Caution: Here Be Stories

This morning I had breakfast at the local diner, on the highway. It’s been ages since I've eaten there. Six years at least, I reckon. As I imagine is the case with any town or city, there are layers of residents here. From the get-go, it’s been farmers and ranchers, with miners thrown in, later on. Most recently, it’s become something of an artists’ hub; and even more recently, a rafting, skiing, biking mecca.

My first job here was at one of the chain burger places on the highway (within spittin’ distance of where I ate this morning). It was a solid introduction to old-timer/native residents of town. Those who had lived here longer than I’d been alive, and who typically did the hard physical labor I hoped, and still hope I never have to do. They’d seen quite a bit, the booms and busts, and were therefore not easily swayed by any shifty and surely temporary winds of change.

But after three years of working there, I got a job at the local coffee shop (since gone under, regrettably), which hosted a totally different clientele: the bronze and toned jocks/jockettes, trustifarians, and those coming here until moving on to the next OUTSIDE-accoladed hipster locale on their bucket list. From there, until currently, I’ve worked in the hospital kitchen, where I don’t see patients/clientele, but the staff does tend moreso toward the coffee house crowd of my previous job.

This morning, at the diner, I saw more than several folks whom I’d served back during my BurgerLand days. Along with the seeing of them came some of their stories: the rancher who is on constant lookout for 1946 pennies, since that’s the year he was born; the other rancher who was eating with his wife—his brother is married to her sister; the long-ago-retired attorney, who was later joined by his second wife (who also left ten minutes before he did)—he’d send monthly checks to his first wife, writing “Maintenance” on the Memo line, and she’d cross it out, writing, “Alimony” before depositing them. (These years, decades, farther along, that trophy wife isn’t looking much the trophy. Also, more than just eating on opposite sides of their booth’s table, they also sat at opposite ends.)

I put down the book-to-be-reviewed I was reading for the local monthly ‘zine, and began taking notes of my remembrances. “There be characters and stories, here,” I told myself.

Love in Leadville

Lookit you there, Honeylamb

Your cap and gown and polished Ropers

You’d thought this day would never come

And now it’s fixin’ to be behind you

Don’t need to tell you the big old world’s

Sittin’ right outside our city limits

‘Cause you’ve been itchin’ to bust beyond ‘em

Since about the time you arrived within ‘em

But before you stretch those wings of yours

And fly away into those other calling skies

There’s something I need to tell you

For when life clips those wings of yours

Love in Leadville’s

Gonna be there littl’ darlin’

Love in Leadville’s

Gonna git ya through

You’ve got a big ol’ open heart

And though he’d never fess up to it

That’s the heart you got from you old man

But as the saying goes, The bigger they are…

The world is looking for hearts like yours

Looking perhaps for something that they’ve lost

Or maybe instead something that they can’t have

Either way, know I’ll be holding your heart in mine

But don’t go thinking your heart will be all alone

Even though honest hearts can be hard to find

They’re out there for sure, perhaps looking for you

Rest assured it’s not always a heartless world

Love in Leadville’s

Gonna be there littl’ darlin’

Love in Leadville’s

Gonna git ya through

By now you know family reaches farther than blood

And that it sometimes brings in together

What on the surface seems the strangest of placements

For love and family have reasons of their own

So it’s not just your Pa and me, your little sisters

Who’ll be missing you, thinking of your, and praying

It’ll be this whole entire town doing all that and more

This whole entire town will be aching while you’re gone

But there still remains that big old world outside

All those scads of folks who you’ve never met

Who don’t yet realize it’s you they’ve been waiting for

So many wonders await you, so many families too

Love in Leadville’s

Gonna be there littl’ darlin’

Love in Leadville’s

Gonna git ya through

Is It The Same Love?

Does telling your beloved

Ain’t no mountain high enough

Mean the same in LA

As is does in Telluride?

After all, in Telluride

You’re over halfway there

So maybe it stands less than

Half as high, this love of yours.

