Thursday, December 01, 2016

you gently moving
through shapley & self curated scenes
full of luxury and sometimes terror
all the mechanisms of sleep

blind force of a lucid dreamer
who says these grand things that ebb and flow
are true with no more permanence of a fog
money and fortunes blisses and curses

beautiful wayward dreamer
who can arise as soon as they wish
into clarity and clear light never sullied
the brightest of all bright selves

like a perfect star
that never sets over an ocean
full of tossing sleepers and seekers
rafts of their own making through nights

you in the company of other angles
saying awake!

wondering about home
between flakes of snow

or will these fields tell
hush hush is that a sign

or a bell from a church
open tonight late

i see the light in you
then follow it wondering

all transitory here
like other time zones

other cities and fields
full of signs and people

other church bells dusk
wondering about home

hush hush is that a sign
or a bell


Wednesday, November 30, 2016

it should be fun
or be nice

but sometimes
it is not right

a person could


quite disturbing-



What to Look for During a Season of Sickness

Tuesday, November 29, 2016

can it be found
can it be lost

the self
the highest sense

for a moment
you can play

pretend that
you are separated

but in the
long view

you were
merely at play

like a child
can make

anything a
harmless idyll


a winter jacket ordered
for winter boots

pockets on the inside
and outside of jacket

the lake has ice
that ebbs a bit but grows

when it seems
nothing is alive

some hardy squirrels
start their day

they go on duty
find things to bring home


Bass Lake

Saturday, November 26, 2016

if you could live forever
you'd be even more confused
than you are now

today no snow
no grey

silver puddles
green grass

everything living
making life


with only now
in mind


Bass Lake

after much practice
i see what i really am

two hands two feet
two eyes and a big mouth


Friday, November 25, 2016

how do your dreams turn out
as good as dreaming them i hope

when you know where you are
every dream comes true

when you're in the stream
all that comes is keenly true


Bass Lake
day after thanksgiving
slate grey sky

water goes drip drip
from balconies

new wiper blades
for the truck

a few clumps of snow
rolled by my son

they're the only snow
left as a snowman

snow figure
looks like a bunny


Bass Lake

Thursday, November 24, 2016

thankful on this day

thankful on this day
snow slush
a store being open
for that last can
of yams or pie crust

thankful for family
friends and even
bad drivers or
my annoying cousins

we're all part
of a grand planned
or miraculous wow
just in time ain't
it nice thank-


A Recipe for Orange Sweet Potatoes

2 twelve ounce cans of frozen orange juice 1 forty ounce can of cut sweet potatoes in light syrup 1/4 cup dry sherry 2 cups walnuts (whole or broken into halves) Oven preheated to 350 degrees Open the sweet potato can and drain the liquid from the sweet potatoes. Put the potatoes in a glass baking dish (I used a dish that was 14 inches by 10 inches) in one even layer. Then pour over the potatoes the two cans of frozen orange juice. If the orange juice is still frozen, or semi-frozen, just let the orange juice melt over the sweet potatoes. Add 1/4 cup dry sherry and mix in the 2 cups of walnuts. Cover the dish with plastic wrap and let it marinate for at least an hour, longer if you want the walnuts to be softer. You can either stick it in the fridge, or just leave it out at room temperature. After marinating, take off the plastic wrap and cover the dish with aluminum foil. Bake in a pre-heated oven at 350 degrees for about 40 minutes. While baking, see if the liquid covering the sweet potatoes is bubbling. Then they are done. Watch out, the dish is very hot when it comes out of the oven. Serves 4-6 depending on how much they like sweet potatoes. I keep asking my mom for this recipe every Thanksgiving and Christmas the past few years, so I figure if I put it up here, I'll have it when I need it for Christmas dinner. I know if I don't have this dish at Thanksgiving, I won't feel like I had Thanksgiving at all.


In 1974 I was living in Denver, rooming with four other guys I worked with. I had just divorced my first wife, and the lifestyle now was to leave work and party as hard as we could every night. We all worked in a warehouse. We were crazy. When the bars closed down we’d invite the entire bar to our place. If a band we knew played a gig and closed it down, the band would bring the audience to our place. Sometimes we’d have 3 or 4 kegs in the kitchen. We took LSD, speedballs, peyote, mushrooms, cocaine, meth, pot, you name it, we did it. There’d be 40 or 50 people in the house – bikers mostly, and some people got so fucked up they couldn’t get off the floor. Strangers would jump through the open windows, smoke dope, cut lines and party with us and then suddenly be gone. It was bizarre.

