it's like this

getting older...

i take naps sitting up.

the glasses held loosely, in my lap,

a concession

and some new appendage.

it's like this

getting older...

the desperation woven

into the poorer places,

that dark binding,

becomes so hard you struggle

more

against it,

again so unwilling

to rise too high

for the emptiness of

that atmosphere.

remembering pregnancy 11/5/07

scarf. blues and greys wrapped now around my

neck because it's cold enough now. outside.

the baby is coming sooner now. soon

enough. right on time.

and the night sends its crickets to sing.

and she bathes herself warm and loose

in a low lamp light.

her belly an island.

the mother.

shoes. freshly cleaned and sitting just

outside the door. on the wooden porch.

and yet i don't feel on the outside.

or on the run.

my shoes are home.

my home is inside.

and. outside.

if only to feel the clack of the keys and watch these letters cross the screen like spilling paint, i stop here for a moment. the wind is stealing my attention and the fever begins.

letter to a worried friend

The Fourth of July, it's come and it's gone
and the only thing that has scorched your lawn
is the glare of the sun that starts after dawn
and moves through the day with its fiery brawn.

Your house is still standing, not burned to the ground
from rocket displays amidst the great sound
that rose from the darkness and burst all around
to delight all the children and scare the odd hound.

But i was ready and willing to toss in the ashes
an old A.C. unit between burnt window sashes
and handrail lumber that in the end only clashes
with rough cedar posts not burned down with matches.

And so on this day, the fifth of july,

let your mind be at peace and cast no nervous eye
to the South where your house didn't fry.

an old one

i sit where i can see her

face like a bird

thin bones under close skin

and her wrapping-bush of thorns

beauty brings too much attention

it's heavy

shifts the balance

and i tip towards her

from an observation post

a bird-watcher

and i'm starting to understand

why angels envy humans

...i want to free her hair

photo test

     the kerrville folk festival has come and gone.  it's an 18 day (more like a month if you do it right) extravaganza of music and family and camping and exhaustion and bliss.  elizabeth and i met there, fell in love there, got engaged there, got married there, and bring our little girl there.  maggie is only a year and a half, but she's been to three festivals already.  (one in-utero, one at six months, and this year).  since maggie's arrival we have only been able to go for the weekends, which has taken some getting used to.

     the volounteer staff that runs the festival is made up of a wide range of folks, many of them incredible musicians and writers.  this photo is taken by the staff rekerrds which is set up for staff musicians to sell their cd's and merchandise.  there are multiple daily shows on that stage behind us where grace is standing in her purple skirt.

     to compensate for doing only weekends, we invited a bunch of friends and my dad to come and camp on our land after the festival.  for another week we ate together, played music together, talked, and laughed and hung out in the texas oven-of-summer.

     swinging from a shade tree is a good thing to do in the middle of the day.

     

     and then we have a little cereal and a nap.

     

ramblings of the recently sedentary

     recently if recent is just over three years ago.

     

     ramblings are now more verbal than geographical.

     

     sedentary in the stationary, not lazy-moss-growing-on-you, way.

     

     in the year of 2006 i came off of the road after a solid five year vagabondage, got engaged, bought a house without a job, got a job, and got pregnant (not actually me, but you know).  by 2007 i got married, quit my job, found another one, had a daughter, and started nurturing the roots of the sedentary.   life rarely moves at the speed of trees anymore, and solitude is out the window, but these are the best choices i've ever made and this is the best life i could have ever dreamed.  the only real choice i made was just to say "yes".

     i used to spend my time wondering if i was a sensual mystic or a mystified sensualist, but now i'm just daddy or darlin'.  i tried to walk off into the desert until her voice came into my van as i left a hurricane in south carolina, drove through thunderstorms clear across tennessee, hit arkansas twenty minutes after tornados touched down - her voice said "You're on the wrong path."  so i slept on a farm in arkansas for a few days to digest that and then drove straight through to texas - to the woman i said yes to, the woman whose voice came to me in the van.  now i spend my time wondering about gardens and home additions and eye exams and how my little girl manages to climb to the top of the slide on her own.  i wonder about how i can make my wife's load a little easier and how she can help with mine.  i wonder about friends i've made all over.  i wonder about how much screen i need to fix all the spots where our dog has made some spectacular escapes.  i wonder if i will make art again soon, or write songs again, doodle off a haiku - i know it will all have its day again.   and so i wonder about reaching out again to the wider world, even the world wide web, to see if i can touch people there and have them touch me right back.  a friend of mine sings,  "To all you ramblin' gypsies with your stories up your sleeve, i give thanks for your encouragment to me".  

     now i just wonder.