Maybe love in Leadville should be

Held even more in suspicion

Since at best and by definition

It’s but one-third Mountain-high.

For us in our Cloud Cities

We don’t have as far to go

In order to prove the extent

Of the tiptop of our love.

Besides, there’s probably still

A chairlift in operation

Carrying us there

And no Santa Anas to deal with.

Yet lookit all the smack

We disparagingly throw down upon

Los Angeles and Hollywood

About how their loves are fickle and faint.

Down there in the Land of Make Believe

Their loves are truer, fought harder for

There at the very base of their mountains

And also an Atlantic yet to swim.

Normal Miraculousness

Normal Miraculousness

it’s just too surreal
to really be real
this haunting waning moon
on this vernal morning

my feet firmly flat
on the solid ground
i’m looking at it
shaking my unbelieving head

sometimes it seems it’s
not a real-live place
this where i live
its views too photoshopped

but then this is
how the wondrous goes
how the miraculous presents
its normal everyday self

Daily Poems 03 - 08 April 2013

08 April 2013
Seasonal Travels

cloud curtains veil
the mountain ranges before
the coming misty rain

sunflowers tracking
el sol's arcing passage
across cornflower sky

congregating
river ice stretching bank-to-bank
mallard ducks surf hole

snow angel silhouettes
between footprint squeaks
brilliant white hush

07 April 2013
Waiting

We are waiting for a rain
maybe some decent snow—
any kind of moisture here below
that’ll soothe the ongoing strain
of this arid valley’s parching pain.
Our dreams filled with overflow
yield the same thin river we know
and longing hopes still wailed in vain.

We are yearning for wetness
to return into the daily living
we tend to overcomplicate.
A something to cleanse away the mess
and to rehydrate with flush forgiving
our crumbling hearts about to desiccate.

06 April 2013
Fenced In

If he’d not already spun over in his grave, Pa
would have cast his blame-filled eyes at our
ineptitude and our ill attempt.
Framing fence fractured. Headstone fallen.
Piss, pies, and hoof prints mucking
the columbines we’d planted o’er him
because they were his, “tranquility blooming.”

Emptied Jim Beams strewn about not erasing
the knowing we’d never meet Pa’s expectations—
our best forever short, intentions never enough.
Though three years passed away this day,
we still put off the necessary, the dutiful,
lest we confront still once more again,
our old man’s glare.

05 April 2013
With the Flow

As the water launches o'er its cliff,
May I fall into the Muses' trance.
No hemming nor hawing,
No looking before the leap.
No questioning my safe arrival
to ground-level below.

04 April 2013
Name Calling

Assessing the properness
of the gifts I've been graced,
Against the sturdiness
of my sense of unworth.
You called me, Poet
leaving no room to wiggle,
And, O sweet Almighty
the crashings of my heart.

Seemed as though my home
was being poured a new foundation,
And with newer bricks and mortar
its bearing walls more strongly shored.
Called me, Poet
as though plain and utter fact,
And, oh such exquisite mendings
these frayings of my heart.

03 April 2013

tenderfoot mountain
dusted by off-and-onspringtime slushy snowfall 

Daily Poems: 09 - 12 April 2013

12 April 2013
We Need to Talk Haiku

shouldn’t be so hard
this daily living together
loving together

and yet all it seems
is hard rather than easy
rather than simple

we’re stuck in our ruts
sticking to the wrong routes
the wrong destinations

let’s come together
as in our beginning when
love was all we grew

when nothing at all
not even our very selves
could come between us

aren’t really so hard
these walls not protecting us
say, let’s tear ‘em down

11 April 2013
A Good Day to Fly

I think today is the day I will disappear
I’ll simply remove my existence
And vanish myself from view

I’ve carried for far too long the burden
Of being always there for those who
Are always choosing not to see

Of laying open my heart to others
And loving in-vein while watching
Ignoring love passing me by

So today I will simply slip away
Going darkly into the light
More fully unto emptiness

Like a coital moan sighed in the night
Like dreams in the broad daylight
Dissipatingly drifting away

This whispered sayonara’d goodbye

10 April 2013

Calling In To Work (Again)

I know it seems to you
I'm always making excuses
Forever calling in
And right when I'm supposed
To already be at my desk
But this time it's for real
(Not saying any of the others were false)
And further it's a verifiable
Act of God
And seeing as how my work
Is itself a Vocation
Hence a Calling by God
I'm calling in to say,
This day, God's calling off
My Calling.

