Aging, oh yes, aging happens. Maybe I’ll writ about my own aging.

Have come up with RLS! Whoa, damn, this is a wild trip. The hardest test that has come my way in the 78 years I’ve been experiencing life.


Not much sleep these past 16 days.


02.11.15 Deep in the past. blabbering...

abstract poem; a term coined by Edith Sitwell to describe a poem in which the words are chosen for their aural quality rather than specifically for their sense or meaning. “adjective - The definition of aural is a characteristic or virtue that embodies a person or a trait or quality that appears to radiate from someone or something.”

Putting my mostly abstract poetry in progress, ‘out there’ - for anyone to read can be risky business - lets my incomplete attempts at poetry to be... Mainly for me though, to keep in one closet so that they can be played with whenever I’m feeling up to it; maybe a couple of great poems will materialize. In reality though they are all over the place, and corralling them onto these pages and branding them with numbers is the work of a true Wordboy.

The words are written in note books, scraps pf paper, lines titles parts of poems some completed ones all in a tangle, I managed to get them into my computer to be organized, then made a web site and put this raw rough stuff on line - open.

This could also be a form of a journal, that or a mind trip. Never kept a journal. More of a story of mys life than poetry maybe?
Everything everywhere is in progress, in flux, in movement, especially here and now, at my age, having fun recording my minds awareness absolutely uninhibited dancing around inside my head, working with the brains mechanisms, going nowhere I know of, but now that the idea of a journal came around, it may head in that direction.
01.11.15 - The outside babbling links, non-poetry, repair shop & The Junk Box
VERB: reveal something secret (or seriously inquisitive) or confidential by talking impulsively or carelessly.
Unfinished ongoing business:
nu - THE JUNK BOX - new additions on 2.11.15

~~~PART ONE~~~

new 01.23.15


thunderhead clouds building
tunnels caves valleys offer refuge
rainbows trailing flying elephants
secret islands shifting sands
hectares of dense forests
granite ledges offer passage
chatting between species
a just born baby
a sheltered bay
barely a wisp of wind
Seagulls silent
a Way once was
became ships

-gary schooley

new 01.22.15.


From out of nowhere something real
intuition perhaps yet there is a hesitation
If I look at what my mind is doing
the story that my mind writes
both imagination and knowing, a realist view
causing the future to accommodate my wishes,
may not happen to be sure, this I know
yet some awareness seeps into the space
that allows thought
within several hours we will know each other
so well that it will be natural we belong
then again, It may not happen, this I know,
whatever happens, will be okay, fine, good
in tune with the One true note

The mind slips as we slip into an older age 
we see it happening thinking it will be a slow process 
and that by the time we leave, our minds will still be intact,
no doubt about it, it is like watching a play, different characters
come in and go out leaving things taking things,
memories altered blurred, we forget the past,
what was it exactly that happened even yesterday is a mystery,
when we try to reconstruct it to accommodate the future,
the fool appears all to eager to assist us, can we really
cause the future to accommodate our wishes following
certain sets characters scripts, hardly, seems like this would be
a true moving of atoms and molecules around to latch on to
the perfect structure of lose form and shape, bendable,
durable, forever ongoing dropping the fool aside

tossing away the script 
when the past and future join the moment and arrive
exactly as meant to be, then one wonders if the mind
has already slipped to far away to catch
a life line is there to be sure, the one thing we know
that anchors us, the life line, as I know it, a thin golden cord
that connects ‘me’ to where ‘I’ came from,
though I know not where that is I only know that it keeps me grounded 
no matter what my mind does, like always trying to trick me
in that it is the boss and for me do its beckoning 
without questioning like our government does,
but age brings the wisdom to use to go beyond
the convention and be free, and within this freedom,
is more space than we will ever use
allowing us to let lose be real to be who we are
what more is there what more can there be when one is Home
and all of existence is the playing field, being a hopeless romantic
even now at the edge of my time, faith is what it must be 
although I’ve never experienced faith never thought much about it 
never had faith in faith, odd that it should come up now, 
I’ve always thought faith was a crutch.
But faith is not what this is about…
it’s allowing me to kiss the sky
to say goodbye to be released
change form on my own terms

- gary schooley

...and just who is this ‘I’ or ‘me’? Think Bill Clinton noting, "It depends on what the meaning of the word 'is' is.

