the Bridge

me on bridge best

thoughts stretching out

reaching for hope

traveling on… and on

to the next bend

over a mount of wisdom

but then beyond

around the corners

of swelling peace

across an overpass

formed as abundant love

leaping into the sky

banking on a wing

and turned into a bond

that only wants to be free


arching past time

is knowledge

the arch in a bridge

between YHVH’s fingers

and his current mold



after all the petals are dried

and twilight turns into a deep rust

shadows linger and grow tall

creeping across in a frosted breath

cold is felt beneath the bones

when wind no longer simply dusts

but chills the green to blood red

painting the beauty of autumns death

Me Lil’ Bistro





This is what I did to my kitchen wall a few weeks ago… I covered it in cigar boxes!!

I have a tiny kitchen, so I thought I would dress it up!

I used the back side of wall board, it had a weave pattern on it that was made with fibers. Then I spray painted them to look like cement. I tried to line up the boxes in relatively straight lines, but they were all different sizes, and my walls are no longer straight. I love the texture of it all though. I got all the cigar boxes for free from the casino.

This is what happens when you live alone and have no one but cats to entertain you!!!



“I HATE ALL Muslims!” the 70 year old loudly boasted. “We should BLOW them off the PLANET!”

I simply asked, “So, are you a Christian?” I left out 5 minutes of the previous conversation, due to his point being long lost, and trampled under several other nasty racist-bigot type remarks.

He blinked in surprise, at my change in subject, but said stubbornly, “Sometimes!”

“Sometimes?” I asked. “When you meet God, and He says, “Did you believe in me… you’re gonna say “SOMETIMES?”

Yes, the sarcasm dripped all over the counter, but I didn’t care. I absolutely loose my mind when ANYONE claims to be a Christian in one breath and says they HATE in another! I’m sorry, I apologize, but I become the biggest shit you ever laid eyes on.

“You think GOD’S gonna LET YOU IN … SOMETIMES?”

The man was just like a million others I have to listen to daily, those who are usually between 60 and death, the elder generation, who are still prejudiced and racist and whatever you want to call religious-ists… they’re like religious racists. Not just BIGOTS, but viscous in their hate! And frankly I am sick and tired of them running our country…. straight into the ground… not only in politics, but in real life. EVERYDAY life. They are always there, in the background, spouting their shit… dragging an entire population down with their crap. Their UNACCEPTANCE… their UNFORGIVING ways… they need to move on, let it go, and let the rest of us get along.

“COME INTO THE 21ST CENTURY!!!” I said louder than I probably should have… but when this man turned to another man to continue with his rant, I turned to my coworker and said in the same loud voice, “THAT’S what I hate,” I said. He paused in his rant, as the man he was talking to turned to look back at me. I went on, “… people who CLAIM to be a Christian, a FOLLOWER of JESUS, who was ALL ABOUT LOVE, tell me they HATE AN ENTIRE POPULATION OF PEOPLE! PEOPLE THEY DON’T EVEN KNOW!”

Thankfully, the old man got my point, that I was clearly done with him and his opinions, and walked away to bother another customer. We walked past each other a while later, and he couldn’t look me in the eye. He started to, but turned abruptly.

That’s when I knew… maybe he was actually thinking about what I said. I didn’t care if he continued spouting his shit, or if he walked away and thought about it deeply. All I cared about was making him stop long enough to think about what he was saying at that moment. Spraying evil, all around… and CLAIMING to be a Christian.

That’s the kind of person who makes all Christians look bad, and drives new believers away. That’s what I hate!

A Kiss


fire filled clouds

steal the breath

of angels

as the blaze

leaches the blue

from the sky

melting into gray

sparking momentarily

as they scorch the face

of life gazing up

in a shimmering golden kiss

A True Christian

01 DuBois Falls

I realized something this morning, as I watched a video or two of Hillsong United. The first video showed them playing a concert somewhere in India (I think) and the massive audience was singing along with the song, as if they’d sang it a million times before. Then I watched them singing “Touch the Sky” in Spanish, as it looked like they were playing somewhere in Mexico or Brazil. Even in Spanish, everyone in the audience was singing along, praising God… It was Beautiful!

And for the first time, I realized how music is spreading the Word of God, the Love for God, across the globe. Being in America, we tend to think we ARE the Christian base, the Christian believers of the world. But missionaries have been spreading the word for centuries, all across the world. It made me tear up, watching them singing such a beautiful song, completely in Spanish. It sounded wonderful. And the love and joy they were feeling is clearly visible.

During both video’s they were showing at different times the conditions these people were living in, the trash dumps, tiny one room shacks with sheets for walls, the flies in their eyes, even one woman was living in a giant cement pipe used for sewage, but empty at the time, and lying somewhere in a desert town; here toddler runs to her as she sits in the shade of the pipe. And my heart is breaking, knowing these people are just barely living, barely alive, without food, without even a box for a home, just barely surviving on the edge of life…. and here we sit, eating fattening cheeseburgers and pizza, living in giant new homes, palaces to them… talking on our phones, and complaining the service isn’t fast enough and our electric bills are our of control.

