large leather reclining seats with footrests, free headsets.
No DirecTV like JetBlue but I could go for this route again, just +$30.

39,000 feet, over Albany & into Boston.
Smooth sailing.
We'll land @ six, two hour layover.

Reviewing some of the candids I took @ the gate
I realize that I do not view "live" faces & people as they appear on film.
My judgement is clouded by an ability to see a beauty within,
& I suppose an inability to see what is in front of me.
How will I ever find that
one true, everlasting love ?
That one who is all things to me & to whom I am all things?
Ah, demon, thy name is rum!

How does one say "I am sorry"
for the wreckage left behind?
How does one move ahead
when you can't make up your mind?

Initial descent, on the ground about 5:30,
likely to the gate early.
Just means more time to kill before I catch my little commuter to SLK.

Ah, Boston
feels like home.
No need to parade out the "ahs"(r's)
no need to ask for whole bellies
when you ordah fried clams.
Sounds like home around heya.

Cleared security, no issues.
Hanging out at a little side alley bar.
Rum & coke,
and why is everybody staring at me?
Ain't no pretty ladies,
that's for sure!

Last leg. Finally!
Continental Beechcraft 1900D.
Five passengers, two crew.
Woman pilot.
If I were a pilot, I'd rather fly commuters,
at least in good weather.

Tell me why . . .

  • television stations all run commercials at the same times?
  • it matters more who you remind someone of then who you are?
  • reputations are worthless - some peon is always there to challenge it.

Thursday, April 28, 2005

Chicago, 6:15 AM

The city roars & rumbles --
the individual sounds of cars, trains, and rooftop environmental conditioners merge into a constant sound ever changing pitch & timbre, like the cracking of ice on a frozen pond, 10,000 people humming tunelessly, a jumbo jet warming its engines on the tarmack, a distant tornado, an orchestra tuning spasmodically, and 100 other unidentifiable sounds all rolled into one long sustain.

Tuesday, April 26, 2005

737 Westbound

4/26/05 9:30 am
Second leg, big 737-800, cruising @ 40,000 feet. Reflecting on being alone, invisible, not worth a second glance out here in the world: just an out of shape, slightly tubby, not so handsome, out of place male.
And then I think: I could be alone & alone could be good.

So long as I live it and don't fill it with time wasters.

Saturday, April 23, 2005

wetland in spring

Ocher and umber
wetland in spring
dampened & darkened by rain.
Cattails and sedges
last year's growth
sentinels of greening again.

Saturday, April 16, 2005

We got out of the car

"We got out of the car. Dear God, I remember thinking, how beautiful the world is! My heart was pounding, my palms were sweating, my eyes were watering behind my sunglasses, but I felt like Lazarus emerging from the tomb after three days of darkness, light bursting through the linen wrappings over his eyes. Most of humanity, I thought, sleep-walked through life, brains muddled by petty concerns, daydreams, the numbing mediocrities of the day-to-day. Most of us, if not already in the tomb, waver on the threshold, afraid to step into the light, afraid we might actually prefer being half-dead to fully alive."

[Confessions of a Tax Collector: One Man's Tour of Duty Inside the IRS by Richard Yancey]

Afternoon Nap

"A band of golden afternoon sunlight streamed across the foot of the bed, stretched itself upon the floor, and crawled up the pale blue wall on the far side of the room. In the gloaming, I had the sense of time racing toward some inescapable conclusion, to a reckoning I had not foreseen. The why no longer mattered. I had leapt into the river at the point of its swiftest current, and had been swept away. I wanted to reach the end; I wanted to see where the river took me."

[Confessions of a Tax Collector: One Man's Tour of Duty Inside the IRS by Richard Yancey]

Cedar Eden Pre-dawn

The morning sky,
deepest cerulean & indigo.
Trees black silhouettes
against predawn glow.

Imperceptively at first,
the day grows brighter,
waking a melodious chorus of birdsongs.

Sunday, April 10, 2005

Sliver Moon

Sliver moon,
piercing crystal sky,
sliced by jagged branches.

Ursa major overhead,
bright diamonds in bed of coal.
Silent woods open to the sky.

