The Horseman


Stocky and solidly built
The wide brimmed hat shading
His weathered face from the mid-day sun

A man of 86
Not one to mince words
Requesting one last ride before he kicks off

“I was practically born on one of these”
A longing in his eyes
He recounts distant memories
A log cabin in the Western Nevada mountains
An uncle raising horses

In the saddle now,
He guides the horse around the corral
A mischievous grin spreading across his face



Pour your emotion onto the floor.

When you no longer look with forlorn eyes

you will see hope.

Morning on Cobscook Bay

Chronicles of a Wandering Marshmellow, Poetry

Low tide renders towering conifers and the rocky shoreline

as an oil painting on the still water

Crabs scuttle over rust colored seaweed

that pops in the morning sun

Waning Moon


Inspired by On Balmy Terrain

Sloshing through snow
dreaming of a nomadic way of life
following maps that pointed the way west
via the overland route

But my judgment became clouded by grief
and the smell of red roses
so I gave up fresh water swimming for palm thatched roofs
Soon I found myself alone in the middle of a footbridge

suspended above the ocean

Outlaws threatened to break my knee caps
Under a waning moon I fled north
down a dirt road for home