"Robert Frost"

In 1956 I was in school
at Ohio Wesleyan University
at Delaware, Ohio.
We had chapel during the week
at 12:15 pm which was manditory.
It was held in the auditorium,
for all students.
They allowed you to be absent
from chapel three times.
I paid a friend I met
who sat in the seat next to me
to sit in my seat,
so I would not be counted as absent.
I don't know what he did,
because he was not in his seat.
Maybe he paid someone as well,
alittle less than what
I was paying him.
I went to the anditorium
for other reasons, like when
Robert Frost came to read his poems.
I was in the front row,
three feet from him.
His voice was clear
and knew exactly
how to read each poem.
He was attached by his
heart strings to his work.
That is how he attached to me
when I read his poems.
Many I memorized
so I could run them over
and over in my mind
when college classes
became boring.
His hair was white
and probably because I was young
he looked old.
I still sit in the front row
and see him standing
in his dark suit and white shirt.
His voice finds my ears
as I wonder how these words
found his voice.
They were so much a part of him.
Times like this were why
I stayed in school
as long as I did.
When I left my sophomore year,
I went to work in the city
and dyed my hair gray.

"Daybreak"

Gypsy and I were sitting on the cabin porch at daybreak. The humidity from Dolly was dripping off the metal cabin roof on to the toe of my deerskin topsiders and into my whip cream laced espresso Vashon Island coffee. The air was cool and the wind out of the south west caressed us with its gentle presence. This is the kind of morning we revel in, just being together in the moments it is occuring is the whipped cream on my strawberry shortcake. By now you know I am addicted to strawberry shortcake, particularly the whipped cream. When the kids were little I use to spray the whipped cream up and down their arms and over each finger. It looked like snow. We then devoured it from our sticky arms and hands laughing it away, sweet memories of days long gone. These are the mornings memories come with the breeze filling our being with the past events that have stayed in place for us to relive. The woods stays quiet giving us this time. These days of our lives we see in colored prints we took with our camera. Everyone remains somewhere in our mind and just needs a morning on the cabin porch to be remembered. I never took a picture that is not still in my film archive, waiting. A record of my life held for me until the woods and the wind clear my thoughts and the pictures appear, like a photo album relinqishing times and places to fill the pages I write. I still see the bushes that grew across the front of my families house in the small Ohio town where I grew up. We use to play hide and go seek, and I hid behind them. There was stucco from the white wood of the house for about three feet to the ground. There was a basement window there as well. It might be the window where the coal shoot was placed to deliver the black, dusty coal for our furnace. One nice thing about coal was the steady heat, no clicking on and off. When I was sick with asthma my dad would hold me on his lap over the downstairs register to keep us warm. See what I mean, can you see the pictures in this childs mind? The photos never go away and will live in the pages I have written when I am long gone. But until then Gypsy and I will return to the cabin porch at daybreak and wait, trying to justify our second island cup of espresso. The picture of the 100 year old island coffee roasterie, home of The Wet Whisker, lingers in my thoughts reminding me of the generations of coffee lovers. My ancestors in Schaffhausen, Switzerland liked to linger over their morning coffee. Son Daniel and I do as well. Your island coffee is on its way.

"Hold The Hands That Hold You"

Hold the hands that hold you.
Whisper the sounds of love and joy.
Let yourself be free and flowing.
Quietly find the surface between the hands.
The message hidden in the touch.
The finger folds hold the secrets.
The answers to your questions,
there on the wet sand,
leaving the waves to wash them away,
as the water washes the sand
through the fingers of your hands.
The whispers, the touches, the secrets
lookig for the truth.
Hold the hands that hold you.

"Why Not"

Why can't I
enter the den
even try
even zen?

Why like a fox
left to call
fox in sox
bounce the ball?

Why to deeds
left undone
up in weeds
under the sun?

Why the zipper
of the star
the big dipper
out so far?

