In memoriam

 

 

In memoriam: Las Vegas

Mother, mother, sister, brother,
Father to us all,
Children one and all
Tell me why
They’re gone
Mother, sister, father, brother
Tell me why
It’s not the time
To stop this madness
Tell me, if you can,
Tell me why you’re gone

Charlie, Brennan, Erick, Quint, Neysa, Dorene,
Pati, Nicky, Chris, Andrea, Adrian, Brian, Brett and Bo
Denise, Chrissy, Candy, Lisa, Rocky, Jordy
Austin, Laura, Dana, Carrie, Tom and Jenny

Is that not enough?
To me its more than plenty
I like a poem that’s short

Kurt, Jack, Sandy, Angie, Jenny, say it twice,
Bailey, Susy, Rachel, John

I am not too fond of saying this
Guns are killing us

Tara, Calla, Jessie, Jordan,
Haven’t I heard this one before,
Chris and Carrie and Carly,
Can’t you see the insanity
Of doing nothing, nothing at all
And saying let us have our fun
Rhoda, Lisa, Bill and Sonny, Denise, Steve and Cameron,
And finally Heather,
Oh, but it is not final
Because you’d rather keep your guns

And when you
You know who
Lay down your head upon your pillow
Say your prayers,
And bless those fellows who died for us, for you
Think of this
Let’s lay down those guns
That keep killing
Mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers
And the children who are our future

From Nevada:
Charleston Hartfield, Brennan Stewart, Erick Silva, Quintin Robbins, Austin Meyer, Neysa Tonks

From Alaska:
Dorene Anderson, Adrian Murfitt

From Arizona:
Brett Schwanbeck

From California:

Pati Mestas, Nicol Kimura, Christopher Hazencomb, Andrea Castilla, Brian Fraser, Derrick “Bo” Taylor, Denise Cohen, Christiana Duarte, Candice Bowers, Lisa Patterson, Rocio Guillen Rocha, Jordyn Rivera, Austin Davis, Laura Shipp, Keri Galvan, Hannah Ahlers, Stacee Etcheber, Michelle Vo, Victor Link, Melissa Ramirez, Kelsey Meadows, Dana Gardner, Carrie Barnette, Thomas Day Jr., Jennifer Parks, Kurt Von Tillow, Jack Beaton, Sandy Casey, Angie Gomez, Jennifer Irvine, Bailey Schweitzer, Susan Smith, Rachel Parker, John Phippen

These lovely souls,
So young, so fair
Called off by earthly doom,
Just came to show how sweet a flower
In paradise could bloom

From Canada:
Tara Roe Smith, Calla Medig, Jessica Klymchuk, Jordan McIldoon

From Colorado:
Christopher Roybal

From Iowa:
Carly Kreibaum

From Massachusetts:
Rhonda LeRocque

From New Mexico:
Lisa Romero-Muniz

From Pennsylvania:
Bill Wolfe

From Tennessee:
Sonny Melton

From Washington:
Carrie Parsons

From West Virginia:
Denise Burditus

From Wisconsin:
Steve Berger

From Utah:
Cameron Robinson, Heather Alvarado

 

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White on Blue

Oz asks, Where does time go?

A vacation to Flathead Lake in Montana (the largest lake west of the Mississippi) inspires many thoughts. The season is ending, the tourists going home, the kids to school, and all too soon, I am back to work.

White on blue
Standing on the shore of Flathead Lake,
I spy a solitary sailboat
Spreading her white sails to the breeze and the water
Oh, my heart aches to be there,
I long to be gone
A speck of white
Where the blue of the lake meets the blue of the sky
Long do I gaze while the boat disappears
When the cold wind kicks up, and
With a sharp tug on my pants
My sons says to me,
Why are we here?

Un grain de blanc en bleu

Au bord de la rive de Flathead Lake
Je regarde un bateau à voile
Diffuser ses voiles blanches à la brise et à l’eau
Oh, mon cœur a mal à être là,
J’aimerais être parti
Un point de blanc
Où le bleu du lac rencontre le bleu du ciel
Long je regarde pendant que le bateau disparaît
Lorsque le vent froid se lance, et
Il y a un pistolet sur mon pantalon
Pourquoi sommes-nous ici, me dit-il mon fils?