And yet, it isn’t our fault we were born here, in the luxury of the US. It isn’t our fault that we have school systems in place to teach our children, and libraries to learn from, or parents with the ability to take care of us until we can take care of ourselves. YES, none of that is our fault, or our choice. We were born into it.

But can you even wrap your mind around the thought that someone else was born into poverty… like none you have ever seen? No home, no clothes, eating dirt to fill your empty cramping painful stomach, no water unless you drink the gray and brown puddle that’s been shit in by a cow or goat, or human. Such utter poverty that you scour through a dump site looking for a bent fork to bend back into shape and sell for less than a penny to get a teaspoon of rice to eat. Or find a dirty stained shirt to wear, because yours no longer has sleeves or is the same shirt you wore for 5 years and it’s too small for you or in filthy tatters.

No. You can’t imagine it, not until you see it live. Or live it. Just the simple idea that you have a flower in your yard to gaze at, one you may have planted yourself, and the poorest of the poor have never seen a flower. They see dirt, for miles on end, nothing but dirt; dirt and sand, blowing in the wind, into your eyes, covering your body, and they have never even seen a single flower. Because where there is no water, there are no flowers. Or food, or weeds, or herbs, or trees. Nothing, but pain, hunger, thirst, cold nights and baking hot days, and no home to go to. No parents to help. And certainly no government that will help you in any way.

That is what they live with daily. What they survive. Could you survive that?? Could I??

This is what God meant when He said “Take care of the poor!”

The true poor. Not some woman or man who is too lazy to support themselves and lives off welfare so they don’t have to work, stating they can’t work because no one will hire them, or they have back problems, or allergies, or whatever lame excuse they come up with. They are only poor in spirit. They have no idea what it is like to be truly poor. Plus here, they will not go without food. Even our poorest of the poor can walk to a soup kitchen, or get get food stamps, or stay in a shelter if there is room, and be fed. Yes we have poor people who are starving and homeless, but they can find food if they aren’t too messed up on drugs or alcohol to get it. Being homeless is a far greater issue, once in a while it is due to choice, but for the most part if they choose to, they can work their way back to a poor existence, one where they have some sort of shelter and money for food.

I myself have been poor for as long as I can remember. But I never go without a job or food, and I may live in a crappy trailer, but it has a roof and bathroom and running water that spews out of a faucet, so I don’t have to walk miles to get it. Or boil it just to drink it. I have always considered myself monetarily poor, but never truly poor. That is a whole new level I am thankful I will never have to endure. Because I live here. Because I have parents who would still take care of me if I needed help. Cousins, Uncles, Brothers and Sisters too. All who I could contact if I needed to for help.

The true poor have no one. NO ONE BUT YOU and GOD!

So the next time you are on your cell phone, and can’t upload your favorite song, that you are willing to spend $5.00 for…. think about the people around the world who could feed their entire family for that measly $5.00…. and do something about it! YOU CAN LIVE without it. THEY CANNOT!!!!!!


Where Autumn Lives

spider with clouds blowing past

where autumn lives

glooming above the trees

slicing the air with chill

sinking deep into stone

driving a mountain

over the edge

at the speed

of a summer sigh

over another cracked

and broken bluff

of torturous winds

whipping its back

into a beaten serf

too slow to escape

the frosted facade

of slow death

where autumn loves

Looking to God


both looking to God

the sun beaming the way

not quite hidden amongst the rays

now set

your imagination… free

…for Majesty!


I should probably have a sign on the back of my pickup that says, “This vehicle makes sudden stops for Majesty!” I literally swerved at about 45 mph off the road and came to a halt to get this shot. And a few more. I was driving along in the dreary smoke covered hills, worried about the fires that were basically surrounding us. We had one fire to the northeast and one to the southwest. If we hadn’t been camping on a lake, in a lush green valley, we might have left sooner, but we were all willing to take the chance.  Heading back into town to try and check my messages, I came around the corner to this… and my heart flew. Right out the window. You can’t alter pictures to look this awesome. ONLY GOD can! If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a million times…

Nothing is greater than God’s Art!

Have a lovely day all, may God Bless each and every one of you!!! :)

The Ruach of God

I read something a few days ago, that seemed to leap into my soul. I’ve heard of similar things, but never explained in this way. It Took Hold, reverberating through my mind like waves pushing against the sand. A new understanding filled with wonder and joy. It was this: the Holy Spirit creates miracles.

The Holiest of all spirits, the Holy Spirit, also known as the Holy Ghost, or the Ruach ha Kodesh, or what I have come to believe is simply GOD’s own Soul… can stop time, or remove it’s effects all together, while performing a miracle. It fills in where there is something missing or needed. And once it has consumed the situation, it leaves a part of itself behind, allowing for nothing else to enter. It can purify, strengthen, absolve and redeem. It is God’s own Soul, touching us for a split second, altering us, in ways beyond our apelike knowledge.

