a note*

Everything I post here I have previously published on the many other blogs I have had. This is a place for my favourites to rest. These are the wings that taught me i could fly and that there is life waiting, far beyond the ridge.

If you care to comment, just drop me an email at grayhawk77@yahoo.com


Wednesday, October 31, 2012


it's there, just now
like thunder in a box car
all around me, deep within me
and I feel like a crack mom
who's baby wont stop crying

is this where head in hands was born?
my bones they rattle
as the wind and hail
beat the windward glass

my anger whispers a burgeoning threat
and i swear
i'll spit myself all over you

chains being stretched
doors being slammed
words growing teeth

up the river
down the canyon
over the mountain
and around the bend
echoing a waterfall of spoon

not so much a bass drum high on puberty
or two cymbals breaking treaty
nor even a squadron of howling monkeys
all teeth and screech
drowning out a cause
but more so an attic full of bad memories
crashing the Christmas party

where is my sargasso sea
where the surf takes its slumber?
or my life raft
on a thousand miles of deaf blue stillness?

dollars and dames
wars and used cars
tsunamis and cyclones
and my own dragon within
a light-year from slumber

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

What If

Birds had maps
And dragonflies, GPS?

And whales, lanes
And taxes?

If deer walked the same trail
passing on the right
(Well, American deer)
Checking their watches
For dinner in the corn field?

What if the hare had safe houses
And bears
Anger management every Thursday
In humphries hollow?

Perhaps deeds could paper nests
And mailboxes dented
By the hoodlum fox
Could claim a blueberry bush

What if wildflowers
Were lined in neat rows?
And the honey bee
Assigned tables?

Clouds could march
As polished soldiers
Bill boarding their intentions
So Barry, the weatherman
Could finally get one right

Perhaps the red river could pause
So its somersault of roiling boil
Wouldn't ruin
The Emmerschmidts new carpet

What if, i wonder,
Nature could be civil
Taught manners
And order like us
And have council meetings
The second Tuesday
Of every month?

Then could man be master!
Then could fear be conquered!
For beauty through Freedom
Would be vanquished
At last

The Storm

shoulda bought the beacon
and left two weeks earlier
funny how in all this chaos
the moon still dances in and out of the fury

now that keel,
I never did like the way it shook
not that it matters now

God, what a blow
shadows of death in every trough that plows my grave
while my rudder hangs
like a tail without a cat

my survival suit swings drunken in the closet
as useless as a candle in a blizzard
and I think of those I spoke to last
and the things I might have said

Men paint of such scenes
but this isn't a banker's wall
or a side-winding tale
in a sawdust saloon

this is real
life, death, alone
the final act where indifference
yawns the balcony
and the depths feather my bed

I could think of angler fish ripping my flesh for supper
or the pump that sleeps a drowning sorrow
but strangely I don't

I think of kisses as I drink the last coffee
these lips shall enjoy
and I laugh maniacally
as I slide down one hill
and toss to the other
wondering which wave took my panic

when all hope is reefed
the grand mast of fear falls broken
and the heavy anchor of regret snaps its chain
while my soul sails an uncharted departing
under bare poles and a curious moon

tomorrow the seas shall smooth
and roll like a wheat field in Nebraska

a ship may pass unknowing
a whale might nurse
and a long liner may notice clutter
on his sonar

but that is a tomorrow my coin cannot purchase
a calm a tempest too late
and a sun I shall never see

so farewell! all ye lovely ladies
so long, my brothers in arms
drink to me when the gales come calling
drink to the fool who sailed alone
and made peace with the night that took him

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

A Moment

there was a desert
where all the sands of time
lay heavy in disinterest
I knew it's vastness
I lived it

the winds,
when they blew
were a bellow of hoarseness
from parch
and the noon sun
in laser sear
scorched my child's skin
into fissures
of remorse

I wore them
like a marshal's badge
but my bullets
shot only rust

the mischief moon
fell cold and heavy
shard like
on my weep laden sleep
while the scorpion
layed his mark
in mourning trails

and the thirst
that played percussion
knew only one beat
as an echo
in a house of mirrors

as i trod these barren dunes
my tracks hid themselves
in sadden shame

but one day
in my journey
through this maze
of no relief
I felt a breeze
stir my heart
into tentative hope

it led to a door
that led to a shore
which opened to forests
and rivers and streams
beyond purple mountains
overlooking deep green seas

I laughed
as a drunken loon
and drank
til my heart floated free
and my bullets
fired life
as quicksilver

and love, too
grew neath pines
around this oasis
of crystal quench

but when again,
and much too soon,
the seas turned to sand
and my drink to dust
when once again, the noon sun
blistered my exposed heart to blacken ash
i turned like a top in a sadists maze
searching for a door I'd known
or even the door's cool breeze
but found nothing
save the barren yesterday

moments are like that
that's why they're called moments
that's why we keep trodding
because the door
is a mirage
only motion can find
and only once,
maybe twice

Today I Am

I have been
A rabbit on the run
Hunched in shallow clover
Fearing the shadows
That hold my sand

I have been
The mouse
Hunting crumbs
In others cupboards
As my tail
Grazed their traps


I have been
The mongrel
Bare-ribbed and homeless
A tail wagged in vain
To the catcher's disdain

But today
I am the eagle
Full, spread and high
Gliding thermals
Where only a gaze
Might find my freedom

I am an eagle
I fly among clouds