09 April 2013
One morning a man named Ed
Awoke a-sucked in his bed
He said to himself, It's true
There is so much to do
Yet under the covers went deeper instead.

Daily Poems 13 - 16 April 2013

16 April 2013
Assailed

Sometimes the days
come all at once
and all on the same day.

Troubles assail
tsunami after tsunami
only you in fathomless ocean.

Yet sometimes the days
bring inundations of
joy, graces, blessings, and love.

Still the same
tsunami after tsunami
but such different fathomlessness.

15 April 2013
tradewinds

the wind is blowing
upvalley, so the seasons
are changing

why do the seasons
ever leave this place it’s
so beautiful

but ‘twould get old
same thing month by month
years unending

no break from either
heat nor cold, no wearing any
other clothes

and no chance for
your uplifted face receiving both
mist, snowflakes

and which for forever
would we choose, aspen gold
newborne green

the morning wind’s blowing
upvalley, bringing us something
new again

14 April 2013
Because The Night

This night calls for Springsteen

Not Darkness on the Edge of
Atlantic City Born to Run
Nevada Johnny 99 Backstreets
Brilliant Disguise Hungry Heart
Springsteen

But the post-Patti Scialfa
Living Proof Red Headed Woman
If I Should I Fall Behind
My Beautiful Reward Better Days
Bruce

Let’s never mind any reason to believe
And so what if it’s one step up
And two steps back because you and me
We know what love can do
When it’s tougher than the rest

This night, this tonight
It’s callin’ for Springsteen
Come next me without your fears
And you can hear it
Bruuuuuce! Bruuuuuuce! Bruuuuuuuce!

13 April 2013
Heart(less)

I reach out with my heart
in order to hold yours
extend it toward you, yours—
look, we’re hanging here.

Don’t go leaving me heartless
half-empty, not half-full
fully isolated and abandoned
a heart less, a missing beat.

Goodbye to Winter

I’m not ready yet to say goodbye to winter
These recent spring days have been too warm
Haven’t allowed my body to drift deep enough
Into restorative, rest-filled sleep.

I’m not ready yet to say goodbye to winter
My thermostat is still set for subfreezing
Missing temperatures falling below zero
Mornings calm and still and new-white.

I’m not ready yet to say goodbye to winter
For there hasn’t been a slow trickling away
An easing into the season-soon-to-come
Rather, the door has been slammed.

I’m not ready yet to say goodbye to winter
For I waited for too many tomorrows
To make my snow-angels and the igloos
And simply relish it while it was here.

Daily Poems: 17- 20 April 2013

20 Apr 13

come spring, soon

this winter of your
disconnect has 
persisted far too long
the soil under your feet
is ready enough

so may my wishes
and my blessings
like river vapor rising
upward and higher
waft their way to thee

until the rains of spring
sprout seeds of hope
you'd forgotten you'd planted
bearing finally the succulent
fruits of your labors

19 Apr 2013
in the beginning were the words

i only exist because of
the words i leave behind
on the pages
the computer screen
brick walls
bathroom walls

it’s not a reciprocal
existence between us
words came first
and i from them
they were here before
and shall long remain after

hanging about me
they’re in the ether
i am but only
messenger and
relayer and
revealer

as long as they
remain visual
readable
i still am
but as they fade
so likewise will i

18 Apr 2013
a-parting

remember
that week it snowed unendingly
when you thought you would
never be warm ever—
yet the clouds parted

remember
the juneday it rained so profusely
and thoroughly we waited for
frogs to begin falling—
but the clouds parted

remember
too, your long dark night
pitched deeper than night
no wholly moon to guide—
then the clouds parted

and now
it’s yet another goodbye
still one more time again
the world claustrophobic—
until the clouds’ parting