It’s as if we’re empty, and the Holy Spirit fills us. Or maybe we were just a quart low on one character. Maybe we need honor, or strength of will, or even just a boost in virtue, and with a single breath from the Ruach ha Kodesh we are perfected.

It’s like God is here, enveloping us in His Perfect Love. Which in turn makes everything return to perfection. His perfection. His Love. His Way. This is the miracle. For a tiny spec of time, all is in complete perfection. How much remains afterwards is up to the Holy Spirit, I would guess.

But for years I only thought of Yeshuah as being The Miracle Maker; due to the miracles He preformed while alive and dead. Yet something kept nagging at me though, why would we need the Holy Spirit? Some people believe it’s only for God to speak to us through, that tiny voice of goodness we all hear when we are about to sin! Do you listen to that voice? Sometimes? Or do you see phrases from the scripture’s popping into your mind; things you’ve memorized flashing by like on a moving billboard.

Scriptures that were written about YHVH, (God) and Yeshuah (Jesus the Christ) and The Ruach ha Kodesh (The Holy Spirit.)

It rarely matters how the little nudge is achieved; only the end result.

It made sense to me though, to evolve just a hair, to allow the thought to enter my conscious and unconscious mind; absorbing it like love. Taking it in, and letting it take hold. How incredibly wonderful… that the Ruach ha Kodesh is God’s own miracle maker. I’ve known for years that Yeshuah, or Jesus, put the Holy Spirit into the disciples to make them conduit’s for God’s miracles, but it had never occurred to me that the Ruach was also there for that purpose. Giving the ancients super powers to change the course of history. I used to picture bolts of lightning or God’s giant finger pushing through the clouds to achieve His purposes, but just by letting His Holiest-of-all-Holy Spirit enter in, the miracle is done.

Emmanuel; God With Us

Thank You Father!



writing in the sky

flows by

at the pace

of a gentle glide

spreading seeds

to the meek

and wise

in tiny tufts

of wisdom

on the wind

the core of a spore

cherishing hope

upon an ocean

filled with a notion

of His Majesty

exhaling sentience

flowing into existence

with a waft of will

on a wave of love



stumbling, stuttering and sputtering into life

when passion becomes screaming and grins

life is a purple sunshiny explosion

with innocence sparkling beneath shenanigans

just as a garter snake becomes an entire zoo

or a spider starts a war filled with booboos

rolling eyes and completely losing your mind

over a shiny motorcycle of any kind

up until the motor is a roaring dragon

cover your ears and flee behind

long jean wrapped legs screaming security

maybe peeking out between the two

or if all else fails just cover your eyes

if you don’t see it it can’t hurt you

like the dusty crawling monster under your bed

or the scary eyes of the grocery store crabs

your drawn with an undying thirst to see it all

touch everything with slobbers or grabs

until you’re drained of all energy and moisture

and begging frantically for your sippy cup

silenced finally burying your head underneath

your Mother’s hair to dream of a nice fire truck

Osprey’s Redeemed

I couldn’t get this video to upload properly, but enjoy if you care to click on the link. Sorry about the swaying of my kayak, but there’s no way around it. :)



He said it would be glorious

just flying around all day

but all you ever do is fish.

I like to fish.

Yes, and that’s fun for you

but I would like to paint

or knit or read a book.

But you told Him

your greatest desire

was to fly, and here you are.

But sushi, every day,

for fifteen years?

It appears He has a sense of humor.


lake seaweed


reflecting in

the deep darkness

cold and beaten down

never quite reaching the warmth

… just hovering above in the sage light

smothered in silt

shifting with regret

despising its own wailing

still muffled and useless

… buried with the dead even so

not wise enough to realize

it will divinely thrive

drawing closer to what it needs

out of the raw lonely depths

… needful of just patience and peace

Good Morning, He said.



God’s alarm clocks



pastels painted righteously

to match the harmony

of waking to the birds

an echoing twitter

tweet and caw

some saying wake up sleepy head

others passing the word

on worms bathing in the grass

fish leaping in the south end

and the best bugs

are skating round the coves

as falcons call out

the winds are mild

while I rise to perfection

and feel God is watching me

through His tiny dormer window

to see if I’ll notice

His Majesty

First Evening, Utter Peace


all about the water

swaying all about

birds obviously at their computers

tweeting nonstop

ducks check out my kayak

honking in approval

falcons ripping apart their catch

tend to stare a bit feral

curious and daring all

eyes darting back to me

wondering why I’m not in bed

but floating precariously

all alone in a fading dusk

fish leaping at bugs in glee

splashing rings of happiness

and floating peace across to me

in waves that wiggle my camera

ruining every shot I need

and telling me to enjoy it live

while it’s right in front of me


I cannot

in my wildest dreams

think of anything



except paragliding :P

Praise God

Day One, Spectacular

campsite and dock

I arrive to find my campsite here… and smile deeply. Inhale slowly, and enjoy the greatest peace known to woman. I hear myself humming “How Great is Our God, sing with me, How Great…is our God,” while I’m unloading my truck.