I ~~should keep my mind and my mouth shut~~
To be continued





01.12.15 - 9:50 p.m. (I'm treating this like a blog but don't know how so here it is this way.
Writing this just now was an odd experience just the title FIND A MATCHING HEAD was perfect to write about.
Yet so far it' just my usual throwing of words around.
Most of them bounce back, some jumping beans, no wonder a, or many of, my poems do not make sense to some, or most of you.


(The story of the origins of this poem is from; I'M MY BODY'S MECHANIC)

Mechanic of My Life

12.29.14 - 01.22.15

keep the motor running
keep the joints loose &
keep them coming

keep the chatter down
keep the matter meaningful-less
keep them in tune

keep the questions to a minimum
keep the answers up front
keep them covered

keep the balls rolling
keep the faith
keep them well lubed

keep the wheels turning
keep the bearings in sight
keep them aligned

keep what you know
keep what you don't
keep them together

All as One Thing Always
Words the Threads holding
The Tool Box handy..


Back to top

12.18.14 - 9pm. Florence and the Machine - ‘Lungs’ on the stereo again


body aches why write it down
to bring it to life which doesn't
make sense no reason is why
or is there of course it is fun
so the body aches my body aches
a description two dimensional
I'm just learning how to weave
different textures of words together
forming patterns that give me great joy
I dare say joy but yes can't explain it
but more so for showing the experience
of me my life so high so low
if all this writing is just for me
this is just fine and while here
I forgot about composing myself

in the mountain retreat and the marketplace
it takes more than one for me to be free
in the mountains free to be free
in the marketplace completes the journey
time to go in the space in between
a look a taste a knowing it is just better
with a companion though missing this
regain composure and read what you
have written while forgetting about
regaining your composure
music on lights down low
tired of thinking about words
regaining my composure
is what needs to be happening.



they were nowhere to be found although he wasn’t looking
another assumption made and unmade in one breath
when they came into view everything was right
the porch familiar for sure one tall palm tree
one lush Jacaranda one Arika palm, one way tall Norfolk Pine 
this is just in the line of sight 
a twitch of the eye catches a glimpse of a 3/4 moon
these were the surroundings and he didn’t see them
they weren’t there he wasn’t either was why
into the house movement flowed something missing
surroundings unchanged no questions thought
something different something the same
somethings happening life he suspects the tail end maybe
have to catch everything see as much as possible
dwell deep let everything come in feel it all
soon it will be gone as it is what it will be he doesn’t know
he gathers up the moments hugs them caress's them
opens for more of these moments let them in
the tales end is near catch the breeze take flight
hang loose soar free it is only this life
everything’s gonna be all right

Friday 11:55 - 12.14.14

for one is a bad thing
for older folks to do much of
causes blood clots under the knees
could easily lead to death or worse
sitting gets boring too but even then
I stay away from imaginings of what
I would be if I were walking
the opening is wide so much out there
in the walking world more than most walkers
could possibly imagine what they miss
by not knowing not walking; it is a given
not much thought devoted to it sitting
looking out at the world in its awesomeness
stay away from these imaginings
they carry a virus, a type that causes
depression, a sense of loss, something gone

the setting one the sitting one the one
who can only recall from experience
of when walking running squatting dancing
hiking swimming mingling in crowds dances
parties gatherings negotiating the tight spaces
between furniture walking legs were natural
a dance always in all my movements
- I was going to avoid these imaginings -
so gone they are, the altered path leads
to sitting as the years pass by
but the remembering lingers never looses touch
with the connections the neural pathways
a part of life from the beginning has my
program set to dance even when I appear
to be still motionless inert the inner is
carrying on like a wild child, innocent child,
not quite, a voice says, and the dance of life
goes on and on and on forever possibly.


12.11.14 / 01.12.15 / 01.24.15

something waiting slowly emerging
from a lifetime a lifetime missing parts of myself,
loose machinery, can it really be lost this passing,
this reflection of a flock of migrating geese?
Being here in the remnants of Eden time
laying still the lake offers clear views of the past
the Now coming into view, into not knowing, into Being
honest with the reflections the transparency of us
the all knowing One gently reflecting the shadows
of the departing geese, the shadows,
being shadows, are relevant, on my tail
watching my progress
the passing never lost
what else is there?


