Tuesday, October 28, 2014

Stick Stuck

The walking stick, my brother
carved, fits my palm
and thumb.

The hole, in the sole
of my cowboy boot,
is the size of the silver dollar
I sent my grandson.

The bathroom door, after
three years of shaves and showers,
locked from the inside.

I have a prison date.
The gate is one thing,
the heart quiet,
quite another.

Monday, October 20, 2014

Hydro Low

Water and worry leak
to the lowest level,
a fool's pool
spiraling the spirit
to depths
beneath the necessary steps.

It takes hydro-logic
to lift water
higher than clouded despair.
To rise as steam,
we admit wet
as requisite.

Our Engineer's faith;
part bending knee,
part pouring cups
to the least of these,
cuts across current fashion,
chiding the waves to be still.

There is a Living Water
and there is a stagnant well.
One can't flow forward
by going back.
The well worn path is reasonable,
but making sense of resistance, is mist.

Monday, October 13, 2014


Dawn at the Klamath,
a twelve point elk struts among deer mossed stumps
as the Yurok's golden bear guards the new bridge,
already under repair.

After practicing my chaplain ID smile
in the rearview mirror,
I  receive the nod of the flagmen 
and renew my drive to prison.

In a few miles, the forest,
and the mountains too,
will give way to thousands
of cement blocks,
and light, not the yellow sun streaming through
redwoods and firs, will blink
florescent as the state budget allows.

Its the most natural thing in the world, poetically,
politically, to ignore caged humans in these parts
and laud wild animals,
but quit the ignition, and listen at the gate;
all creation groans
for the re-birth of our sons doing time.

Lend an ear to the wilderness crying
from a housing unit
never meant to be called home.