Why Reach out
hands before you
don't doubt
enjoy the view?

Why catch the ball
why not
here the call
you've got?

Why fasten your seat belt
hasten your speed
you've been dealt
the need of greed?

Why not now?
Why not clear?
Why not know?
Why not here?

Why not?

"Win"

Follow the days
lost in the sound
of the waves
washing the shore

The tilt of the Earth
holding your hand
never releasing
the sand in the glass

Lost and found
hidden in the ground
scorched by the sun
left untouched

Shifting tides
find the square
left of center
where you are

Following the road
that leads to no where
holding hands
waxed by doubt

Inside you pine
for just one more
nickle and dime
of lost love

The hands of a child
will lead the way
frail to the touch
small in measure

Let it go
stars are bright
posessed by their light
heavy darkness of the night

Mothers gently call
words unheard
left in the fall
hole in the cactus

Options wasted
pity lost
fault dissolves
injury lies

Calmly
Quietly
Return
Win

The Comet Walk

It is beginnning to seem strange
that both Gypsy and I
are limping on our right rear leg.
I am the 70 year old woman
with an injured right rear knee,
and Gypsy is my 10 year old
English Pointer retired hunting dog,
who while in hot pursuit of a critter
injured her right rear leg.
She is a member of royality
and rules our cabin
unchecked.
Yesterday oldest doctor son
adjusted my knee and put a colorful
design of pink tape on my leg.
He adjusted Gypsys leg earlier.
Today with the help of anti-inflammatories
and tape Gypsy and I headed out
for a walk
to see how far we could limp
before we had to stop.
Well, guess what? About so far
into our walk we spied
two big dogs ahead on the road.
Gypsy grew tense, yipes!
Her vote was to make a hasty retreat,
so was mine. We realized
we couldn't make a quick
get away in our injured condition.
Besides, I only carry one Nova Spirit,
and my knee was hurting anyway
so we turned around
and headed back to the cabin.
Hurricane Dolly gave us
a cool, humid foggy morning
for our walk.
The peaks were shrouded in
white mist making
an easy spot for
space ships to land unnoticed.
We thought we heard the sound
space ship engines make when landing.
We thought that might be why
the neighborhood dogs were barking
for no reason we could detect.
We hurried along and wondered
if there might be some
unexpected visitor
at our cedar post gate.
We saw strange foot prints in the mud
left by yesterdays rains.
We were sorry we missed them.
By the time our feet hit
the cabin porch
we were ready for a rest.
Today we realized
that we could have given in
to our aches and pains
and not gone for a walk.
Today we decided to begin
to live the rest of our lives
not relinquishing a single second
to the slimy, bony alien like hands
that try to hold us back
when age and injury
fall into the cracks of our lives
seeking to push us back into our
easy chair and pink sheepskin lined bed.
We say: Never give up, never give in and never give out!
Gypsy says she would never say that
and thinks sleeping all day
is a good idea.
She said she could have handled
both of the dogs on the road
with one paw. Maybe two.
She thinks getting older
is pretty neat,
like life on the tail
of a comet.

