Monthly Archives: September 2011

Tangled Mess

This will mostly be an autobiography. and as I’m not dead yet, it’s obviously a work in progress that will include photos, artwork, poetry and god know what else I may dig up along the way.

The route is tangled and messy and touches on my experiences as a fashion model, portrait artist, equestrian, mule skinner, Disneyland tour guide, sales girl, veterinary technician, muralist, graphic artist, firefighter, EMT, bomb squad/haz mat tech, rock vocalist-bass player, dental technician, bookmobile librarian, Forest Service fisheries tech, mall cop, actual working cowboy, locomotive mechanic, webmaster/boxing analyst, custom wall treatment designer, veterinary technician (again)/ deputy sheriff.  And all the while doing artwork and writing poetry on the side.

I hope you’ll find something interesting in this tangled mess  … though be warned, I don’t  take much of anything too seriously.  And as far as spirituality goes, that’s a subject I believe best kept private.  Seek no enlightenment here!

Also, progress here may be slow as I’m trying to put my brain and body back together again after waking up from a weird illness and 2 month long coma in 2007, more on that later.


The West (Frontiers)

The West (Frontiers)

You know her...
A matter of extremes
Is what she's about:
Fiercely delicate.

You saw her as wilderness
Waiting for your hand
To rein her in,
All feminine and fertile.

You can't conceive of ages.
You won't believe she lived
Before you defined her
With scars and bruises.

Birth and death flowed
Silently around her
With a quiet grace
Invisible to you.

Your control is her best asset,
You think - but you don't know
What she does best
Is imperceptible:

She simply waits - and you
Will be long dead
Never having learned the steps
To her long slow dance of healing.


Ghosts of Bridges

Ghosts of Bridges       

Could it be the ghost
Of a bridge I'd burned,
Has come back to to show me
A lesson I'd learned
Without knowing for sure,
(You know nothing's certain),
Could it be you, or just
Wind through the curtain
That's shaded my room,
Life, and heart that I'd
Broken myself, thinking
Sadness an art to be nurtured;
So foolish,
The marking of time,
Love's not to be wasted,
The soul's not a mime;
But my energy's gone,
I'm tired and jaded,
My time's all tied up,
The colors have faded
To gray...but no...
It is time to begin,
To start living and breathing
And shedding the skin
Of my ghost, my bridge,
(Educational Past),
Holding on to within,
I will move on at last
To a new place, the place
Of the Eye Meeting Eye,
Where with gathering hope
I'll be willing to try and
Work from the failures,
The fallings and learn
To build this time,
A new bridge I won't burn.




Spring is not an easy passage to enter,
But what choice is there?
The deep sleep of winter's icy bed
Is much easier to endure,
That pure and consuming survival
Where being warm - even if alone - is enough.
Spring stirs things that can't be managed,
The wanting of a lover's neck to nuzzle
And the wanting, and the wanting...
And where are honest arms to wrap up in
When  morning swarms with birds,
Or when the coming scented night time
Looms over me and my hands hold only
My dear sweet splitting maul?


Bering Strait









The Bering Strait

Ice has formed on
These timid stepping stones,
Unimak, Atka, Agattu.
The Bering Strait between us
A tempest of boredom
And expectation.

We each nestle
In our reclining continents,
Worn, green, velvet, and
Yours a distant, nubby brown,
Blurred by television
Storms from the North.

This strait cannot be
Bridged at any time of year.
Desire has migrated
To places we refuse to navigate
Now that love is little more
Than cold geography.***