F-U stone fruit!

All was going well, back in Mantana, until I ate a plum and it made my mouth itch.
Worry not, my friends, for I shan't let scratchy lips keep me from my fruit of stones. I'll show Nature just like I showed her my superhuman Phelpsian strength in resisting the plague of my alleged feta allergy. I'll show you, Nature, and your little dog, too.

It's a good thing none of you are woodchucks

I shot this lil' fella on Saturday with my .22 caliber Remington. The bullet pierced his skull approximately 1/2" to the right of his left eye causing immediate death. The shot was from about 100ft with the target on a downward slope.

All alone in Uptown

I heard you guys were all hanging out at my house last night. whatever.
Things are going fairly well. I've gotten lost a lot but I am starting to orient myself a bit more. Hey Mar-Leah from Prague and Debrah said to say hello to you

I wrote you guys this last night as I sat alone and friendless in my apartment. ah me. I'd like to think it's a little more poignant than Will's previous post "Fungal Butt Jungle Butt". Glad to hear your posterior is on the mend buddy.

We drink dark coffee and red wine
and say I love you with soup
and borrowed car rides
nature assures that the turning of my head
is intimately connected to the sound of their laughter
Nothing happens alone or isolated
and the wilderness of wave of my unruly hair
is the same as the lake
when my perception cracks enough to make the connection

Fungal Butt Jungle Butt

fungal butt jungle butt, was it caused by a spore?
fungal butt jungle butt, give me no more!

Butt, I just want to ride my bicycle
must my posterior be so fickle?
I'm scratching and squeezing like a torrent romance
It's so hard to look cool with your hand down your pants
So I thank the doctor for the creams I received
the tide it has turned and now I'm feeling relieved

fungal butt jungle butt, battle me that's a sin
fungal butt jungle butt, I won't let you win!

The previous poem, for those who don't know, was inspired by my unfortunate case of what is believed to be athlete's foot on my butt.

The Truth Will Set You Free...

The rawness of my emotions reminds me that I am alive, breathing, pulsing, feeling. The feeling of inadequacy creeps in, and I use all of my strength to push it out again. What defines us as human beings is more than a title, a moment, a quality...it is more than we can imagine. And if we live without intention, we become unaware of who we are. Incessant questions keep running through my mind, I try to quiet them but they will return. For now I find solace in the shadow that is cast over me, in the wind that is more powerful than we have come to believe. I beckon the wind come and take me where it desires. I will work on allowing the freedom of truth to sweep me away....where it will take me.....I know not.....

A BWCA Quatrain

Like dreams the paddles plied the waves
supplies secured with barrel staves
upon this rock we shall proclaim
four corners of a picture frame

Together stoke this earthly fire
and harmonize this six stringed lyre
like criminals who care for not
but what is right here on this spot

When midway did the sun wheel round
the sausage pot we did astound
with groans of ecstatic delight
having survived another night

The eagles eye soared o'er us
gliding through this magic forest
We heaved our burdens in the air
But where was Nick? we did not care

The food stores dangled in their trees
safe harbor on the peaceful seas
spark flame of life everlasting
tie the jigs and begin casting

Reel in the aqua vitae
crack a joke and play a ditty
blessed be they who travel far
to gaze upon a distant star

Red Lake inspired Haikus

Sweet Dreams for Joe Pie
Unicorns dance restlessly
a sleepy bunny

Here whispers Walley
Wipe my greasy mouth cornors
an ocean of blood

Free lunch for Walter
Willy needs a fresh minnow
I'll jig 'em on over

I'm caught on a tree
why is this tree wiggling?
holy crap a fish!

Pelican Sheep's Head
hungry fish hungry bird hopes
beware the golden eye

Sing A Song For Depressed Angels

I arrived home shortly after 4:00 on Monday. I was riding a natural high. Things were good...so I thought. I was not aware that I was about to enter a crime scene. Donning my rubber gloves I began to inspect the scene. At least four victims, maybe more. I've watched enough Dragnet to know: just the facts ma'am. There were no witnesses at the scene, at least none that were alive. Very smart, I thought, but very cold. This killer obviously had no conscience. I couldn't figure out a motive, the carnage was so complete that it could only have been the sheer joy of killing which kept my suspect at his gruesome task. These poor beings lying lifeless before me had made no enemies in their short time on this abundant earth. They had led such a meager life, surely no one was jealous of such innocent creatures.
How did the killer get in to the residence? I couldn't figure that out either. There were no signs of forced entry, so how did the killer get in and out? There was a small list of suspects who could have committed such a desperate vicious crime. The wounds were similar on all four of the victims, small lacerations with very little bleeding. Probably the perpetrator picked them up by the neck and shook the life from their delicious bodies. They were so young and had so much more living to do.
Upon further investigation it was determined that my sister had witnessed the perp at the scene of the crime and stealthily followed him back to his residence. There will be no gobbling on Bemidji Ave. tonight.

my time in the garden this eve

This evening I sat outside on top of the picnic table with a bottle of beer held tight between my feet and looked out on the garden and wrote this. I have decided that my garden reflects everything raw and wild my life is not. This year it has grown rich on junk. Tea leaves, melon rinds, potato peelings, they have all gone into the dirt back here buried and piled intermittently among vines and leaves. Seeds from old tomatoes and cucumbers lend themselves to scattered flurishes of green.
I have decided, by default, that my method this year is to have no method.
This garden will definitely be staying in the minor leagues this fall. So far in life I have just started to care about things that my dad has turned into rituals over the years. Since I have moved back to Bemidji I have strove to make sense of the experiences I had while I was away. And while it is nice to feel a sense of order to things in my life now I also recognize I also need this wildness.
The garden has turned in blind chaos, jungles of unattached vines, rusted spoons. It seems awful that these leaves will wither in the fall and the broad leaves will expose the side of the house again. As I contemplate the impending changes life seems daring and strange like this garden. I continue to sip the dark ale (thanks Pete) and my head begins to feel big and wobbly on my neck. I start to think about what to eat for dinner as the garden flurishes green. My mom's continued watering next door has swelled the hollyhocks in bud that gently rock against the walls. Her mums spread full as bushes, trailing and complicated. Basil blossoms spice the air.
The suns last rays are warm and the breeze tonight is strong enough to keep the deerflies and mosquitos off. I sit through the sunset and into the darkening night. I let the beer wear off gently as the night grows deeper, thicker, darker all around. Time goes by and yet I don't want to move. I try to have no thoughts. I shut my eyes and feel my senses grow alert. All around me I feel how quickly things are formed and are consumed. I dig my feet into the moist earth feel anchored to the ground which feels good.