17 Apr 2013

this van is bound for glory

don't need no dead-ass dinosaurs
don't need no discarded fryer oil
don't even need no extension cord
this here van runs on flower power

don't need no pistons jumpin'
don't need no diesel slurrin'
don't even need no wankel "mmmm"in'
for on this here van love is the engine

don't need no highway mappage
don't even need downloaded directions
'cause this here van is bound for glory
and there ain't but the One Road there

Stationary Identification

Today I will
Simply sit still
While taking in
The awe-full wonderment
Of it all.

Daily Poems: 20 - 23 April 2013

23 April 2013
Git ‘Er Done

Don’t want to come to
The pages today
Need some time off
Need to refuel
Need to recharge the batteries

But skipping work ain’t an option
No matter your excuse, your mood
Y’gotta punch in
Y’gotta put in the hours
Y’gotta be present to win

So what if you’re behind on sleep
If the player’s cued to Friday Night Lights
The call is the purpose to your life
The call has to be answered
The call can’t be sent to voicemail

Put your tokus in the chair
Pen the words as they come
This day is the day to continue on
This day requires persistence because it’s hard
This day—do you stay or do you go

22 April 2013
Lookit You

Shakily, uncertainly, virgin brow
scrunched on the inside I stand
before me the open expanse of
living room, Mommy ahead
initial step, my legs buckle
up again, down again
once more, once more too
frustrated tears flooding my face
as in her arms I rise,
Lookit you—walking already!

Less than half a week until
second grade begins and only
last week with my water wings
finally off have I been allowed
outside the kiddies’ wading pool
water to my chest I surge forward
Becky Hatcher just past my fingertips
kicking an thrashing I inch closer
but she persists in her backing away
when I go down for the last time
coughing and everything spent
she takes me up, letting me hang
on the concrete lip, catching my breath
Lookit you—from three feet to five;
you’re almost over my head!

Back from spring break, there she is again
Cheryl Lynnette Howard
walking to class with our star quarterback
still she gives me her smile her wink
the wave of her week-in-Aruba hand
in the dinner serving line, with her
hair cascading down, wearing her
sleeveless white dress it makes me
fumble my courage, still when she stops
in front of me, after the passing the dish
of cottage cheese, I also give her
the brown envelope which covers her tray
inside, my pencil portrait of her and
a letter asking her to a movie
it’s the letter she and quarterback see first
he laughs glances at me and laughs moreso
next morning we pass again, this time
she comes to me, lifting my chin with her hand
Lookit you—a freshman and a townie
yet all but taking my heart!

The results come back, Katie is fertile whereas
I’m as sterile as the lab that tested us
early on she made it clear she wanted a boy
to spoil rotten and a daughter for me to guard
she had the names, Aaron Donovan and Bethany Michelle
but now all she’ll be able to have, because of me
is just the names and the empty ache
so I help her fill the adoption papers out
in time, in time piled upon time, a child arrives
her first night, nothing Katie tries settles
little Heather Rue down, ceases her crying
until I take her in my own arms, where
she coughs then coos
Lookit you—such a daughter’s daddy!

Lookit you—are you seeing?

21 April 2013
Trading Up

For years, for forever it seems
I’ve sat in the cheap seats
Watching you from afar
Believing that distance separated us.

I collected your collections
Rejoiced when seeing new works
In The New Yorker, O, Crazy Horse
Yearning someday, please, to be there too.

Years worked their sorcery and magick
I too became both bound and monthly’d
Yet I continued with my persistence
Of keeping you at the very same distance.

I stood you upon a pedestal high above me
The gold lettering on the enplaqued terrazzo
Listing the awards and the citations which
More than the velvet ropes separated us.

Now this morning, face-to-face, hug-in-hug
I’m seeing no pedestal, flat-footed you stand
And jiminy you’re even a bit shorter than me
From my false idol’s shell is emerging my friend.