Sunday, March 27, 2005

Living the New Life

Collosians 3: 1-10 (NLT)
Since you have been raised to new life with Christ, set your sights on the realities of heaven, where Christ sits at God's right hand in the place of honor and power. Let heaven fill your thoughts. Do not think only about things down here on earth. For you died when Christ died, and your real life is hidden with Christ in God. And when Christ, who is your real life, is revealed to the whole world, you will share in all his glory.

So put to death the sinful, earthly things lurking within you. Have nothing to do with sexual sin, impurity, lust, and shameful desires. Don't be greedy for the good things of this life, for that is idolatry. God's terrible anger will come upon those who do such things. You used to do them when your life was still part of this world. But now is the time to get rid of anger, rage, malicious behavior, slander, and dirty language. Don't lie to each other, for you have stripped off your old evil nature and all its wicked deeds. In its place you have clothed yourselves with a brand-new nature that is continually being renewed as you learn more and more aboutChrist, who created this new nature within you.

Easter morn reflected

Life can seem an endless routine of basic tasks: sleep, wake, shower, eat, work, eat, sleep.

Do less of whatever brings only false satisfaction, such as television, alcohol & other drugs.

Do more of whatever brings you true satisfaction, whether it be gardening, singing, playing with your child, walking with your spouse, or other actsof worship.

Let me know how it turns out.

Saturday, March 26, 2005

Mud season

Sunny mornings
follow crisp nights.
Temperatures slowly climb.
Snow melts,
sap starts running,
nowa steady drip drip
like quiet steel drums.
Red squirrels & nuthatches
chase rivals through the branches.
Soon the woodcock
will fill the twilight
with its eerie call.
It is mud season in the Adirondacks
and life does not get
any better than this.

Thursday, March 24, 2005

Life & Time & Everything

flows like sawdust,
sinking petrified into the couch.
streaks like a comet,
frostbitten tail here to infinity.
godawful nothing
while life flows & time streaks.

Tuesday, March 22, 2005

Up early

Up early, again.
Bruiser, ever vigilant,
lies at the end of the hallway,
where he can keep his eyes on his family,
in true sheepdog fashion.

He is not what most people picture as a sheepdog, large & shaggy.
Bruiser is a Belgian sheepdog - longish black fur, with flags of long fur streaming from the backs of his legs and from his tail, an almost imperceceptable blaze of white on his chest, his muzzle frosted white with age.

A good, well-behaved, deeply loving & devoted dog, Bruiser spent his youth herding my two young children while they played in the yard. Running in great, wide circles and then plopping down, head forward & down between his outstretched front legs, Bruiser would lay - alert eyes, one ear erect, one ear drooping - only to tear off again if one of his little flock threatened to leave its invisible circle.

Now he lies curled up on the couch with me while I read,
his head tucked against my foot,
breathing softly,
at rest, at peace.

4 AM and all is well with his flock.

Monday, March 21, 2005

The Germ

A mighty creature is the germ,
Though smaller than a pachyderm.
His customary dwelling place
Is deep inside the human race.
His childish pride he often pleases
By giving people strange diseases.
Do you, my poppet, feel infirm?
You probably contain a germ.
-Ogden Nash-

Saturday, March 19, 2005

Midnight, Adirondack style

Pale thin moonlight
casts a silver glow.
Forest's bare shadows
in grey repose.

A legion of stars,
crystals hung low
over undulate horizon
peaks reflective with snow

Thursday, March 17, 2005

Science & the Human Mind

". . . two special gifts that science provides.

The First Gift: Science gives us the capacity to infer the existence of things we cannot see directly through the systematic observation of what we can see. Again, gravity is a prime example.

The Second Gift: Science gives us the capacity to evaluate alternative interpretations of a given observation.

These two gifts from science enable us to cherish all the more our capacity to have personal experiences. Science enables us to go beyond our personal experiences (the first gift) as well as help us interpret all of it, both the visible and the invisible (the second gift).

