Magnetic Poetry

On the way to school in Missoula I stopped in Snowmass, Colorado to visit my Dad, his wife, and my brother who are staying at a 1.5 million dollar timeshare condo. I think we secured it for $1000 for the week. I drove a total of 24 hours; slept 11 during the duration of the trip. With all due respect, Mr. Kerouac, I am sorry but Iowa City, Iowa has the most beautiful girls in the world. The highlight of my trip occurred when I met with my life long friend Kevbo off some I-80 exit in Nebraska to smoke a huge joint of some California bud that he had from spending the summer in Saint Diego (Whale's Vagina). It was a cheerful respite and highly stoned evening driving cooly across the pastoral sprawls of Nebraska, admiring the dank air and letting the fetid yeoman odor sew its rank garment into the fabric of my life. O, how I breathed deep! Woke weirdly one morning in a truckstop when I opened my eyes and was jolted awake by the realization that I had no idea where I was nor how I got there. Sailing high as a kite across the country will joggle your sense of place. It is a splendid feeling to be back in the American West. I am anxiously awaiting my depature for Montana Saturday morning. Twelve hours to home.

Below is a poem I composed at the UM library during poetry month on their magnetic poetry board. The line for computer use backed into the lobby where the board was and there was a cute blonde waiting infront of me so I decided to mention to her the joy of magnetic poetry and we criticized others work before beginning our own. The first line is hers (don't we all, sweetheart?) and the rest is my original composition about the visions of home life I often see and how it may be attained. It gives an accomplished feeling as a poet to be able to manipulate words existing already in a state with no form or function to a daydreamed lyrical ballad.

Magnetic Poetry:
I embrace moist pie
like seeping ice streams melt
as blue oceans bleed free color.
Heal my star kiss of steel woman;
wake my fire life over again,
flower daughter!
We joyfully
bath and celebrate
over champagne candy.
From there, a soft home
long a pictured;
vast with open cool grass.
Soon her belly changed with
baby fat.
From this is hard work
most of yr day.



Copywright 2008.

Idyllic Days of August

I just sat a moment in an armchair upon the concrete walk behind my laundry room gazing across the golf course sprawl that touches my home-I've seen misplaced shots of the fourth green land, and be played, out of my backyard-there's a small trim of woods acting very generously as a privacy maker. Overall, I'd say the golfers have clear view into our home. All is well. I worry not. I smoke jane in that chair when they're putting. My floral print baseball cap with white braided rope around the brim I found in the garbage in Missoula, Montana is pulled down low over my brow. It's a heck of a hat, perfect for summer. Perfect for Idyllic August days such as this when I just sit a moment and listen to the swift crickets chirping they're impatient tune as autumn is knocking on our waning season. Grateful Dead is playing but sometimes I'd rather listen to the crickets. Let us all be grateful for it was a kind Michigan summer and we woodsman and mariners alike rejoice to be among our element. An element Michigan must promote! It is there for recreating! The splendid freshwater abound, let us share to our neighbors. Come recreate in our fine Mitten. They're many fine things to see.

My tune is growing impatient too as this summer is drawing to a fine close. The motors of the automobiles roar from Woodward Avenue. I should go get Hunter House Hamburgers. I really should. Though they say it’s gridlock. I believe it. I recall one evening a few summers ago sitting just a few blocks from the Avenue at my friends sisters place on the back deck and suddenly images of a shark pit of muscle cars came into my head as the low dark clouds absorbed and then reflected the city lights pouring their light back upon the people so blissful acoustics of beating pistons and heavy Ford blocks churning their horsepower. Images manifested of a sea of swarming sharks as cars and it was the Sea of Tumult lying only a few blocks away and I looked in the sky and saw the warm city glow and noticed how the tremendous banshee roar of the automobiles was being collected by low clouds and the whole sky churned with this great roar. It was one of the few times I'd been truly scared in my life. I saw myself as a 1970's teenager growing up in metro Detroit about to take the plunge into that infested swarm of rage. My friends with their Fords, Chevys, and Pontiacs; my Oldsmobile rides low. I thought of those screaming lanes and tire smoke flying through Royal Oak neighborhoods off the drag. I saw how important automobiles were to those sitting across from me. I thought of how fortunate we were to have a sea of passion in our backyards where enthusiasts and those who make their lives from the auto industry come to gather and celebrate their fate! My motor churns with transcontinental vastness as tonight I leave for Montana to return my academic life at the University of Montana. It's a whole different world, yes. The mountains are calling, however, and the great, beauty of the American West's become a part of me and there is no way that I couldn't come back to you, sweet Montana. Mountains, Mountains all around! Me with glee tramping abound!

When I walk amongst the rows of pine
I see the beauty of Montana.
The cedar abundant,
the mountain grandeur.
O Montana.