"The Author-Preneur with Something To Say That You'll Love To Read."

A Fall Into The Holler

Taking a fall
into the holler
of my soul I

have seen a
greening of
the edges of my life

a moistening of
growth for the
fashioning of grace

just a bit
out of reach

of the
cavernous spring
at the center

with its cold
endless pool
concealed but

from which my
life is fed


The Milkweed in July

That I could paint 

 with words 

the beauty and aroma 

of the milkweed in July - 

buds abursting with wonder; 

petals opening with awe; 

glory aloft in the air 

all about me - 


The Power of the Waters

and so
the power of the
waters all around
me is calling me
to find a new way
on in life -
a way to set out
onto and into -
one as passionate
and surreal as the
sensual undercurrent
of a rushing, turbulent
stream in the mountains

sometimes hidden in
the inconspicuous holler,
sometimes clambering toward
the open sunlight on big
stones from geologic time

always pushing forward
until they are all but
dried up - and then -
a trickle to their end

power and dissipation
ramble from the same source

The Warming Aroma

The warming aroma
of lilac and phlox
wafted up from
the river basin;

the only place
with enough movement
to create a breeze.

The Song of What a Soul Needs

It must be planted
with a gentle, mountain
song - one from the
meadows of morning -
Copeland’s Appalachian Spring.

Watered with a fine
and molecular water
splashed from a rising
Rainbow taking to
the horizoned moon -
fly just hanging on
the lip.

Nursed on routine
mouthfuls of an IPA
with aromatic hints
of an oaky bourbon.

Chest deep in waters
with no fish on,
only one perfect cast
following after another;
and the smell of a
wood fire on the wind.

Neem Karoli Baba

I have seen
the way the

the way the

look at you

the center
of your being

the center
of your "me".

It can take

to climb out
of that brokenness.

The brokenness
of the

we construct.
The shallow
self clutching at

reeds and straw
for nourishment

is not there.

has never
been there.

Let the stare
of the centered one

take you
on your way.

Their path
goes in.

That is the
real prize.  Eat that

All Three "Boat" Poems - together


When I am old
I should like a boat
to sand and paint
and pull through
the waves.
I will put out on the
Sea each day and
take from her the fish
she holds about my
island home.

From her place
I will do nothing.
I will not call to land
or signal to the
other boats. I will
fish and stare into
her depths and get


When I am old
I should like to sit
on the top of the water
in a boat I sand and paint
each year –

I can hear the Sea
call to me, “Come.
Sit. Stare. Come.”

A fleck, a crumb
can only fall to the
surface for a second.
It is taken down on
the curl of a wave.

She is hungry - the Sea.
She is hungry for me.


When I am old
I shall have a boat that
I put-out in every day.

I will bounce on waves
With little care of where
I go, but only why.

The where will not interest
Me, but THAT shall.

That I should stare deep
Into her depths and weep. That
I should find in her the tears
Of my thousands of lives,
Mingled softly and hardly
Against the other cries of
Anguish made from the bottom
Of my lives.

That a fish would be taken
I would find ok. I would
Eat her nourishment as salt
And ashes and tears and bread.

image by the author - 1995