Though science is clearly very powerful, it is only as powerful as the human mind that brings it into being. And the potential power of the human mind is vast."

from The Afterlife Experiments: Breakthrough Scientific Evidence of Life after Death by Gary E. Schwartz, Ph.D. with William L. Simon

Monday, March 14, 2005

Up early

Up early, again.
Bruiser, ever vigilant,
lies at the end of the hallway,
where he can keep his eyes on his family,
in true sheepdog fashion.
He is not what most people picture as a sheepdog, large & shaggy.
Bruiser is a Belgian sheepdog - longish black fur, with flags of long fur streaming from the backs of his legs and from his tail,
an almost imperceceptable blaze of white on his chest,
his muzzle frosted white with age.
A good, well-behaved, deeply loving & devoted dog,
Bruiser spent his youth herding my two young children while they played in the yard.
Running in great, wide circles and then plopping down, head forward & down between his outstretched front legs, Bruiser would lay - alert eyes, one ear erect, one ear drooping - only to tear off again if one of his little flock threatened to leave its invisible circle.
Now he lies curled up on the couch with me while I read,
his head tucked against my foot,
breathing softly,
at rest, at peace.
4 AM and all is well with his flock.

Monday, March 07, 2005

Dale in my Dreams • an ode to Dale Robinette •

I saw Dale in my dreams last night.
Our eyes locked and time stood null.
Her eyes, her hair, freckled cheeks.
Her lips, ever chapped, yet kissably full.
The tilt of her head as she smiles at me,
hand on thrusted hip in amazement.
She in a white smock of medical fashion,
and looking so alive, of years well-spent;
All the better, perhaps, that I was not in them.
Lucky in life to be not dashed on the jagged
rocks of my soul that had torn others' ragged.
Her fine freckled cheeks flying cheerful in the sun,
shading my eyes, my head heavily hung,
And gone, it was over, quick as begun.

I could go on,
and lovingly describe each intimate detail,
the freckle on her upper lip,
the way she stood one hand on hip,
the huskiness of her voice when awakened at sunrise.

I loved Dale as best I could,
with passion, tenderness, heart-wrenching emotion.
But love,at sixteen, is narrow if deep, shallow if wide,
reckless, unforgiving.
I love Dale yet, and deep in my heart
is the desire to make things right
between me and Dale in my dreams.

3/01/05, 3am

Sunday, March 06, 2005

bright sunrise

Things are looking up
It's a bright sunrise
A new day dawns
Got sparkles in my eyes

Icy frost melts
off barn and bough
A new day dawns
and I feel good now.

Saturday, March 05, 2005

Love, hope, beauty

Love is the food of life,
hope its spirituality,
beauty its reward to the seeing eye.

A Colorado High Plains Autumn

NATURE was prodigal with her colors that autumn. The frosts came late, so that the leaves did not gradually change their green. One day, as if by magic, there was gold among the green, and in another there was purple and red. Then the hilltops blazed with their crowns of aspen groves; and the slopes of sage shone mellow gray in the sunlight; and the vines on the stone fences straggled away in lines of bronze; and the patches of ferns under the cliffs faded fast; and the great rock slides and black-timbered reaches stood out in their somber shades.

Columbines bloomed in allthe dells among the spruces, beautiful stalks with heavy blossoms, the sweetest and palest of blue-white flowers. Motionless they lifted their faces to the light. Out in the aspen groves, where the grass as turning gold, the columbines blew gracefully in the wind,nodding and swaying. The most exquisite and finest of these columbines hid in the shaded nooks, star-sweet in the silent gloom of the woods.

[The Mysterious Rider by Zane Grey]

Thursday, March 03, 2005

The passing of seasons

Mounting once more, he ascended to the rim and found a slope leading down to the west. Over the basin country below he had hunted several days. This way back to the ranch was longer, he calculated, but less arduous for man and beast. His pack-horse would have hard enough going in any event. From time to time Wade halted to rest the burdened pack-animal. At length he came to a trail he had himself made, which he now proceeded to follow. It led out of the basin, through burned and boggy ground and down upon the forest slope, thence to the grassy and aspened uplands. One aspen grove, where he had rested before, faced the west, and, for reasons hard to guess, had suffered little from frost. All the leaves wee intact, some still green, but most of them a glorious gold against the blue. It was a large grove, sloping gently, carpeted with yellow grass and such a profusion of purple asters as Wade had never seen in his flower-loving life. Here he dismounted and sat against an aspen-tree. His horses ruthlessly cropped thepurple blossoms.

