Some of My Cards and Prints

  

  

The Views of My Muse

I have NO problem finding my muse,
The problem is his controversial world views.
One night he's poetic, and the next he's a punk,
The next he's on facebook,
Doing karaoke drunk.
He expresses his aingst, his pain and the rest,
As well as his lifelong obsession with breasts.
His latest obsessive, compulsion is SPAM,
And the endless and mindless pursuit of canned HAM.

Release your Dove Cards!

I really hope that you haven't stopped listening,

To my incessant selling of "frozen dew glistening."

I realize that my capitalistic ways are obnoxious,

But my aim it is true, even if my method is toxious.

One small unknown fact, that is kind of funny,

To get my cards, you don't even need money.

Just answer my riddles, and complete my rhymes, 

And I'll just send them to you, from time to time.

I'm trying to scatter them both low and high,

So release your "dreaming dove" cards,

Let them go, let them fly.

Santa Ana Jake

painting by Dave Whitlock(?)

In one of the Casitas, at the bottom of the lake,

Lives a Largemouth Bass named Santa Ana Jake.

He’s big and he’s mean, and if you dare cross his path,

You MAY live to regret inviting his wrath.

I know cuz I hooked him, one late afternoon,

Five minutes before closing, I believe it was June…

I cast out my line, not far from the ramp,

Just one more try, before heading to camp.

And my line it did twitch… it moved… just a bit

And that’s when, my friends, it all turned to shit.

For when I set the hook as I usually do,

I encountered a force not unlike JAWS II.

I had come prepared. I was properly schooled,

With my drag set correctly, and my reel freshly spooled.

But nothing could have prepared me that day,

For Jake and HIS sick idea of child’s play.

He headed straight for the surface, and exploded, in a hurry!

His mouth open wide, like a runaway Plymouth Fury.

Then he dove straight for the bottom, and wrapped me 'round a branch,

Or a hitching post from an old sunken ranch.

And I knew it was over, when my line it did break,

And sunk with my heart, to the bottom of the lake.

On Yin and Yang

The hardwood flame leaps from the forge.

Ash gently falls to the ground.

Morning dew drips from the blade of a broken axe,

Nourishing a thirsty oak.

The oak’s roots pierce the earth’s crust,

Opening her up to absorb the morning dew.

A bucket of water extinguishes the forge,

A new axe is ready for the cutting of wood.

Sea Level

An afternoon walk in the woods,

Unsettled voices whisper in the trees,

Turbulent waters cascade over rounded stones to the lake.

I am a prisoner in paradise.

An early morning walk on the beach.

I am free…