October 13, 2014 - Leave a Response

What is it like to be
a butterfly-to-be
struggling to break free
of the caterpillary
wrappings around me?

Sitting by a brook, 2.0

August 4, 2011 - Leave a Response

Water rushing ever down,

gurgling, hushing every sound,

flowing under and around

root, bank, boulder, and stone,

Soaking moss and swirling sand

sculpting now, an unseen hand,

this frozen quartz and feldspar Land

of stuckness I call home.

Trees fight up to fusion’s rays

breathing air-shroud, round them lays,

until their leaves, in darker days,

are drawn back to their ground.

Dust of stars the planets’ nest

rock-melt midst the void compressed

world, from dust to dust, coalesced

and spinning, ever round.

By this rushing brook alone

where atoms gathered, boiled and blown

cling now, stuck stuff, still as stone,

I breathe the flood of sound.


June 27, 2010 - One Response

Luke at Bondcliff

Like the ruin of some ancient fortress, Bondcliff rises from the heart of the Pemigewasset Wilderness in New Hampshire.

Luke at Bondcliff

The view from the top of the cliffs (4,265 ft.) is awesome:  360 degrees of wild mountains.   It was nine miles in to Bondcliff, about 2,500 vertical feet.  It was two more miles to Guyot campsite, over the 4,698 foot summit of Mt. Bond.

We were beat.

Day two, we scrapped our plans for Franconia Ridge and hiked fourteen miles out along Franconia Brook instead.  It was a nice time with my son.

“When you have worn out your shoes, the strength of the shoe leather has passed into the fiber of your body…he is the richest man who pays the largest debt to his shoemaker.”


(Thanks to Dave at Hike the Whites for the inspiration to hike to the cliffs.)

Last Stand

June 11, 2010 - Leave a Response

He stood his ground.  Listening to his own labored breathing against the background of the rushing wind above him.  His back was to the drying lake.  His lungs hurt.  His side hurt.  Wow… did it hurt.

He looked down at his bloody hand, then up again at the horde closing in silently around him.  He raised his lance.  It had enough charge left for one last pulse.

They stopped, hesitated before the final charge.

His fingers flexed on the handle.  He watched the sky above fading, it was already dark blue.  His breath was short now in the thinning air.  The sun was hot on his stinging, wet  face.  He tried to wipe the blood and sweat from his eyes with what was left of his left arm.

The sun was bright.  He though about his family, remembered his wife’s smile, the laughter of his kids, their eyes.  He thought of people, milling, socializing, loving each other, growing.  He thought of history.  He chuckled to himself.  He thought of the Romans in their silly helmets, and Hitler.  He thought of Great Britain, America, of empires, of politicians.  Then he thought of money, the farmer’s market, fresh tomatoes, working in the garden, flowers.  Then he thought of his daughter, clouds and the blue sky behind her, the blue sky that even now was blowing away.

So it all comes down to this, he thought.  He laughed inside.  Imagine being the last human being.  Hard to believe it.

He scanned the gray line of soldiers as they raised their weapons.

He held out his lance, roaring as he squeezed the trigger.

There was a bright flash of light and pain.

The burden-mask

June 11, 2010 - One Response

I extricate myself

from the burden-mask

I was always carving,

but never finishing, 

though always wearing,

the one that was always gnawing,

always heavy,

and it falls to the ground

with a thud.


April 13, 2010 - Leave a Response

Couldn’t sleep, but

Tossed and turned, and

Ground my teeth till midnight,

Then dreamt

Of a cool beach, and

Waves lapped the

Gritty sand.


March 13, 2010 - One Response

Each day, a new chapter.

One page can change everything.

A new scene opens,

and I decide

what turns

the plot

will take, because

I decide what I

will think.


January 27, 2010 - Leave a Response


from that

dark bow called

the past, I break through,

riding the cusp of time, as it cuts

into the nothingness that surrounds us,

my path formed and forming, by

chance, choice, and law, as I

fly, emerging from the

chrysalis of each

moment, for

the thrill

of my





Chindi Eimi A

January 19, 2010 - Leave a Response

of life.

full     and



world red the

of dervish

whirling replicatingly

self dust

the am

I dust

the raise I

rust with

red platelets

of millions

by        controlled


heat rarified


air of aware










January 14, 2010 - Leave a Response


is a dog who thrusts

his head into

the carcass,

and can’t swallow

fast enough, each gulp,

a crashing wave of blood, adrenaline,

and endorphins, drenching his

soul, and leaking,