Nature in her strong prodigality had outdone herself here. Pale white the aspen-trees shone, and above was the fluttering, quivering canopy of gold tinged with green, and below clustered the asters, thick as stars in the sky, waving, nodding, swaying gracefully to each little autumn breeze, lilac-hued and lavender and pale violet, and all the shades of exquisitepurple.

Wade lingered, his senses predominating. This was one of those moments that colored his lonely wanderings. Only to see was enough. He would have shut out the encroaching thoughts of self, of others, of life, had that been wholly possible. But here, after the first few moments of exquisite riot of his senses, where fragrance of grass and blossom filled the air, and blaze of gold canopied the purple, he began to think how beautiful the earth was, how Nature hid her rarest gifts for those who loved her most, how good it was to live, if only for those blessings. And sadness crept into his meditations because all this beauty was ephemeral, all the gold would soon be gone, and the asters, so pale and pure and purple, would soon be likethe glory of a dream that had passed.

Yet still followed the saving thought that frost and winter must again yield to sun, and spring, summer, autumn would return with the flowers of their season, in that perennial birth so gracious and promising. The aspen leaves would quiver and slowly gild, the grass would wave in the wind, the asters would bloom, lifting star-pale faces to the sky. Next autumn, and every year, and forever, as long as the sun warmed the earth! It was onlyman who would not always return to the haunts he loved.

[The Mysterious Rider - Zane Grey]

Wednesday, March 02, 2005

Send for the harpist!

Now the Spirit of the LORD had left Saul, and the LORD sent a tormenting spirit that filled him with depression and fear. Some of Saul's servants suggested a remedy. "It is clear that a spirit from God is tormenting you," they said. "Let us find a good musician to play the harp for you whenever the tormenting spirit is bothering you. The harpmusic will quiet you, and you will soon be well again."

1 Samual 16:14-16 (NLT)

Sunday, February 20, 2005

Thoughts of Nell in the desert.

"As he rode across the desert, even though keen eyes searched for the moving black dots, the rising puffs of white dust that were warnings, he saw Nell's face in every cloud. The clean-cut mesas took on the shape of her straight profile, with its strong chin and lips, its fine nose and forehead. There was always a glint of gold or touch of red or graceful line or gleam of blue to remind him of her. Then at night her face shone warmand glowing, flushing and paling, in the campfire."

"To-night, as usual, with a keen ear to the wind, Gale listened as one on guard; yet he watched the changing phantom of a sweet face in the embers, and as he watched he thought. The desert developed and multiplied thought. A thousand sweet faces glowed in the pink and white ashes of his campfire, the faces of other sweethearts or wives that had gleamed for other men. Gale was happy in his thought of Nell, for Nell, for something, when he was alone this way in the wilderness, told him she was near him, she thought of him, she loved him. But there were many men alone on that vast southwestern plateau, and when they saw dream faces, surely for some it was a fleeting flash, a gleam soon gone, like the hope and the name and the happiness thathad been and was now no more."

[from Desert Gold by Zane Grey]

Saturday, February 19, 2005

Adirondack Subzero Dawn

The day dawned,
brightly lit and bitter cold.
Deathly still, bare branches
scratch a pale blue sky
ringed with gold.

Waiting . . .

. . . for a miracle.

Sub-zero night,
dog curled up at the foot of the bed, near the baseboard radiator.
I lay here awake, with the sounds of late night all around me --
the slow, rhythmic breathing of my partner;
my son talking in his sleep, bumping a knee into his wall;
the dog woofing mutedly,high-pitched, probably dreaming of chasing red squirells off the deck;
the banging & ticking of heat pipes as they expand and contract;
the loud popping of the deck, like gunshots & ice on a pond, as the frigid air swells the ice and shrinks the wood;
Nana's clock softly striking once for half past one;
the quiet fan-like whir of the boiler;
the tapping of my stylus & the gurgle of my digestive tract.
All this and so much more,
the miracle of sound.