~~~~~~ PART TWO ~~~~~~
All poems below written during 2014
Back to top



Before you can’t get back
How many horizons need be touched
How close to the edge
Do we dare ourselves to wander
Not looking for anything it’s there
So close fear letting off its scent
Allowing itself be known
Heed the hint understand
There is nothing to fear unless
You give up

How far can you go
Before you slip off the edge
No telling guessing or pretending
There is only one way to go
Open to the unknown that knows you not
Beyond the horizons of understanding
Free falling into nothingness emptiness
Spaceless weightless bodyless
No directions home none necessary
You are



to be able to say
out loud what’s going on
in my mind thought me
limbo maybe in limbo
between birth and death
who we were who we are
what a story what stories
what a story what stories

to feel the inner workings
of my body so familiar
more familiar than anything
the tricks the patterns the
no no’s the cautious path
the lonely content path
for both mind and no mind
for both mind and no mind

reading is lazy writing is work
I forget what I read
what I write is evidence
that I wasn’t being lazy
so write about the movie
playing through this mind
onto the big screen of life
onto the big screen of life


There were no shadows the moon straight up
They said that she was in the sky with diamonds
Who was I to doubt them
A window left open the moons reflection
A sliver of bright deflection
Crossed our paths the stroke of midnight
Time alters everything
The secret was found to soon
Shine on you crazy diamond
You crazy diamond
You crazy 

They said that she was in the sky with diamonds
Who was I to doubt them
I who had been wishing things were changed
That she were mine and I were hers
That moment when time is speechless
In those silent words
Reflections danced and played around us
She shone so in the endless sky 
The stranger the legend the martyr shine!
The secret was found to soon
Shine on You crazy diamond
You crazy diamond
You crazy 

I left the midnight open the window too
The full moon paused briefly time stopped
We joined hands
Did we question I don't recall
It didn't matter
That moment we had each other
I had been wishing things were changed
We had to wait but didn't know 
The dreamer the raver the poet shine!
The secret was found to soon
Shine on You crazy diamond
You crazy diamond
You crazy 



a passing thought winks in that peculiar manner
that is an instinctually recognizable way of me
as is its way not quite in-tune with the way
of things as they are projected onto
the screen of life streaming past and bye
onto the next breath sigh lingering there


a lingering thought and lingering sensations
linger as they do is seldom thought of
consciously but duly noted retained categorized
allowing the un-coupling of responsibility to
things projected onto the screen of life
these moments of living outside the box


they linger they pass they wave goodbye
sometimes and not often over the splashing
water over the rocks the moment lingers
we come back always but remain longer as we age
was it really bungled or the way of the jungle
it takes everything from you and gives you
everything bungled lopsided crossways
they come through a maze a haze
think cosmos don’t think don’t think
Thinking is the bungler

(not done but having fun lingering while passing bungled thoughts)


I know you’ve thought about it
I have and we all know that it’s a trip
Something we never thought to expect
When we came out of our mothers womb
Wet slimy hooked to mothers umbilical cord
Thoughtless we never had a clue
As to what was to come holy shit
No one told us because no one knew
Innocence all around at first
Then the changes came the lessons
The teachers tough mean and loving

