Rolling hills of solid granite
Stretch before me.

Pieces of polish left from the glacial past
Glow in the afternoon sun.

I walk these ancient pavements of stone
Photographing their beauty and
Reviling in the radiance of their spirit.

A small man, in a large landscape,
Held tightly in the arms of his mountain home.

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Looking at this picture got me to thinking about Dad and fishing and all of the wonderful times we had while fishing. In my mind I saw Dad there at the lake and the river. I could see the look on his face and hear his voice as it rang out across the water. These four little ‘Ol Fisherman poems are the result of those thoughts.

The ‘Ol Fisherman stands
Scanning the water before him
Searching with wise eyes
For that elusive trout

Wise in the ways of the trout
The ‘Ol Fishman drifts his fly
In front of it’s snout

The river meanders
A fish jumps
The ‘Ol Fisherman stands
Patiently waiting

With a smile on his face that’s wider than mine
The ‘Ol Fisherman stands at my side
Netting my catch

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Tiny golden lights
Flash in the summertime night
Fireflies all around

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White sails gliding across emerald water
Peaceful reminders of all that’s good

————————————

Sun sets pretty in the west
Clouds in east prettier still
In between I silently sit in awe

————————————

3 am lightning flash thunder crash
Awakened from a deep sleep
Soothing rain brings dreams again
Then FLASH CRASH
No sleep tonight it seems

————————————

Surrounded by memories of the past
I stride forward into the future
While tiptoeing through the present

————————————

Evening light shining
Cardinal singing in his tree
I relax within

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Fiery clouds ignited by the days last light
Oh how I wish I could wrap in their warmth tonight

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Swirling melodies
Of vibrant sound
Swimming around my head
Ah the Grateful Dead

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Laying within the embrace of the oak tree’s shade
A blissful retreat from the summer sun’s heat

Glancing skyward
Where cloud mountains grow,
Dark specks appear on the white.
Bodiless shadows,
Black as space,
Circle high in the sky above.
Hundreds circling,
Giving shape to the
invisible thermal
On which they ride,
Circling higher, higher
And higher still,
Until finally they break.
Like children released from school,
They scatter about.
Chasing, spinning, diving,
Rolling and playing
In all directions away they fly.
Leaving the clouds to grow,
And me
To ponder.
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I don’t normally comment on my poems, but I want to tell you a little bit about this one. The scene that inspired this poem is one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen. It happened in the Owens Valley near the Tungsten Hills. There were hundreds of ravens circling on a heat thermal that was rising up from the valley. You could clearly see the thermal and the rotation of it because of all the birds. I’ve seen flocks of ravens do this before, but never in these numbers. The birds kept riding the thermal higher and higher until you could barely see the highest ones.

Then all at once, they broke from the thermal and flew away in all directions.  As they were flying away the ravens began playing. They were chasing each other, diving, doing flips and spinning, it was like school had been let out and summer vacation had started. Within 10 minutes of the birds breaking from the thermal, there wasn’t a raven to be seen anywhere. They were all gone.

The raven tends to get a bad rap from people. If you study them though, you find that they are a very interesting and unique bird. This isn’t the only time that I’ve been fascinated by their behavior.  There have been many times that I’ve been left pondering ravens.

Hiking up a steep
mountain pass trail,

11,000 High Sierra feet.

Breathing hard, and yet
hardly breathing.

Thin air up here.

Sweat pouring down face
drips into eyes.

Burns real good.

Never ending switchbacks
climb forever.

Forever to heaven?

Squished a skeeder feeding
on my arm.

Showed him who’s boss!

Buzz-fly keeps buzzing
around my head.

Swing and a miss (strike two).

Tried cursing, but trail
just got steeper.

Pissed it off I guess.

Heart’s pumping hard,
calf’s burning good.

Mind……. bye, bye.

Trail’s less steep now,
flattening out.

The end is near.

Soul spirit soaring
I reach the top.

Kick back, enjoy the view.

Eat a little water,
drink a little salami.

Taste better up here.

Lay down, close eyes,
Relax on nice, soft granite.

Welcome to heaven.

(This isn’t the way this poem should look. But I couldn’t get it to format right.)

“Autumn Dreams”

I walk amongst
The heart of the aspens
Bathing in the golden memories
Of their autumn dreams.

Dreams that drift
Along the edge of awareness,
Awakening the nightfall
That heralds the beginning
Of their deep winter sleep.

“The Call of the Rain”

The damp fingertips of raindrops
Tap lightly on my window
Asking if I would like to play.

Tempting me with fresh
Spashing puddles and
Squishy mud, they call
To my unconscious,

“Come out,

Join our soggy party.
Let the tears of God
Quench the civilized thirst
Of your soul and
Send your spirit soaring
Above our clouds.

Come,
Dance to our fluid rhythm
And flood your heart
With our songs of freedom.

Come,

my friend,

Come.”

I’ve lived a thousand lives
I’ve cried a thousand tears
I’ve walked a thousand miles
Searching the source of my fears

I’ve climbed the highest mountains
I’ve crossed the deepest streams
I’ve sailed the largest oceans
In reality and in dreams

I’ve smelled a million flowers
I’ve felt a million rains
I’ve seen a million sunsets
They all brought joy and pain

I’ve lived my life with some
I’ve lived my life alone
I’ve lived my life in silence
Longing for the comfort of home

But now I’m here with you
And now you’re here with me
Now our lives are becoming one
And in the future I see

We’ll live a thousand lives
We’ll dream the deepest dreams
We’ll sing a million love songs
And in our hearts believe

Clouds hover above
A glowing pavement
Of glacier scared granite
Where life, refusing to
Grow tall and flourish,
Creeps low across the ground
Hiding in sheltered
Cracks and crevices,
Wisely shying away from
The saw-toothed spires that
Rear their battered summits
Aloft in defiance to
The gravity that sculpts
Their beauty.

This is the alpine.
A world of rock and ice.
Desolate, yet alluring.
Where nature’s magic
Runs pure and clean
Through our souls,
Lightening our hearts, bodies, and mind,
Filling our spirit
With longings for heaven.
This is the alpine.
This is home.