Good night.

Monday, February 14, 2005

Happy Valentine's Day!

My dream -- hand in hand on the beach,
a life with you always in reach,
where I pull you closer to play
on a Happy Valentine's Day.

Hugging, we melt into one
in the warmth of an oceanside sun.
Close togetherly wandering away
on a Happy Valentine's Day.

My thoughts ever deeply of you.
I fathom all you have been through.
There is nothing more I need say
'cept "Happy Valentine's Day! "

a resonant quote

". . . the periods of rest in which he indulged were not taken because of fatigue. He rested to look, to listen, to feel. What the vast silent world meant to him had always been a mystical thing, which he felt in all its incalculable power, but never understood."

[Desert Gold by Zane Grey]

Monday, February 07, 2005


So nobody owes you anything,
but that doesn't stop time.
Like snow dripping off the roof,
time changes all,
leaves nothing behind.

shattered day

You race up the stairs,
mind popping & snapping like a live wire,
chest heaving to catch what feels like your last breath.
Ladders & eaves flash before you,
images from dreams that disturbed your early morning respite.
Wrong phones ringing in other rooms,
low voltage circuits gone haywire.
Suddenly, it is noon.
You wonder where the morning went
as you tune the set to Channel 5 News
as if anything could be newsworthy enough to crack your shattered day.

Sunday, February 06, 2005


Bob Dylan had it right.
He made his mark young, then left it behind to be a father.

I've been stupid all my life,
wasting time & pulling back,
and fear I need to leave my family to make my mark.

"My family was my light and I was going to protect that light at all cost. That was where my dedication was, first, last and everything in -between. What did I owe the rest of the world? Nothing. Not a damn thing. . . . In my real life I got to do the things that I loved the best and that was all that mattered -- the Little League games, birthday parties, taking my kids to school, camping trips, boating, rafting, canoeing, fishing. . . . "

Bob Dylan, Chronicles: Volume One.

Saturday, February 05, 2005

Nana's clock, Adirondack Sunrise

5:50 A.M., Adirondack time.
Sitting in dim light, curled up in the corner of a warm leather couch.
Surounded by windows, black night,
crescent moon skipping across the mountaintops behind bare tree branches.
Nana's clock* keeps loud, synchopated time on top of great uncle Bill's oak side by side.

The clock chimes softly, six times, and patiently keeps its beat.
Azure blue and creamy orange seeps over the eastern horizon.
The mountain peaks call skyward to the new day.


*Ingraham black mantle clock, model NEMO, circa 1884 - 1915, Eight-Day (key wound) Hourly Strike Cathedral Gong, The E. Ingraham Company, Bristol, Conn.

Cedar Eden Sunrise

Feb 1 sun rises far to the south
and illuminates Whiteface from the side.
Hazel and blue horizon as the sun sneaks above the north side of McKenzie.
Aqua blue sky behind illuminated trees,
leafless shades of grey, east side brushed brightly with yellow,
branch tips lit like torches.
Gold hilighted hummocks of blue shadowed snow.

Saturday, January 29, 2005

Yawn, Cold Hockey Morn (edited)

So here I am, 2 hours of sleep, trying to wake up enough to drive to Potsdam to stand around a cold arena & watch hockey all day.

Oh, the watching is fun. It's the no sleep that'll be tough. Socializing with the other hockey parents. Shooting the shit with the guys like I was accidentally let into the wrong club (or barroom, as it were).

Trying not to flirt with the ladies - not too difficult in most cases.
- deleted -
- deleted -

In the end, it wasn't as bad as all that!

Romantics Test

If I were to gently kiss your shoulder at 3 AM, would you half roll over and give me a sleepy peck on the cheek before snuggling in tighter, perhaps with a little purr? Or would you loudly announce the time in a don't bother me tone of voice?

I only ask because I long for the former & have grown weary of the later, to the point where every romantic shred of my soul cringes in darkness, repressed and unexpressed.

Albany flight, homeward bound.

EMB 170 Pittsburgh to Albany,
Pretty good crowd.
Fellow got pulled off at the last minute,
on an Albany plane with a ticket to LaGuardia.
& I got a seatmate @ the last minute.