One of our roommates, Eugene, was a New Yorker with that nasal accent. He grew up in Brooklyn and had a New York attitude. Eugene was constantly getting us into fights around Denver, we’d get drunk and he’d make fun of Rednecks. He’d make comments about plaid flannel, wearing bluejeans with the cuffs turned up, stuff like that. We explained many times to Eugene that Rednecks in Colorado were dangerous, this wasn’t New York, and if he kept insulting people, someday a Redneck would shoot him or rip his face off with a buck knife. But Eugene wouldn’t listen, he ignored our advice, he was a source of irritation. The only thing that made up for this was he was the best pool player we had ever met.

So Eugene, he’d been watching me and a few of my pals drink almost a keg of beer, and we still seemed to be making sense. “Shit! You guys are fucking amazing!” wined Eugene, “I never saw anyone drink so much fucking beer and not fall down. How the hell do you do that?” “’Gene -- you really wanna know?” I pulled out a handful of pills, about 15 tabs of Dexatrim from my pocket. In those days I walked around with a leather jacket that was stuffed with hundreds of phenylpropanolamine tablets. “Take all of these at once, and you’ll be able to drink all night and still make sense.” “Really?” “I swear to God.” He downed the pills all at once with a glass of beer.

We kept an eye on Eugene, watching him stand in the kitchen talking to two girls, the cigarette in his mouth vibrating faster and faster as he becomes more and more animated. For some reason, his head did not blow off at the time when we calculated it should have exploded. Hmmm. Disappointed, we focus our attentions elsewhere. A bit later I noticed that bikers were pissing in the yard, or out the windows. Someone was taking a long time in the bathroom. I knocked on the door, and though the light was on, nobody answered. I turned the doorknob, and the door swung open.

Eugene apparently had been stricken with a terrible need to use the bathroom. But when he ran in, got his pants down and sat, he immediately passed out and fell off the toilet onto his knees. And then still unconscious, he had continued to keel over, so his head was resting at the foot of the baseboard with his ass in the air. But the most amazing thing was the gigantic brown turd that was sticking out his ass. It was absolutely the biggest fucking turd I’d ever seen in my life. I think it was bigger than my arm.

We had a pet dog -- we called him Budweiser. He was a mutt that was notorious for eating shit whenever he could get at it. I put the dog in the bathroom with Eugene, still passed out cold with his ass in the air, and I roped the bathroom door shut. We listened to Eugene’s regaining of consciousness – it happened through waves of nausea and disorientation. “….what? Where am I? Gaaaaaaah! Oh. Oh God! There’s shit…No! W-What? What is it!?! Oh get away from me…get off -- get away you -- GET …OFF ME….FUCKING DOG!! HELP!!” Eugene tried to open the door to the bathroom to escape from the dog that was devouring his shit, but the rope stayed tight.

Eugene began to scream, and he had a burst of superhuman strength. The bathroom door exploded into two pieces, flying into the hallway. Out stumbled Eugene, his pants still around his ankles, covered in his own shit. He ran through the middle of the party, and out into the night. The dog was hot on his heels. After that Eugene laid low for a few months. We felt sorry for him, so we tried to not remind him about it very much.

Wednesday, November 23, 2016

he's on the hill

loves the snow

i see his silhouette
as he has a fine time

living in a rich
imaginary world

conquering a frozen peak
or making snow fort

when he sees my
shape in the window

he figures i'm
saying hello & waves

i wave back
when i'm really worried

might happen to him

as if life was a terrible
series of events

because it is not
i know this in my heart

snowy night is
a sparking wonder world

full of magic
that conquers all care

even from this
worrisome mind


Bass Lake
mind does not wander
scenery in a globe of snow

the consciousness free

we count flakes
until satisfied

this snow was always here
will be forever


Bass Lake

a dream of dreams do you have

a dream of dreams do you have
don't trade it in for anything less
or cheapen it with just or no

if it is a good one
you'll be sorely tested
then eventually changed

you'll become
both subject and object
you will be the dream aware

and as that dream realized
you'll be able to see the hope
of other dreamers

you'll realize they can see
who think they cannot see

you'll understand
those unknowing do know

then be like a light to them
even cry a tear or two
which be like

a stairway to heaven


Snowy Day


snow has no memory
it falls swiftly
and is

the night has no regrets

glittering snowflakes
from so high up
billow and fly

dance and then land

a warm room
a fire and a book
the radio murmuring

chapter ended

a beautiful night


Bass Lake