Then the others arrive and the peace is gone… until tomorrow morning when I can get up first and truly deeply enjoy it again.

I would tell you the chaos that ensued, but the immaturity and selfishness of a child, grown yet still childish in their personality, could not dampen my joy at being on vacation in a glorious little spot next to a lake. I had to walk away several times, to keep my mouth shut, for God, and for my friends sake, for her humiliation was unacceptable, but I refused to let it bother me. Instead I headed off to kayak around the little island in the background of this picture.

It was covered in amazing nests high in the trees. As I drew closer, I could easily see the Osprey’s who ruled this island. It was beautiful.

osprey nest 2 osprey's in tree osprey nest


Only one tiny cabin on the entire island, the rest filled with birds. I probably kayaked around it 5 times total, taking pics and videos, so more to come there.



our sweet grass covered campsites…. gotta love the grass man…. makes a decent nights sleep!

campsite Vicki's campsite, Lis is on right in trees


even when the sprinklers are on….. LOL……

sprinklers on

My sweet friend picked the place and the camp sites this year, and I must say… WELL DONE!!!  Just AWESOME!!!!!

On to day two….just as soon as I figure out how to post the video’s… :)

So… I’m off…..


My rocker… lol Yes!! Ha.. literally!!!   But also … off to Lake Curlew in Eastern Washington to camp for a week…kayak, hike, bike, and maybe…. paraglide…….. woooot woooot

Probably also do some picture taken, walkin, talkin, eatin, … well you get the picture. But most likely… no writing… Hope God Blesses Each One of YOU while I’m gone! So…. SEE YA!!! :) :) :) :P :P :P



driving through streets

of potholed people

you only dodge

driving around

telling story after story

jaded into a green essence

melting over them

like an evil dripping syrup

or a heavy haze of justice

you are not divine enough

to execute

yet able to walk by

the stones left by

the beaten

while you look upwards

to GOD… in avoidance

for you have a job

because your parents earned it

a character absent as an alien

a mettle of concern

only consumed with you

teaching forgiveness

from a hilly multitude of greed

strangling your own heart

with an almost organic


of thou shalt not JUDGE


this may ultimately be

God’s reason for denial

My Hero… Sam


Sammyteri on rock

“Come ON!” Clap, clap, clap. “Sammy! NOW, we gotta go or I’ll MISS THE BUS! Come ON, YOU BOATHEAD!!!” She walked back towards her partner in crime, her shadow; albeit a small one. Her best friend since birth. He was moving slower these days, but this was ridiculous. He always minded her and he was pretty smart. He knew how to sit, beg, come, move, as in out of the way, and lie down. But Sammy wasn’t moving off this rock. She couldn’t figure him out, he was always so obedient. Normally he’d have been ahead of her on the trail, or underfoot at the least. “Damnit Sam! I didn’t bring your leash!!! I’m wearing white and YOU ARE FILTHY so I can’t pick you up today! COME FUCKING ON!!” She stomped her foot, cringed and looked down to make sure the hot purple polish on her freshly painted toes hadn’t been messed up. “I shouldn’t have brought you today! You keep this up and we won’t come to the river for a week!”

She turned and walked away, not looking back, and marched as angrily away as she could, considering her strappy sandals made walking across river rocks like trying to ice skate over basketballs. Her right foot slipped off a boulder, and stopped in the crack between another boulder, just enough to pinch the outside of her foot. “Damnit Sammy! Shit,” she grumbled. But she didn’t look back. She kept walking and yelled, “Come on Sam! NOW!” one last time before looking at her watch and knowing she would miss the bus. She was halfway back to the road before Sammy showed up, tail wagging, fine as a frog’s hair.

She looked down, “What is your deal today?” But Sam didn’t answer. His eyes sparkled in the sunlight as the fur wiggled around on his face, making his usual happy smile match his wiggly butt.

She locked the front door of her and her Mom’s small apartment after grabbing her hot purple purse. Everyone was going to the new Zombie movie and she liked to get there early enough to see the trailers to other movies that were coming out soon. Her Mom couldn’t afford cable or the internet, not since her stepdad had left. It was the only way she knew which movies to save her money for. Going to the movies was the only thing to do in this town if you were young. She babysat Ember, the curly headed 4 year old who lived in the apartment below them to earn spending money. Her Mom never had any. She’d heard other kids got an allowance, but they had pools in their yards, and horses in a barn. They walked around with headphones in, even in class, and carrying cool black phones. “I gotta get a phone or I’ll be destroyed,” she said to the reflection of herself in the store glass she was walking by.