Red Brinkman Gourmet Electric Smoker

Diane picked me up at Sea-Tac
in her black Mercede Benz Convertable.
Zounds!
We took the ferry to the island
that has been there so long
waiting for the arrival
of its inhabitance.
On its own, creating more beauty each day.
The lush, green growtrh on the island
tells you of the rainy days it has seen
Don, Diane and I celebrate seeing each other
after such a long time.
So much has happened in our lives
over the years, we are glad to be here.
I crawl into bed, and sleep finds me soon.
In the night I awaken to watch the moon,
find its way spreading its road
of moonlight on the water.
I wonder if the seals and otters
could walk on this road.
I wished that somehow I could
to see where it would take me.
Maybe into the speed boat to eat?
I sip my morning espresso
and look out over Puget Sound.
Diane will be up soon and make us
one of her delicious blueberry, yogurt slushes.
The island is quiet except for
the drone of the engines from the ferry.
However, there has been activity
in the beach house kitchen.
Dons been busy preparing for dinner.
My nose picks up the smoky smell
of meat cooking on his
Red Brinkman Gourmet Electric Smoker.
It drifts through the air
titilating all receiving nostrils,
reminding you that dinner tonight
has begun its journey.
The flags on the deck change direction
as they begin telling us their story for today.
The otters and seals have visited
the speed boat tied to the float
in front of the house
during the night.
They remove the cover to create
a perfect spot to eat.
Someone will have to take the kayak out
to reach the speed boat,
to clean up the mess
and put the cover back in place.
The air is cool and crystal clear,
the waves are lapping against the boat,
the tide is going out.
Soon the beach will appear
and we will amble as we walk
talking about the beach houses,
the people who occupy them
and the years gone by
when we met and became friends.
Zeke and Luke, son Barry and Lisas children
will be playing at a friends soon
who lives in one of the beach houses
we saw on our walk.
This may be the perfect place
for grandchildren to flourish,
surrounded by the constant flow of love
emulating from their grateful grandparents.
Carlos, the Mexican dog Diane and Don rescued
oversees this entire operation, quietly ruling.
He misses nothing and is a dedicated loyal companion.
We had "Letting Go Sessions"
which he seemed to enjoy.
We will never know
all there is to know about him.
That's the way he wants it.
Thorly found and got the best house,
which will sustain her family
for the mext four years.
Diane and I feel privileged
to have hopefully had a part in this.
Everyone was happy.
On one of our visits to town Diane and I
went to the coffee shop.
What a great place
to enter and inhale the invisible aromas
drifting through the air.
Sweet rolls, espresso machines and island coffee,
did it say heaven on the front door?
Lunch at the vegetarian reataurant
Diane had been wanting to try,
which was sooooooo good.
Long walks on the island
which at one point proved perilous to me.
Wondering about the party for 70
here at the beach house.
What about the trash?
Need plates and party favors?
Where will the food go?
A silver cable to reinforce the railing
just in case the unexpected might happen.
Like life.
This is a place
where your heart can go to rest,
where beauty greets you
over every hill and at the waters edge.
Ron Tied?
Gypsy and I are back at the cabin.
Her leg is better and so is mine.
We missed each other.
My Red Brinkman Gourmet Electric Smoker
is gently preparing a pork roast.
Gypsy and I are salivating
as we smell the smoky air
as it drifts around the cabin.
We are grateful for our memories.
Hers of her stay at the dog spa,
and mine of my visit
to the island beach house
where the present and the past
came to rest in sweet memories
held in the safe hands of time.

"Where Jesus Comes to Rest"

Where Jesus Comes to Rest
all crosses far and near
symbolic of His sacrifice
why He holds us so dear

At the crosses
surveying His flock
accepting no losses
He is our rock

His earthly grace
covers us all
held by His love
we don't fall

Reach for His hands
always there
safe to land
in His loving care

When he calls to you
don't question His aim
listen and do
He is all He does claim

Your life on His route
all it can be
no trouble no doubt
faith is the key

Believing in Him
is what's true
joy and peace
He believes in you

Angels all around
His cross beckons best
with the lost and the found
Where Jesus Comes to Rest

"Blackboards"