Red Bull for the ride home.
Mmmmm. . . Red Bull & Skittles.
That ought to keep me charged for the long, cold, dark drive home!

Home. Home to my refuge, such as is.

1/28/05 8:25 pm

Heading North out of Pittsburgh,
fat orange moon on the Eastern horizon.
Lights strung out across the ground
like sodium vapor orange & incandescent whiteblue constellations
in a black velvet sky.

50-something cabin attendances,
old enough to be longretired stewardesses,
prepare to make the beverage cart circuit,
dispensing the ubiquitous pretzel pak.
Make mine a Bloody Mary, please.
OK, no vodka, but the mix tastes just fine!

1/28/05 9:03 pm

10 minutes to touchdown
1/28/05 9:32 pm

Home at last.
That's all for this whirlwind roadtrip!

1/29/05 12:47 am
Cedar Eden

Friday, January 28, 2005

Gatehopping in Pittsburgh

Mad dash to Gate B35
Gate change to B31
followed by another gate change to B29.
Looks like this is it,
last hop to Albany,
long drive to home
in sub-zero temperatures.

Boarding soon. . .

1/28/05 8:08 pm
Pittsburgh Airport Gate 29

Outbound to Pittsburgh

Indianapolis Airport,
Outbound to Pittsburgh.
Waiting at a gate,
sorrounded by travelers,
single & in pairs, and groups of three.
Chatting, discussing, business
while I sit near invisible.
Waiting for a flight,
bored with reading,
watching the sky turns gray with high clouds - a premonition of approaching
snow - and nightfall.

A group of three,
reviewing resumes,
discussing interviews,
deciding someone's future.
Not an envious job, but better their role
than that of the prospective hopefulls'.
Power I once had,
the pleasant power to give a chance to someone deserving,
hiring interns & staff.
I miss that.

Tme to board. . .

Full flight,
an Embraer 145,
with 1 seat left, and 2seats right.
Me, I'm left, next to the last row -
a window seat AND an aisle!
Too small for even my 1 tiny carry-on!

1/28/05 5:56 pm
Indianapolis Airport
1/28/05 6:17 pm

Thursday, January 27, 2005

introspective speck

Are you out there ?
Do you hear the ramblings
of this introspective speck ?
this inconsequential in the universe?
What purpose, what purpose?
What purpose serves I?
What consequence my thoughts
as I streak 'cross the sky ?

You love me ?
So you love me.
It matters not here.
No soft cheek to caress,
no whispering ear,
no love cast unspoken
to one who is near.
You love me ?
So you love me.
It matters not here.

A soul with love to give,
no one to receive,
is a sad soul indeed.
Worse is the love
that can not be shared.
It's a life that you choose,
so just be aware
my heart, oh my heart
You've crushed it in there.

Look in my eyes.
See what lies within
See what could be
See the depth of my pain.
My pain, true,
but do not discount
contributions of you.

OK, so its the rum talking.
Just get me on the ground, and to my hotel room
where I can commisserate in my aloneness.

1/27/05 8:50 pm
1/27/05 9:04 pm
737-300, seat 11A, westbound


Here I sit. Alone.
Washington National Airport.
No one to talk to, no one to call.
Like the beginning of my life,
the beginning of my consciousness,
the bulk of my memory -

1/27/05 7:32 pm
Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport

I have often been here,
in solemn inward retreat.
You might say it is my natural condition.
Natural, perhaps, but
not any more the pleasant for it.
That such a gregarious personality should also be
so rooted in introspectivosity.

1/27/05 8:11 pm
Westbound flight to Indianapolis

Ah, Bacardi and Coke -
a nectarous union of acid & alcohol,
esters and carbon rings.
Now if only they'd turn off that blasted seat belt sign!

1/27/05 8:33 pm
Westbound 737 to Indianapolis

Pregnant, waiting. . .

Gravid, and glowing,
pregnant, with child.
Drawn close to the father
pheremones run wild.
She feels she is his,
he protector, the source.
Nature encapsulates
as a matter of course.

The look in her eyes
love exchanged deeply.
Few words
where few words are needed.

Turns out it is twins.

