Poetry collection

Here you can find some of my current poetry collection or check out my undefinedfeed


Wander and Roam
In all the world my world is right here,
the hope of creation, this wilderness sphere.
Three days’ need tucked up in our pack,
enough room in my heart for takin’ memories back.
My tribe before me on the trail laid down,
and all my cares left behind in town.
Wind whispers carry the birds’ sweet song.
I am content for I know I belong.
The light is pure when you’re up this high,
and who can measure that curtain of sky?
When night falls soft and the stars proclaim,
from heaven’s high throne each one has a name.
Three days’ footsteps on mountain peaks,
 down into basins, and kneel by a creek.
We climb to the top where we are called,
caught up in His goodness, we are enthralled.
Creation sings praises and so must I.
We soak up the glory and our spirits fly.
Our task is simply to wander and roam,
then out of the wilderness, bring glory home.

Treasures of the Wall
Vagabond and wanderlust
Charcoal sketched and framed
Thread through the lives of each of us
With treasures of the same
Down under dreams to Tetons high
The ‘Great Land’ of the north
Siam’s orange sun lit up
Kindred hearts went forth
Ladder rungs and mountain snows
Carved out Ketchum home
Labored long for dreams to fill
In vintage spines to roam
Wee tokens, wooden box
Carved and turned again
Sheepskin slippers, mittens warm
A nod to what had been
All is nought save this one hope
Two legacies aflame
Adventure born, creator storm
And water color name.
Big Leaps of Faith
Take big steps,
big leaps of faith
In this rat of a thing
we call a race
Nothin’s too hard,
nothin’s too small
Step off the curb
so you can fall.
If the first foot down
doesn’t knock you out
Keep pressing on
through every doubt.
Check your speed,
set a pace`
Take big steps,
big leaps of faith.
Nineteen in New York
The leaves are changing in your park
As they are in mine
Two thousand miles away you are
From our aspen and our pine
To know you are three days away
And even two worlds apart
Does not dismay or overwhelm
Our connectedness in heart
You take the train to go downtown
Then walk back up on Fifth
I’m coasting south on 75
Wondering who you’re with
I’ll lay my head down tonight
And breathe a prayer for you.
A mother’s love wrapped up tight,
If you only knew.

Misty Morn
Misty morn I followed you,
Tears the same caressed my face
Angst awash within my heart
All I sought was peace and grace.
Still you led up steps of stone
Whispered come, above the fray
Here you are...the path is straight
Come and kneel and find your way.
Season lost in Time
They’ll be no music in the mountains
Wafting over the rivers rush
No echo up through the canyon
To Baldy’s sunset blush
No dancing in tangled blankets
Cheering gliders in the sky
No harmony among the stars
For a rocky mountain high
Just a soulful sadness pining
For a season lost in time
And a melody of the summer
That could have been yours and mine.
Dancing Aspen
Have you seen the quaking aspen
Dancing leaves upon the breeze?
A joyful whisper in the mountains
Swaying, waving happy trees.
Though the grey of clouds do grumble
And the sky spits raindrop tears,
Still they quiver and they shimmer
Forest murmur builds to cheers.
Feelin' like a Roadtrip
I’m feeling like a road trip
I’ve got lots of stories to tell
Out in the middle of nowhere
You hear my thoughts so well.
Miles that fall behind the wheel
You there in captivation
Makes me smile to know I’ve won
For now over PGA station
So I’ll ramble ‘til whenever
Yackin’ dreams and talkin’ spin
And it’s cozy in the cab
When you look at me and grin.
Just Oregon
Foggy mist upon your face
Ethereal this time, this place
Grey blue skies and agate sand
Barefoot walks go hand in hand
Pacific rain gives forest sheen
Purple sea star, shells to glean
Sunset lifting spirits high
Kites aloft with windy sky
Seals barking ‘midst the rocks
Campfire glow and moonlight talks
Dolphins flirting off the shore
Myrtle wood, antiques galore
Skimmer board and sketch book too
Sandy castles with a view.
Lost River Bluebirds
Sits a cabin at the feet of the Lost River Range.
A haven for the weary, and for those who need a change.
 An old wooden outhouse decorates the yard.
A broken down pickup truck acts as sentry guard.
 It was in this rusted relic once painted bright bold blue
Where two mountain bluebirds snagged a room with a view.
 I suspect that it was somewhere under the beat-up hood,
For I watched them enter through the grill, and then I understood.
 A truck’s engine housing a proper dwelling didn’t make,
For momma and daddy bluebird and the family they’d create.
 So late that winter I installed a strong boxed house for the pair,
And nailed it on the outhouse wall to entice them to settle there.
 Spring slipped in, I held my breath, one morning I looked out.
There they were at the crafted box to set up house, no doubt.
 And as I walked beside the fence that ran along the lane.
The bluebirds spun and swooped and called out each other’s name.
 Bluuuuubird!  Bluuuuubird! They dipped and swirled along,
Preparing their boxed nest and singing the season’s song.
 Then one day a tragedy! The birdhouse was on the ground.
Fallen off the outhouse wall and tumbled upside down.
There in destruction lay the perfectly shaped nest.
Four cracked little eggs of the five they’d been blessed.
I was sick with despair; had my hand played a part
In the awful twist of fate?  These birds had won my heart!
I’d failed them with intruding, now tried to set things right.
Was there hope they would return to the destructed nesting site?
I hung the box back on the wall, and secured it with a screw.
To my delight, here came the pair, the birds in brilliant blue!
A-flitter and a-flutter, they came to check it out.
In and out the entrance, making sure that it was stout.
I observed their goings on, and compared it to my life.
They stayed the course and persevered, even through the strife.
They’d returned to carry on, undaunted, started over.
Held together in His hand, what a comfort to discover.       
Sunday Morning Race
Sunday morning hustle on
Back and forth before the dawn
Here the mirror, to the closet
Down the coffee, a deposit
Dad’s got pancakes at the table
Pass the syrup if you’re able.
Don’t have time to sit and ponder
Out the window over yonder
Morning sky has turned to pink
But you missed it, saw you blink
Back and forth down the hall
Please don’t brothers, start a brawl
In the corner over there
Dad sits down in his chair
Pulls the bow against the string
Begins to make that fiddle sing
Amazing Grace breaks up the din
Mirrored faces start to grin
Hustle bustle simmers down
And all we’re left with is the sound
Of sweet and pure and time so rare
The Sunday race is now a prayer.
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