Time ticks by so slowly
Grains of sand pass like stones
Even my skin hurts
My stomach churns and tightens
I am inside myself now
I cannot hear voices
Just the clock

Fortune

It says, This is a good time to take a risk. You will succeed.

Me

It is Coming

Sometimes I dream of the tornado. I am in a burned-out
building on a high floor. I can hear it somewhere in the
distance. The roar of it. The sound of trees being pulled
out by their roots.

Where I am, all is still. Everything around me seems to
be waiting. I want to run away, but I can’t tell exactly
where the tornado is. I search from one broken-out hole
where a window used to be to the next, trying to see it,
but other buildings are in the way and I can see nothing.

It is coming. I can’t get away.

You Can't Go Home Again

I’m not sure I believe that. But, then again, where exactly is
home? I’ve only lived in a few states – Colorado, Oklahoma
and Texas, which isn’t much compared to some. I’ve always
felt torn between Oklahoma and Colorado. I spent substantial
parts of my life in each place. I have dear memories, dear
people, in both. I only spent a few months living there, but I
did a lot of growing up in Texas. Although it sounds cheesy, I
left a big honkin’ chunk of my heart there.

I’ve been going on a little genealogical scavenger hunt for
my Indian roots lately. My own 40th birthday and the
pending birth of my niece are part of that. It’s also something
I’ve thought about doing over the years and it may be a little
easier now, with all of the electronic information available to
me right at my desk.

I’ve been contacting and keeping in contact with friends from
the past. I’ve been looking at old pictures. I’ve been assessing
my life. I’ve been making some changes and insisting on some
from those around me.

I’ve been gathering up my people, I guess; the people who
contributed genes to my body, the people who have touched
my life in the past, the people who are in my life now. I’ve
been taking a close look at them. Some of them have carried
me a really long way.

They’re some great people, these people of mine.

What’s for dinner?

Free Speech

“I had been flashing the peace sign everywhere in almost
every picture. David finally had enough and gave me a
lecture about God, country, the war, and peaceniks,
complete with a tearful refrain about how every time I
did the peace sign, it was like stabbing him in the heart.
So, after that talk, we resumed walking down the road,
and my mom took this picture. It is one of my favorite
pictures of all time from my youth . . .” – Mark Richards

The Writing Process

Somebody asked me the other day about my
writing process. Which I can understand,
because, being unpublished and pretty well
unpaid (except for a slam competition in
1999 when I won about twenty bucks from
a bunch of drunk poets), I am definitely the
one to ask - assuming you want to remain
unpublished.

If I'm writing free verse, I just pick it out of
the cosmos. That's what everybody does.

If I'm writing with form, it's a very complex,
frightening thing . . . sort of like a homeless
person talking to himself. I looked through
some of my aborted attempts and I found a
representative piece,which demonstrates the
thought process as well as any other piece can.
I have included it below. I imagine that
it will baffle you as much as it did me.
I don't think anything came of it, which is
what happens with most of the stuff I
doodle around with.



DA dadada da da daDA dadada

dada DA dadadada dada DA dadadada

boobooBA booBABA boobooBA booBA BA

Telling me you tell me Sending me you send me


Condescend
Apprehend
Comprehend
Recommend
Reoffend
Without end
Bitter end
Must extend
Does portend
Don’t intend
Defend

Afternoon
Moon
Picayune
Monsoon
Opportune
Commune


Out I walked
last eve, no-
afternoon
at half past
Six o’clock
dang near froze
a monsoon
at long last
I ‘bout balked
All aglo
A full moon
Its light cast
Down the block
I went, tho
Picayune
The cold

The Cremation of Sam McGee

After hearing this poem by Johnny Cash, thoughts
of any other post fled. It was for just this sort of thing
that I loved Cash so much when I was a kid, and
why I still do.

You can hear Cash's recording of the poem at:
The Cremation of Sam McGee

Close your eyes. Feel the heat of the camp fire.

And pass me a marshmallow.

Resuming My Addictions

Four months without posting, nearly three months after the
Austin marathon, I have decided to resume my blog.

My 40th birthday looms, just over a month away.

I feel something more is on the horizon. Maybe it's just
middle age, but I find myself in the middle of what feels
like a major transition in my life, and I have discovered
that (damn it!) I miss my blog. It was such a good creative
outlet.

I have begun to run again. Short runs, but they feel really
good.

After much contemplation, I have decided to participate in the
Oklahoma City Memorial Marathon each year, as long as my
body will let me. It occurs every April and, therefore, will not
require me to do long runs in the heat. I will maintain my short
run schedule, along with some weight lifting, until January
2007, when I will begin to train for the marathon.

I invite any and all to join me, spiritually and/or physically.

Yeeee-HAWWWWW!!!!