A purpose is our prison
Ticks lay in wait, questing, Patient Buddhas all. Begging bowls amongst the deer herd.
Continue reading →Category: Poetry
Of A Vague Utility
A walk in the woods. The hermit thrush and Gray granite rhyme, just as Somehow the aspens on a light breeze Trickle through the talus. Communal. Communing. Of a vague utility, And yet so completely necessary.
Continue reading →A Return To Climbing
Just over a year ago I hung up the bike and slipped my climbing shoes back on.
Continue reading →A Go At Redacted Poetry
From page 163 of “Here’s England” by Ruth McKenney and Richard Bransten Soaring pillars, vaulted roofs, Columns rise unbroken. The great pointed walls of stone, This massive stone; Flight of steep, leads upward. You–subdued, dim, half conscious, Clumsy, solid, naive. The massive walls. You feel awkward, Scared, excited, daring, On the threshold of a dream. […]
Continue reading →Down in the Owens River Gorge
A Mayfly’s Chance At Sunrise Cool breeze, swifts Rule the skies. Clear sun and Rainbows rise. Mayflies roll their dice and Hatch amongst the riffled runs. Tall walls Exaggerate The Owens’ Modest gait. Imply a force more powerful Than vision can relate. Tall gorge walls echo and amplify this little creek. If you close your […]
Continue reading →Form Follows Function
Blind now to form, This ode for function’s sake. When eyes cease to function, What form does beauty take?
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