Sirens were getting louder with each slap of her sandals. She heard a man screaming, “Pookie, my Pookie!” Over and over again, in painful pure heartache. She turned the corner and she could see he was an elderly stickman with a high scratchy voice. Cradling the face of a little round woman with his hands covered in tears and blood. She had been round, Anne knew, like four feet round, all the way around, before today. She could see the two giant canals that now ran up her body, almost perfect in their tire shape. Gazing at the destruction of the remaining piece of the wooden bench that the woman had been sitting on, Anne covered her mouth. Thirty feet back, crushed between the red brick building that housed Suzie’s Sweet Tooth and the city bus, were an arm and leg frozen in time amongst the crushed bench. The arm forever finishing a wave. The leg kicking out one last jumping jack. Anne took two steps to the left and threw up her morning Poptart. Tears eeked out the corners of her eyes. She scrambled for her purse, but there was no tissue inside. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then her cheeks forcefully, trying to scrape away the horror. She froze as the chaos continued: firemen hooking up the tow line to the back of the bus, to pull it away from the building; the paramedics surrounding the little Oreo shaped woman; and the second ambulance team and the firemen rescuing the other man in a car across the street.

Anne inhaled sharply as she gazed on, slowly taking in the entire scene. Then she noticed the broken and smashed remains of a bicycle laying another 40 feet down the street. She didn’t see any other bodies and stood there in shock for several minutes wondering what was missing. Then it occurred to her; where was the biker? She finally absorbed enough of the scene to come to her senses and walked slowly towards a fireman standing back from the group of emergency responders encircling the woman. “Hello…” she said tentatively.

Tall with dark hair hanging down over his forehead, Anne’s heart picked up a beat when he turned and gazed at her with bright blue eyes. “Yeah,” he answered?

She swallowed, “Where is the biker?”

“What biker,” he asked? The earnest concern on her face worried him instantly. He quickly turned to look at the entire scene, stepping away to view the other side of the bus, then came back and said, “What biker?”

“The one that was on that bike,” she pointed down the street behind them.

“Oh my God,” he said before shouting, “James, there’s another one!”

James was supervising the crew of firemen prying open the car door, and stood up instantly, then ran towards the bike that the first fireman was running to. They stopped to look in between and under the parked cars up and down both sides of the street before working their way back towards Anne. She heard James yell, “Over here,” a few seconds later, which was across the street, but in front of a blue mini van with bright yellow peace signs all over it.

Anne stood there shivering, on a hot summer day, as the shock seemed to envelope her. She watched the scene like a silent movie. She sat on a brick bench in front of the smoothie shop, and watched while two more ambulances came, along with the coroner van, and then the news vans. The crowd grew like lava spilling out from Jackson street behind her, oozing slowly into watching positions; like lava drying at the edges. Each couple, each parent, the PaperAssy, all oozing into view, to stand in horror, to watch with fascination. Each frozen in their spot.

Her mouth dangled open when she heard a man say, “You got the time?” Her brain heard it, memorized it, but she just stared on.

The fire truck was the last to leave. Anne had spent her theatre money on two smoothies and a banana muffin while waiting, before she woke from the mental nightmare and decided it was time to go home. The last two busses wouldn’t be stopping today. The place was a mess. The police had those yellow lines stretched everywhere, “Danger, Will Rogers!” she thought. Glass was glimmering like tears from every surface.

Anne stood up, brushing the crumbs from her shorts. Before she swung her purse over her shoulder, the blue eyed fireman came running over, his helmet swinging from one hand. “God he’s cute,” she thought. “But way too old,” noting in her mind he had to be at least 25. Still, she froze until he reached her.

“Thanks so much for letting us know, about the biker… if you hadn’t gotten here when you did…” he let the sentence die there.

“No problem,” she said as her cheeks blushed a deep pink.

He held out his hand, said, “Really, thanks, he would’ve died if we hadn’t gotten to him when we did. What was your name?”

“I’m Anne, Anne Withers.”

“Nice. Thanks again, Anne,” he said, as his large fingers surrounded her small hand in a warm grip.

Then he turned to leave just as Anne blurted out, “What’s your name?”

He turned back smiling at the sweet young teen, having not missed her earlier blush, and after having been a fireman for four years, he naturally assumed she had a small crush. He winked once and took off at a jog to catch the fire truck backing up in the street. But only a few steps into it, he turned and ran backwards, with arms spread wide he grinned sheepishly before saying, “I’m Sam, I am!”

Left Behind


He kicked the dirt, lost his grip on Spiderman and sat on a low rock. Spiderman was upside down straddling a Fir twig, but he didn’t care. He was tired of walking. He could see better now that the shade had reached him. The river was gone. It was quiet now, only rocks and trees to talk to. “Dad said he’d be right back,” he told the SpongeBob shaped rock. “Mom is at Uncle Joe’s house, giggling and spilling her lemonade, and PaPa is selling his car to Miss Sippi.” He pulled a twig out of his shoe and stretched over to pick up Spiderman. He stood up and squeaked out “DADDY” as loud as he could, then moaned. “Lets go back, no one’s here Spidey.”