Life holds on to the stuff that is important to you. First you have to make that decision and erase the other stuff from your blackboard. Being an old teacher this is how I do it. For years my blackboard was like a comic book with every comment circle with a pointer pointing to a character full of chatty chatter like a ticker tape machine printing out the blabber of every day, clicking away time as we dropped the tokens in the little metal recepticals in the front of the bus next to the driver on our way to work in the city. Going to work after dropping out of college because you just couldn't stand the appetite of the grueling routine that was trying to make you into everyone else. Taking time out to learn about the person you were to become and the person that would become part of your life for 46 years. Learning more about that youngest of three girls from a small Ohio farming town. What was and would become her passions? Finishing up the shared years and once again finding a place in time to discover what and who you are; enter the solitude of the cabin in the Texas Hill Country. The fast forward has ceased to exist in your life and the cursed habits of solitude have taken over. The rewind has taken hold and the pause bottom holds the moments you have learned to cherish, like the hours you spend watching the wild animals night and day here at the cabin in the woods. The quiet and total darkness only highlight the images and sounds that find their way into your life. Like strawberry shortcake with lots and lots of whipping cream, you can't get enough. Sharing all this with your well disciplined, super companion ten year old egocentric English Pointer is that whipping cream on the strawberries and cake. I got a limp a few years ago and had it fixed with a titanium hip, she is now limping as old age flutters around both of us hanging on to the unknown suspense of this passage of time. She is on medication to help and it is slowing fixing her. Like mother, like daughter. Her incredible attitude and perserverance will carry her through as it will with me. We have decided there is so much excitement to deal with here at the cabin we must remain coherent and absorb it like water on our parched ground. We have erased the unimportant stuff and are lavishing in the surprises and fun of the moment. The drought has been eased with some rain. We are still reaping the benefits of all the critters that came out of hiding in search of food and water. Lets see what has remained on our blackboard and escaped our eraser.
Jane Doe comes to the feeding area several times a day now, giving Gypsy a point each time. She sneeks behind the sneek and peek weeds in her fenced area that defied the drought and produced cover for her adventures. She slips and slides in her invisible mode until she reaches the breaking point. As she rushes Jane, the frightened deer runs off into the woods. Mission accompolished, fun, fun, fun. The rabbits that come early in the morning light also deserve one of her points. They get way to close to Gypsys fence so, it is impossible for her not to go for them. She follows the path of least visability until she can't wait any longer. She chases them along the fence until they disappear. A multitude of birds also eat at the feeding area. There are many doves and we love their hollow, echoing lonely call, surely why they are called lonesome doves. They eat with the jays, grosbeaks, cardinals and chickadees and finches. We are priviliged to see mom and pop Painted Bunting each day at our log cabin birdfeeded outside the cabin kitchen window and the ever present hummingbirds at the blooms on our morning glories on Gypsys fence just outside our writing window. Beauty on beauty is always on our board. The sly fox came one day as well, we watched him closely. Now you probably wonder if Gypsy gets frustrated because she can't get to all these critters. Well, I suppose so. However, if she could the feeding area would be just one big buriel ground covered with blood and guts. I have purchased a record amount of birdseed and corn this year and don't intend to let Gypsy devour all of its takers. She said she wouldn't bother the deer and birds if I took the fence down. She said she was just helping the vultures when she ate the doves that flew into the cabin windows and killed themselves. That is if she gets to them before I do. She said she just wanted to work on improving the stye of her points, and would never run down a bird and eat it. Now, Gypsy has been known to stretch the truth, and this might be the case here. We aren't really sure what she might due if left to her own discretion. Do dogs have discretion?
We have had a problem with the food we put on the porch on the side of the cabin that is off limits to Gypsy. Here the baby kittens born this year to our feral cats are eating and drinking. For awhile thing were going well and then disaster struck. First the opossoms showed up looking for food and water. The water dish and food for the cats got trashed. I put on my thinking cap and decided to put the food and water up high on a table we used in our hunting motor home. Well guess what raccoons can get up on anything and that is what happened. We out foxed the opossums and got attacked by a coon. By the way this coon was the biggest one I have ever seen. This morning at 4am Gypsy and I heard a thump coming from the cat porch. When I snapped on the porch light the coon was on its tiptoes on a stool next to the cat food table munching away. Today I put the big, black can holding the cat food on top of the stool. Well see who wins this battle. Gypsy told me she could eliminate all my problems if I would just let her out on the cat porch. Like the blue jay chasing the squirrel through the tree biting at its tail to keep it from the feeder, Gypsy would have a chance with a bird or maybe a squirrel. However, if she got too close to a opossum or a raccon the outcome could be different. She says she could handle it well. She says her bad leg would not affect the outcome of the encounter. I don't want to tell her she is getting older and with a limp to slow her down the blood that might be shed could be hers. She is extremely stubborn and single minded. Her passion to throw caution to the wind and just do it is admirable and legendary. Her memories and dreams may hold more excitement than her future, but we hope not. We hope the same holds true for us our blackboard is full.
Our solar gate at the gravel road, held by the cedar post coyote fence keeps out the world while we write and our phones are quiet. When the words come it is impossible not to sit down at the computer and punch them out on the screen. An interruption is like a giant sized exclamation point, interrupting the geritol words in your blood stream rushing into your brain from some unknown source creating more words for keeping for you to write on your blackboard. When the erases get dirty, take them outside and pound them together like you did when you were a kid and the teacher ask you to and you watched the white dust holding the words drift off with the wind.

