“Mister…?”

A young boy, dressed in clean but threadbare jeans and a shirt that might have once been red, took in my leathers and my road-weary black Harley. He then shot me a look that was older than he was. “Mister? What’s it like to ride a motorcycle?”

I decided to tell him the truth. “Kid. It’s so hot your knuckles fry. It’s so cold you want your fingers to fall off because they hurt so bad. But it’s wide high freedom with a joy that transcends to something beyond the howl of the wind and the throb of the motor that becomes so close to the beating of your heart you can’t separate them. It’s a gratitude beyond the food in your belly—beyond the roof under which you live; it’s a paroxysm of elation that sings a song in your heart and you love every note without knowing how it ends. You just can’t describe it exactly, Kid. You just can’t. But you want to keep riding, just in case you find the words that might shine a light on what it’s like so someone else might have a clue. It’s almost a prayer. If I could really share it with everybody, I surely would.”

He pursed his lips, looking for a moment like the old man he would someday be. He nodded. “Thanks.” He stopped at the doorway and looked back at the Harley and me. He nodded again and went inside, probably to look for his mom.

I stood there in the fitful breeze cinching my denim jacket into its windy shape. Time to throw a leg and go. As the motor kicked over I nursed it to a smooth potato-potato and wondered if I’d ever see that kid again. The story didn’t feel done. I filed my shrug to the we’ll see pile.

(bike: 123RF.com)

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Posted in Action-adventure, Aging, Conversation, Harley Davdson, Life, men, Motorcycles, Narble Furt, Riding, Slice of Life, story excerpt, Uncategorized, Writing | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

Cleavage Trap

Her passionate eyes
held mine as she elegantly
voiced her heart’s intent.
When she looked away
I snuck a peek into her cleavage
and immediately looked up,
embarrassed, apologizing
to the sky and all
the women in my heart.
But I chanced another glance as soon as I could.

(top: entertainment.ie; bottom foap.com)

Posted in boobs, cleavage, Friendship, Humans, humor, laughing, men, Narble Furt, Poem, Satire, women | Tagged , , , | 3 Comments

Quiet Despair

The mirror barks
a noiseless disdain;
the backward eyes
shadow quiet despair;
a vacancy of intent, where
a blink hides nothing.

(image: the americanconservative.com)

Posted in Aging, anger, Brain, Hope, Humans, Life, Poem, Right now, Uncategorized, Wisdom | Tagged , , | 1 Comment

Amble du Jour

The dog catches my eye
and whines his question:
“Now, Boss, now?”
An idea: the smell of salt
opens my mind.
I laugh and nod.
He stands with a clatter
of claws on hardwood,
tail high and boisterous, as
he prances around the couch.
His eager head presses through
the red leash harness
and we’re out the door,
through the dunes,
onto the moor,
hearts on the fly in
our amble du jour.

Toulouse

Tillamook Head
Posted in animals, Beach, Dog, Dogs, family, Friendship, Gratitude, Morning, Ocean, Oregon, pals, Poem, walking | Tagged , , , , | 4 Comments

Universe Understood

Consciousness,
the universe is–
a way to understand
and make small enough
a vastness into parts.
Your mind will never
grasp the whole, no,
that is a feeling
for your soul
to warm when
cold clasps your heart
and galaxies never seen
seem almost familiar
and close enough
to nod acquaintance.
Understanding is
accepting you cannot.

Posted in Absolutes, Art, Brain, Consciousness, Humans, Poem, Quantum flash, Uncategorized, Universe | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

Tag, I’m It

Birds play tag:
close-drill flitting,
chasers suddenly chased
at the flick of a feather.
I laugh;
my mind flips like they do,
but without their agility.
I am honored to watch,
bathed in their game,
humored with their compassion.

(photo: avopix.com)

Posted in Birds, Brain, Flying, Gratitude, Humans, humor, Joy, laughing, Poem, Wildlife | Tagged , , , | 4 Comments

Looking Up

(for William Stafford)

Your poems run the gamut;
you have blessed us with music
of realization and understanding.
Many of those poems were born
on your couch, lying on your back,
looking up at your journal.
Really? Their birth is as
astonishing as their venerable lives.

Posted in Art, birth, Gratitude, Music, Oregon, Poem, Poetry, Uncategorized, William Stafford, Writing | Tagged , , | 2 Comments

An Example of Daily Writing

(Here's an example of a the beginning of a daily writing session. 
Initially, I made no edits. But I couldn't stand it, so now it's
trying to become a poem. I've changed the original, so my first
effort has been subverted. Silly me. I'll probably keep editing it
until the work no longer feels like creation. Once the start is in
ink,the important thing is to keep going.  jrs)

Blood moon coming tomorrow;
eyes all on high, hoping for
clear enough and no rain.
A dramatic sky—clouds and
patches of stars—would be fine,
maybe even preferred,
like daily obstacles that
educe a story with grit and
a voice like an old friend
with a mug of steaming coffee
come by to visit for no particular reason
other than coffee and to breathe
the same air listening to the sea.
Stories can do that:
come alive and show you how they need to be.
A story will not lie to you
unless it becomes your lie.
Daily writing does not require approval.
All it needs is a curious heart.
Posted in Art, communication, Consciousness, Hope, Narble Furt, Poem, Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

The Way Forward

Anger finds my heart
unreceptive to the pull
of self indulgence;

it is not the time
for self righteous behavior
and losing my way.

My heart knows the way
when my mind is distracted.
I am who I am.

I know where I need
to be–in a gratitude
so deeply profound

that the future of
my existence is ordained
by the love in me.

ripples KissingCows

(water: fineartamerica.com; elk: narble.blog)

Posted in Absolutes, Aging, anger, family, Gratitude, Haiku, Holiday, Life, Oregon, Poetry, Uncategorized, Universe, Water, Wisdom | Tagged , , , , | 3 Comments

Haiku: Wind, Rain, Faith

The wind hurls itself
across my roof in big waves
as I hold my breath.

The skylights receive
a violent drum solo;
I receive the awe.

The house bravely waits
for the next real world onslaught;
my faith is a gift.

(damage: usatoday.com; lighthouse wave: katu.com)

Posted in Action-adventure, Beach, family, Gratitude, Haiku, Home, Life, Ocean, Oregon, Poem, Uncategorized, Water | Tagged , , , , | 4 Comments