The trail wound back into the woods, and he recognized a gnarly old tree a while later. Then came the little cave he’d crawled into earlier, only to crawl back out when a chipmunk chased him out. He kept going, down, across a small hill and there was the river again. He picked up a dead tree branch and banged it against a giant root, raw without it’s bark, echoing loudly even with the river rushing by. “Daddy!” No answer came.

He’d been talking on his phone, one hand deep in his front pocket, pacing between the trees. His front teeth chewed at the hair below his lower lip, as he glanced in all directions, like he was searching for someone. Wyatt had heard him say, “Even if I leave now, I can’t make it in time… Fuck Me!”

They’d been camping down river for two weeks, and he’d watched his Dad toss his pole in the river, letting it and the fish go when his phone rang. He’d came back over, squatted down to look him in the eye, and had said, “I’ll be right back, don’t go anywhere, you hear?” “Yes, sir,” and Daddy was jogging down the trail along the river, back to their tent, Wyatt thought. But that was hours ago. His stomach grumbled again, and Spiderman was tired of fishing.

He picked up his pole, tucked Spiderman in his sweatshirt pocket in front, and started down the trail to their tent. It got dark before he reached it, but he knew where it was. He lit the lantern, just like his Dad had showed him how to, and sat inside the tent. He zipped it up, just in case a bear was around, and pulled out the loaf of bread and the jar of peanut butter. He didn’t need a knife, just his finger to dig it out and smear it around. He wolfed it down. Dug out more peanut butter with his fingers. He guzzled at the half empty water bottle lying by his sleeping bag. Then slowly, as he counted out the number of frog “Ribbit’s” he heard, he fell asleep.

All the food was gone in four days; he’d drank all the water and milk and had started in on his Dad’s beer. He felt funny, but lying on his sleeping bag under the stars, he just smiled to himself and looked up. Spiderman was lying on his chest, watching too. They were both covered in filth. But he was the only one with streaks of grime down his cheeks. Spiderman still grinned with large black eyes. One of his feet was missing though, and this upset him greatly. They’d looked for it for hours today. Long enough he’d actually forgot about Daddy for a while. His stomach hurt, so he turned over and curled up, with Spiderman lying next to him, he could just feel the one foot poking him in the side.

He woke up slowly. Wiped sweat off his face and sat up slowly, his head throbbing. Spiderman was face down in the dirt so he picked him up and said in a small voice, “I don’t feel so good.” He stepped into the river’s edge taking three small steps and sat down in the cool rushing water. It felt so good he shivered. He stuck Spiderman in between his knees, pulled off his sweatshirt and threw it back into the dirt on the bank. One arm trailed into the water. He pretended he had a washrag and began to wash himself off. After his face was done he held onto Spiderman and leaned back into the water, to get his hair wet. He scrubbed at his hair with his hand and Spiderman’s two raised hands, then sat back up, shaking his head like a dog.

A sharp crack of a branch startled him. Right behind him, it seemed. He stood up and looked at the trees, the trail, from the river on one side all the way around to the river again and didn’t see anything. Then another loud crunch sounded and he stepped out of the water and froze. The bushes next to their tent wiggled and shivered.

“Where is your Daddy?”

Wyatt whispered, “I don’t know,” as Spiderman came up in front of him to be molded into his chest. Nothing could hurt him with Spidey there.

“Are you hungry?”

“Yes. What’s your name?”

“You can call me Leo. It’s short for Leonardo.”

“Like the Ninja?” Wyatt’s eyes were wide open now. He stepped toward Leo, not afraid in any way. Leo met him half way and took his left hand.

“A bit.” Leo led him to the camouflaged tent. “Anything in there you need?”

“I don’t know.” He crawled in anyway, looked around blankly. His bag of clothes was spilled open, so he changed his shorts and found his Hulk sweatshirt to pull on, leaving his wet stuff behind and tucking Spiderman into the front pocket that was his usual resting place. He didn’t bother with Underoos or socks, just slid his feet into his river shoes. He noticed his special pocket knife lying in the dirt and grabbed that, stuffing it into one of his short’s pockets.

“Do you have anything to drink?” Wyatt asked as they walked around the trunk of a huge Cedar. Leo was holding the arm of a long sticker bush up so Wyatt could walk underneath it without getting scratched. Wyatt couldn’t stop looking up at Leo. He stumbled, not noticing they weren’t on a trail of any kind, just making their way through the forest in an easterly direction.

“Not here.” He pulled an orange out and handed it to Wyatt. He bit it like an apple and spit out the first bite. Then he ripped it in half just like the Hulk would, and started sucking.

“Mmmn, oh hey, mmmn.” He swallowed loudly, licked his lips in a sloppy circle. When he was done ripping all the chunks out and slurping them down, he tossed the rind and wiped his hands off on his sweatshirt. He stopped walking and asked,”Can you help me find my Daddy?” Leo stopped walking and bent down to look Wyatt in the eye.