"Who Issues My Thoughts?"

who issues my thoughts
and carries me away
each day in every way
to wonder in dismay


I try to net my catch
and hold them fast
slippery like an eel
they become my past

shuddering at this dilemma
my heart will not be still
a situation I am in
against my steady will

falling like the dead flowers
from the hearty vine
used for its time
in my misty mind

so much I try to grasp
pursuing is a pleasure
and in my quiet time
there in lies my treasure

thoughts cannot be bought
at the 5 and 10 cent store
and if they could
they would be a bore

steady as she goes my friend
history handles these times
who issues my thoughts
coins from memories rhymes

"There were Cowboys at the Gate"

Hyde Merrit lived at the ranch across the road.
In Wyoming that was probably ten miles away.
We use to see his place when we went to Tie Siding,
a town of one building and five people.
He raised rodeo stock. He was hit and killed
by a train late one night while driving the
miles and miles of empty, lonely roads on his ranch to get home.
He was a cowboy. He spent his life on a horse. Across 287 from his ranch house
was a store that was the post office,
grocery store, gas station, gift shop, information
center and we voted there, Tie Siding. It had a outhouse for a toilet
with a Chicago phone book for toilet paper nailed
to the wall. It was right where the
Cheerokee Park road met highway 287. Our ranch
was seven miles from there and
bordered Colorados Roosevelt National Forest.
We saw lots of deer, antelope and elk.
We also saw lots of cowboys, real cowboys.
They liked pretty women and horses.
They also liked a dog to follow them
when they rode their horse and to ride
in the back of their pick up truck.
They got married on horseback, standing in a creek.
They were men of few words, some went like this," Don't
mind if I do. Thank you ma'am."
They knew about their world and didn't care
much about anything else. They always carried
a gun of some kind. They liked the Wild West and
some never did settle down. The never found a place
that could hold them. They could be trusted to help out
and never knew the end of a days work. They could
tell alot about you just by looking at you.
They never ask you where you were coming from
or where you were going. It was no ones business,
I guess. They only needed what would fit in their bedroll
and saddle bags. A bag of jerky was usually nearby.
Their spurs jingled when they walked,
and leather chaps protected their legs.
Most wore vests to hold the paper and tobacco
to roll their cigarettes. Some used chewing tobacco
and carried a can to spit in.
I guess their horses kept them warm
when they were out on the range in the Winter.
They never seemed to dress warm enough.
Their weatern styled hats served them well and that scarf
around their neck proved handy more than once.
They knew cattle and horses and hunting.
They liked room to be alone.
Many a day when we were living at the log house
nestled in the pinon and ponderosa pine trees
that covered the hog back that ran along the Cheerokee Park Road
from Tie Siding to the 5M Ranch, our ranch,
There were cowboys at the gate.