20 April 2013
That's Amore

"when the moon hits your eye
like a big piece of pie,
that's amore!"

sometimes i misheard
what i heard, but then
a pizza and a pie are not
anywhere near
the same thing

and weren't all three of
those stooges hitting
each other with pies
and right in the eyes?
those wiseguys!

but now i'm older
sometimes wiser
been around a few blocks
so i know what it's like
being moonstruck, moon-eyed

i've howled at the moon
prayed to the moon
danced under the moon
namaste'd the moon
waxed and waned alongside it

and when you're green
your attempts at love
can indeed be cheesy
or come back atcha
like a pie in the face

but whether thin and crispy
or thick and chewy
one hopes to never grow
too crusty for love
no matter how you slice it.

Spring Preparations

It’s been spring for a month

Yet it’s today I finally pull the

Dry stems from the otherwise

Empty pots, turn the soil, and

Order more seeds.

I’ve been watering the soil

Adding coffee grounds and

Compost to prepare it for the

Plantings of newly-bought

Sunnies both annual and

Perennial to grace my balcony.

This morning in three of the pots

I planted the remnants of seeds

Left from a previous order and

Cullings from the autumns before

Hoping they’ll sprout and flower.

Also this morning I came to the desk

With an seed that’s years old and

I hope, still alive, waiting to be planted

Into watered, composted, and turned soil

I’ve been preparing for many such springs.

And Now for Something a Little Different

This is will be a bit of a divergence from my usual postings to this blogsite, but in honor of National Poetry Month, and also to give a fellow poet who isn't on Facebook a chance to see what I've been doing, I'll be posting here (at least) some of the poems I've been daily posting on a FB group.

Who knows? Maybe this'll turn into something akin to what Rachel Kellum, Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, are currently doing.

Farther? Along

I've been lately thinking/about my life time/all the things I've done/and how it's been....

-John Denver, "Poems, Prayers and Promises"

Standing/On the rim/of the world/Holding back/Lest I fall in./Seems like/I've been here/A hundred years/Telling myself/Tomorrow I'll begin.

-James Kavanaugh, "Standing"

I'm a contemplative critter anyway; so with it being a new year, I'm pondering who I am and where I come from; where I see myself going, and whether it's where I'm supposed to be heading. Specifically, I'm thinking about my writing. Eleven years ago and change, I stood atop Tenderfoot Mountain, looking out over the town, and I vowed that should the Powers That Be allow me to move here, I'd more fully commit myself to my writing. After nearly a decade of living here, how much farther along am I?

This past year, I submitted thirteen times—a baker's dozen, read sixty-three short stories, four novels, and three non-fiction titles. I haven't bothered to do the arithmetic, but I'm confident I spent less than a hundred hours writing last year.

Yet there's a part of the story that these numbers can never tell. The latest issue of Colorado Central Magazine arrived in mailboxes, four days ago. I've already received two compliments on my essay there. Last February, I was invited to join other local writers and poets in helping the local independent bookstore celebrate their move across the street to larger, snazzier digs. I've even had writers ask me to do reviews of their forthcoming books. So, never mind what the numbers and my self-deprecation say, folks who know about such things regard me as a talented, seek-outable writer.

In her recent blogpost, Sam Heggan comes clean about still not knowing what she wants to be when she grows up. This is what I'm talking about when I talk about "where I'm supposed to be heading." I've touched on at least a couple aspects of this in previous blogposts. To be engaged in the Big Conversation and to be taken seriously as a writer (especially by myself). Another desire is to be an asset to the writing community, as a source of inspiration and assistance. In a video for Talking Gourds, Rachel Kellum, tells how she's been taken in by poets such as Art Goodtimes and Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer. Likewise, another video has Rosemerry introducing David Mason, saying what a wellspring of wisdom he'd been for her, and in his introduction, Mason thanks Rosemerry for her assistance.

It's striking me, now, how I've been talking about the results of writing, rather than the act itself. Perhaps something to think, er..., to write about.