Glimmering yellow on blue

Flathead Lake – Not everyone is here to escape, some are here to stay.

 

Another season is ending. The setting sun on Flathead Lake turns the blue sky a golden yellow.

An hour before.

The afternoon sun warms my black shirt and shoulders. A brief swim in the cool lake momentarily cleanses my body of sweat. From the waters edge, I gather five smooth stones to remember my visit. The largest of the stones, a soft grey granite with even white striations, fits nicely into the palm of my hand, but once out of the water it begins to lose its luster.

Now, sitting on the porch of the Raven, the sweat begins to return, running into my eyes as I stare into the distant haze. If you can’t stop life’s relentless pace, at least a cold beer slows it down long enough to enjoy a moment before it becomes a memory.

In such a place, strangers come and go.

From down the road, a mother arrives with her eight-month-old daughter, Cory on a mini-vacation. I complement the blond curl on the top of Cory’s head, we exchange observations on life as strangers do.  At another table, sits a teacher from Austin, on her last hurrah before returning to her students. Inside at the bar, three tattooed bikers in baseball caps with sun glasses perched on the visors share beers and adventures.

Even the bartenders and waitresses at the Raven know that the season doesn’t last. Only the coming snow will stop the endless parade around the lake and the side trips up into Glacier National Park.

Not everyone is here to escape, some are here to stay and play.

Flathead Lake, Montana

Note. Inspired by a stop at the Raven, on Flathead Lake, in Woods Bay, Montana, near Bigfork.

Raven, their pic, Flathead Lake, Montana

Warning, no lifeguard on duty

One is born into a loving, nurturing family (that is the idea) and one leaves home for the unknown with the warning, no lifeguard on duty.

May your waters be smooth and soothing.

Vacations

Oz has been on vacation this summer, inspired by a bit of Walt Whitman.

“O highway I travel, do you say to me, Do not leave me? Do you say, Venture not—if you leave me you are lost? Do you say, I am already prepared, I am well-beaten and undenied, adhere to me?”

Once there was a man
who filmed his vacation
with his camera,
shooting this and shooting that
despite the fact his daughter said
Knock it Off!
dad, she said
you’re missing all the fun.

Through the eye of the lens
he thought
he saw it all until there
was nothing left to see,
but only then did he find
He missed it all.

Rivers, trees, canyon, hills, and skies
He kept them all neatly in a box
Until December.
Preserved
But not remembered
And then forgot and lost the box

Let it rain

Here in the Land of Oz it has been hot for two weeks with temperatures in the triple digits. Head phones on, listening to Phil Collins – I wish it would rain, I go for a run and the sweat pours down, down on me.

Ha, ha. Running in the rain, I must be insane, there is thunder and lightning, and it is really quite frightening, one, two, three, flash, as I splash through the water, I am soaked to the bone and my phone is getting wetter, I am going fast, betting it won’t last, Holy guacamole, I am thoroughly splattered, not that it matters, but I better take cover, because mother, it’s is stupid and only a deluded doofus would find this so much fun…

 

Listen to Phil – I wish it would rain, rain down, on me, featuring Eric Clapton.

Brief bits

A novel
Is a short story
Gone wrong
Inadvertently
Succinctly said
A short story is better
But a poem puts it
Perfectly

Checking in and out

Checked my computer for emails, posts, and tweets; found there is nothing needing my attention, so, I am checking out, mindful that:

What we do we may partly compute, but what we experience can only be felt.

And what we say will never be understood by those who don’t experience life as it really is.

To my first Irish visitor, a blessing

 

Blessed be the butterflies – An Irish blessing

May children in fields of flowers run
To pick daisies, to let petals fall one by one
Until each and every child
Finds a love truly won
And before this day is done
May butterfly wings kiss the sun.
And find your hand to light on
To bring you luck, if luck is what you need
Today, forever and beyond.