1/27/05 4:21 pm
Albany International

Wednesday, January 26, 2005

Lee Side

The wind howls from the East,
driving snow in horizontal streaks
that break & swirl and coalesce on the lee side of the cabin
So that the view out one window is raging storm
and another reveals falling flakes in constant dance of shifting direction.
I feel my life is like the storm,
streaking by in endless blur,
though my mind is like the snow on the lee side,
drifting up then down then swirling madly 'round before finally settling to the ground.

Tuesday, January 25, 2005

Rescue me

Rescue me, my destiny.
I am lost without someone to love.
I suffer in pain, alone in this world
and abandoned by powers above.

My talents unused, my sanity fused
a whirlwind of emotion chilled.
A train off its track, a turtle on its back,
my destiny, without you, unfulfilled.

black licorice, please

Please, now,
Appease me.
Black licorice now.
Do not tease me.

Monday, January 24, 2005

Reminiscence and You

Myra, desira,
flashback to 1985.
Alone, and
clueless as usual,
she drew me in to
her centered self.

Short and compact.
dense curves topped in wavy hair,
Self-assured jewess,
not quite sure why I was there.
Her Saab, homecooked meals,
An older woman loving a fit young man,
melting as my hands caress her spectacular sensitive nipples.

Long kiss goodnight at her door,
with fog rolling off the Merimack River and across Concord.
Hands cupping firm round breasts,
as knees grow weak & juices flow,
4 AM, you've really, really got to go.

Time, life, memories,
longing for new opportunities.
New love blooming beautifully
under the soft ministry of my hand.
I could be that for you, all that and more.
Tonight I send my soul across the miles to fill your dreams.
See if you don't wake up filled with thoughts and longing.
I will stir your nights haunt your days until you finally wake up and gather
me into your life.

Saturday, January 22, 2005

Jupiter Rising

Twelve AM & twenty below,
Eerie moon casts pale blue glow,
Frost-filled air o'er fields of snow,
And lo, Jupiter rising.

Low & bright off to the east,
Above a wood of shadow beast,
Nightmares settle down to feast,
And lo, Jupiter rising.

Whiteface stands, a silver peak,
Darkwood forest at its feet,
Tree snaps frozen, heart skips beat,
And lo, Jupiter rising.

Friday, January 21, 2005

mopey mopey poo poo

Nobody cares that my PDA pen is lost.
Nobody cares that I can't find hat & gloves when I need to go out in the cold.
Nobody cares that crap just lays wherever it's been dropped, for days & weeks.
Nobody cares if I can't breathe, if I have a migraine, or if I am just plain sad.
I suppose I should just decide that nothing matters & then everything is ok.
Seems like maybe I already have.

mopey mopey poo poo.

Thursday, January 20, 2005

Couplet: science, genius, art & wit

One science only will one genius fit.
So vast is art, so narrow human wit.

- Voltaire -


Noir comme le diable,
Chaud comme l'enfair,
Pur comme un ange,
Doux comme l'amour.

Black as the devil!
Hot as hell,
Pure as an angel,
Sweet as love.

Monday, January 17, 2005

Saigon, WWII

Saigon, June 16, 1944
Marines & the Navaho
set foot on the shore.
A Pacific campaign
for a foot in the door
blood in the sand
in the second world war.

Windtalkers, code talkers,
Navaho all
rose up with Great Spirit
and answered the call -
leaving desert, and home,
and family clan -
of a nation that conquered
their ancestral land.

the curse of the gift

If I turned it all off,
where would I be ?
What would be created
deep within me?
What gift left behind
for others to see?

I've spent many years
pondering life's destiny.
But life won't resolve
into self harmony.
It's the curse of the gift
of creativity.

Sunday, January 02, 2005

Heart of the Creative Soul

At the heart of the creative soul
lies a dark & bottomless well.
Do not be frightened if you catch me staring over its edge
locked into its deepest, darkest spell.
I do not need your words, nor cheer, to break my pensive gloom.
But stay awhile, & hold my hand, my heart,
'til I turn from its edge & warmth refills this room.

Saturday, January 01, 2005

Without change,
life is nothing.