“Your Daddy can’t be found. Your Mommy ran off to Vegas with her pimp, and your PaPa was in a car accident.” He watched Wyatt’s face go from open and adventurous to frozen, just blank. Leo was quick though and offered, “Wanna come with me?”

Wyatt put both hands in his pocket to hold Spiderman, squeezing him against his stomach. “Where?”

Leo walked away and Wyatt followed, just past a massive boulder tumbled from the top of the mountains, and stopped in front of 5 giant tree trunks. Wyatt blinked his eyes and realized the trunks were shiny; blinked again and saw 5 massive metal legs. His eyes followed the legs all the way up to the huge metal belly of a space ship.

Leo grinned widely with both his mouths and said, “How about Pluto?”





or escaping

grazing a cloud

not knowing how to be

a second of joy

a wisp of a whirl

or in a flit of rage

it holds

wings lay bare


fluttering in fire

a blazing stretch

and it breaks free

only drawn west

by a graceful instinct

to follow the light

Grafted (Travel Theme: Wind)


A lifetime of fury

grafted into a push

leaves rioting

amongst the broken boughs


trees bent in Oregon

Only to be cast off

into a hazy purple mist

where the strong reclaim their home

from what was once a dusky dream

house in fog in Oregon

My trip through Oregon a few years ago… there was no wind in the trees of the upper picture, they grew that way; and isn’t that house too cool? Nothing like placing the house where you get the most shade!  LOL 

This is part of the “Weekly Travel Theme”

Thanks Ailsa, fun challenge :)

827. The moon is at her full and riding high… ~William C. Bryant

Originally posted on Sacred Touches:

As ancients saw, so do I
A throbbing light, a painted globe
Upon a pinpricked sparkled sky.
Suspended in the nothingness of black
Always there, poetic universal rhyme
Dangling upon an invisible track of time.

Screen shot 2015-07-31 at 7.07.11 PM

The Moon was but a Chin of Gold
A Night or two ago—
And now she turns Her perfect Face
Upon the World below—
Her Forehead is of Amplest Blonde—
Her Cheek—a Beryl hewn—
Her Eye unto the Summer Dew
The likest I have known—
Her Bonnet is the Firmament—
The Universe—Her Shoe—
The Stars—the Trinkets at Her Belt—
Her Dimities—of Blue—
~Excerpted verses from a poem
by Emily Dickinson

The Eiffel Tower in the photo is blue, and there’s a “blue moon” in the sky tonight – but that doesn’t mean the lunar surface will turn indigo. Tonight’s (July 31) moon will be a gorgeous sight, but it won’t look different than any…

View original 92 more words



of Majesty His middle name

and Light becoming His Heritage

kneaded with amazing sired into Glory

One Creator the beginning of His Story

dreaming in a brilliant rainbow of hope

in an infinity of sky only required

a fall of millions of years Fathering

the eternal beauty of God’s Tears



long before time…

when the world floated in silence

before a single blink created an ocean

a simple nod was all it took to form a valley

with mountains on either side

a tap of a fingernail against the armrest

and a volcano erupted for the first time

and still time had not yet begun

to trickle by in ticks

as the earth inhaled and held it’s breath

waiting to give rivers of birth

and feel the cool cleansing rains

but life stood still waiting to be born

so there was no one to hear

the sound of silence against the backdrop

of a gusting wind through an empty canyon

the explosive grumble of the land ripping open

as God scratched His initials

into the golden arm of His Throne

just bored one day

dabbling with life

a doodle on a rock

in the middle of nowhere

long before time began…


james and fireworks 2015


a sojourn of being the key

there is a resonance, of one or many

a softness of blurred notes

bent and reflecting, creating its own song

a side strain of determination

an aria of will, if you will

courage in the rhythm, or lack thereof

for it knows know middle ground

even one break in the melody

and its time to move on

the refrain becomes death

a measure of finis

the descant will survive

albeit with a lowing

for the kinship is not broken

only resting

while lost in the silence

SammyTeri Rules


I am King of the River Rocks. I’ll have you know, this one I have possessed is

twice my height, yet I rule because I am twice as tall in stature. I have been

helping my human dig for gold; thus we will soon be very rich and I will hire my

own personal Sherpa and no longer have to jump 3 foot tall tree trunks lying in

my path, or get my feet wet when it’s cold out. I have conquered these lowly

river rocks, repeatedly marking them with my own personal brand. My work here

is done. Although I am embarrassed to admit I have a dirt mustache, I am still

available if needed for all sloppy kisses. Just come closer… no closer.

