Two poems from my newest unpublished book of poetry.
Bear Turds
Bear turds the size of truck tires
dropped as a passing gift
next to what I thought
was secure food storage. Continue reading
“Men and Feelings”
The following is a poem from my newest unpublished book of poetry.
Men and feelings
So, you want your man to feel?
You want him to express emotion.
You want all of him?
To experience his soft underbelly,
you must be prepared to witness
the other side of his emotion.
The way a man finds his softness
is by going through his rage.
If you never want to see his anger
then you will never see his emotion.
If you shut him down
the first sign of trouble
he will never feel safe enough
to express himself to you.
Dec-03
Have a look at my Facebook page for daily pictorials of the other project in my life.
Copyright: November 2011 All rights reserved.
“The Living Wound”
Tough guy poetry from my published book of poems.
THE LIVING WOUND
Whether through serrated remarks
or the back of his hand,
we all live with wounds from the father.
If we found ourselves controlled
or abandoned to live on our own,
his ghost sits with his sons and daughters.
Was it simply that we loved the same woman,
our mother, his wife and ever-fading lover,
tearing us apart when we became men?
Did he survive or devour his competition,
or was it we that turned away,
rejecting the old,
tamping and trampling him
in our haste to be the future?
It’s taken too many years,
but our father is forgiven
for reacting with such vengeance,
taking so personally
the inevitable strikes and blows of the son.
10-02
Have a look at my Facebook page for daily pictorials of the other project in my life.
Copyright: November 2011 All rights reserved.
San Gregorieo, CA 1967
In addition to my novel writing, over the years I have taken small side journeys and written true stories about my wild past. I’ll post these two or three page vignettes from time to time. Hope you enjoy.
SAN GREGORIEO, CA. 1967
The first motorcycle I owned at seventeen was a Triumph 650 twin. Before I graduated to Harleys, I spent a few years riding California back roads. Gas was cheap, the wind was wonderful and most of all, girls loved to be on the back. Was there a better reason to ride?
San Gregorieo is a three-mile stretch of beach about thirty miles south of San Francisco proper. Back then it was wild, open and one could do whatever they wanted without park rangers or paying ten dollars to park your car.
One balmy sunny day, six of us rode across the San Mateo Bridge, then a dinky one lane, and up into the coast range mountains through Hillsbourough and over the pass to Half Moon Bay and highway one, a familiar winding road with lots of banks and turns. With the vastness of the Pacific Ocean to the west, it was pure heaven for any motorcycle rider. Continue reading
Functionally Illiterate 1974
In addition to my novel writing, over the years I have taken small side journeys and written true stories about my wild past. I’ll post these one and two page vignettes from time to time. Hope you enjoy.
Functionally Illiterate 1974
I’m sixty-three now, but at age twenty-two, after ten years of public school and uncounted hours of private tutoring, I was so deeply affected by Dyslexia that I could not read more than one sentence at a time and understand what I was reading. I had never read a book.
Oh, I could struggle through a short newspaper article, but only if the words were simple. Anything more complicated and I was lost.