Here are samples of my poems, written on beautiful mornings of one kind or another.
sometimes breathing is all that can save you the time rushes faster and faster everything that could have been, escapes you can only live by breathing each breath at a time some with words, some without some strong, some weak some fearful, some proud some laughing, some sad and every new breath is your gift
Ever Young 071113
Oh yes, I admire a good weathering job maybe the years of worship at model railroads have taught me or the listening to music from ancient times and imagining the squalor and the desperation just to find the candles to light the room instead of sitting in the dark dirt while it rained but still a big old weathered railroad car lets you know it's been there for a while and been around pulled and shoved and humped and always rained on except for the glory of long tunnels where it is always dry at least but still so dark and fast and dirty you don't emerge clean from a tunnel but in the morning after a shower why then you really are a new shiny freight car that was just painted and you gingerly step into the world a child on the ballet stage and today pedaling in the clean air after the rains/wind everything looked so clean and crisp even the shiny rails in the railroad yard and then the sun was so bright I couldn't even see the heavy weathering on the old grain elevator monster but there in the slippery water rose a huge old battered ship empty ready for grain with sky high sides of corrosion and splotched paint higher than a forest and longer than the whole pier even sticking out on both ends yes I admire a good weathering job but this was more than admire this was true grit and you could just see the years of windwaves salt guano heat cold blistering sun stars yet still she sailed and wanted grain more than anything and was so ready so early on such a beautiful morning and her name in huge bright letters across the bow and stern: "Ever Young".
The Children 110607
Children were hanging bloodied off of cement walls and roofs sometimes falling to the ground below sometimes cleverly crawling into an open window and falling inside, breaking bones either way. The light breeze heavy with smoke heat everywhere didn't keep them from coming in from the mountains, fields and boats. You can't imagine the hunger. Not a rat or dog left alive for miles. Or weed or tree. They chewed on old studies and dirt between the cracks and threw CD's for play or for defense. But the smell undermined everything. The King was gone.