In This Being



Half of the time

rebels are lovely

you just have to catch them

at it, unawares, when

they’re not looking

for inevitably if they know

you’re watching

they behave differently

stand taller, form their thoughts

shake their bangs out of their eyes

swish their tail in a springy way

ultimately just a show pony

with long eyelashes

and a meaty hind end

but if you manage to sneak up

and see them meandering through

the tall grass, wind in their hair

a sunlit sparkle in their eye

you’ll see a moment of truth

an intensely felt flash of

perfect contentment

and there lies the soul

the root of this being

for you to see clearly




when you need to forgive

forget or let betrayal go

for stubbornness comes

in many forms

from at least two angles

split by that fence

the long trampled grasses

at your feet

and the obstinate bees

mulish in their relentless pursuit

of each and every flower


sprinkles dancing

splatters of life

where will they hit

absorbed in dirt

the top of my head

burst on the window

a million to one

the same odds

you will be eaten

by a great white shark

or hit by lightning

have a baby in a cab

or die by a falling piano

sprinkles that normally

beat up the flowers

danced and slid

across my view

the flowers arched up

embracing the rain

but their love

wasn’t returned today

they barely received a peck

and I was hit by three

three single drops of rain

maybe four

I lost count

as I spun in joy

halfway around

Oh so stubborn


Oh but he’s so stubborn

wanting to live outdoors

under no man but every man

living off the land

filled with garbage cans

dumpsters and oh ick

how can he eat that

he hasn’t showered

I can smell him from here

shooting the moon

hanging around all day

grazing as if he’s free

through the piles of ashtrays

rolling around

in God knows what

shooing away the flies

swirling in his swirling eyes

oh yes he chose this life

to be free

he chose this life


Maw of Darkness

Maw of Darkness


evil is nothingness

unable to nurture

a tainted void

a black hole of emptiness

echoing without a sound

even as it flees itself

gaping in the absence of light

an empty maw of darkness

truly it holds nothing

its arms cannot embrace

the nothingness it feels

just a deadly vacuum

of zero worth

multiplied to infinity



Joyful Ache

why do my tears fall freely

tightness grips my throat

an ache rises from my chest

taking over my vocal chords

drowning my mouth in ache

when I listen to an unusual case of people being extremely kind

someone blessing another without knowing they were

or maybe they did know

the sweeping feeling

of deep deep joy

I find most times it’s the same way I feel

every time I think about every single blessing

in my life

listed out one by one

adding up to

God’s Amazing Grace

no press coverage…

Shards Of DuBois:

WOW… so good!!!

Originally posted on Read Between the Minds:

no press coverage

no one
transcribed the event
a last breath
issued by
an everyman
no one famous
most likely
forgotten by those
he once called
a last breath
offered as
a prayer
to some unseen god
a god who’s
an undocumented immigrant
in a world he once created
a god working to harvest
a crop of souls
a last breath
soon joined
by a thousand more
the night breeze
your face

View original

The Vastness


One tiny soldier

a vastness reaching

beyond his view

following a pre-laid path

orders from a complete unknown

finds his way isn’t singular

he is not special

many come before him

and after

but does that make it

a worn path or plan?

A depleted source?

In all the unknowns

he can’t imagine

the vastness continues

to create and destroy;

so what leads him

to take that step?

Follow that canal?

Trudging on and on?

Is it because

he is not aware

of the possibilities

beyond his own vision

of reality

or is it that following

orders vastly reduces

a singular evolution?

Monday Meter

Originally posted on Tommia's Tablet:

El Ceilo - Grand Central Station 2015 El Ceilo – Grand Central Station 2015

To see the sky from God’s point of view
Reverses the stars’ order you once knew
Above, you see infinity
Impossible is possible, probably.
No end in sight in that glorious night.

View original

On the Edge


On the Edge

poised for the moment
on the edge of humanity
a tiptoe through a kind moral
a fall from the depth of disgrace
turning to lucidly look back
lost in a syrup of decay
the deepest beauty too far
to fly to on wings of despair
destruction etched in the brim
aching to arch away freely
spiraling inward visibly
untwisted to the untrained eye
drawn to folding on the fringe
a society of unkind amity
mercy a mild sufferance
blinded by colors of greed
a sorrowful stock of flesh
in a race to outrun transience
rivaling an ephemeral
waste of the dawn

Diving In


diving in

head first

heart splayed wide

as the eldest petals

of a scented bloom

giving generously

risk forgotten

never expecting


in return

creates an abundant

echo of esteem

akin to sunshine

as a gentle kiss

of unselfish peace

touched with the tiniest

hint of glory

bursts ultimately

into the birth

of true love



I felt Your presence today

it was beyond glorious

my excitement rose

to the same height

as I did

but peace flooded in

as I sailed across the sky

and I knew You

were the wind

beneath my wing

I can’t thank You enough

there are no words

but the smile

from ear to ear

I’m sure

made it perfectly clear

Thank You God

for this amazing gift!



walking in a straight line

on a path that curves and rises

balancing life to avoid





into the unknown

at the very end

or a beginning you fear

just around the corner

doesn’t mean you can’t

walk a tight rope

or trip yourself up

or fly through life

with elegance

or bumbling tumbles

it only means

you are traveling

on a journey

into the unknown

remembering your past

forgetting your future

just be


in every moment