The plan calls for so much time to be
Present so much time to be lost unawares
But always Yin Yang persists we are all things
Plans, huh
We have thought about how fast time flies
We’ve literarily flew with it looking back occasionally
What are we doing with the time we capture
Are we ready to go leave pass on will we be ready
Not that it matters at this point
More time is coming be ready to use it wisely

We learned from experience
Some learned from books and stories
Tall tales told by tale tellers fakirs dreamers
What was missing was the whole truth
The unexpected is to be expected
The known makes it’s way clear yet
We know nothing that matters
The tales have stuck with us but only loosely
They fall away as we age and get a glimpse
Of the bigger picture an overall view
Of past present future all wrapped up
As one Molecule one moment not to soon and not to late
Was it a good trip here on Earth of course
Our experience here is our life

We ask ourselves the question what now
An answer should be forthcoming rapidly
Bouncing off our tough skulls knocking
Ourselves sensible enough to melt the shield
Meant to protect ourselves we thought
And time passes life along with it
How much did we miss how much did we use
To fulfill ourselves to join in the process of
Life and death looking back shows us
Who we are and tells us if we are okay
Now with the time left life is the place
To use it and experience the extremes of this
Life form that we are

-Gary =
experiencing life in it’s fullest physical physical limits
and in its unlimited mental possibilities is work a challenge a gift to persue
to preserve to maintain in face of all odds and ends jamming up the Way
which has no limits no boundaries no ends no beginnings
we own what we are and what we are is our path


There is a place not far from home
A kaleidoscope of emotions
Of energy often availing itself to us
To use to create to nurture
To bow down with
To bless and give thanks
The kaleidoscope is us you me
Everyone every One

There is a place not far from home
A little out of reach unless - expand horizons
Everything lines up in a figure eight
It moves like everything else
It invites you to move with it
Flow into it, drift into it and entangle yourself

There is a place not far from home
Yet here is now, can place be so transient
Skipping stones across the mind
Idle innocence
Keep study the course meanders
It be night, no moon, black
You never listened to the official line
You took a path not recognized
Almost lost but not quite
Here is Home



long before I had a chance to grasp
or even get a glimpse of or fathom 
any meaning to of what they were telling me
they passed on with the previous second

they won’t come around soon if ever
those thoughts that were perfect expressions
to write down and hold long enough 
to know them know them well enough 
to put them in writing
with an acceptable structure 
put together by me
no vocabulary training 
or understanding of as yet

new ones come though
I am ready for them
and have them slow down
often times they dance and play with me
confounding gently guiding me to look deeper
look elsewhere slipping through
cracks along dark crevices
out to sun bright paper avenues
opening onto colors of tans faded yellows 
blacks desert canyon reds under
a round red orange sun overhead
while hiking up the trail to a
small out cropping on the cliff

settling down on my blanket 
overlooking hundreds of square miles 
of what were once vast lakes
The Great Basin - Eastern Oregon
time passes and the night appears quickly
bringing a mist dissipating under low lying clouds
to just above my head
while I experience maybe forty miles away
intense lightening cracking and spitting
from different directions clashing fiercely
miles wide and hours long thunder rumbling
over the flat desert so loud my mind shuts down
and my bones vibrate

all this energy being absorbed
into any peoples bodies
experiencing earths dance with itself
brings us deeper into the raw 
chaotic source of an entrance 
into this what is called life
completely outside of ones self

the thoughts keep rolling in
like a gentle tide lapping between 
the in the out the in-between
thought and no thought
that continue their comings and goings
and become part of this color-scape
the greens of nature
blue skies birds white clouds
the myriad colors of flowers
Indian Paintbrush bees fish
bring colors manifestations of my mind
they are colors just the same

no-mind though
brings nothing but
an indescribable immersion 
that can only be expressed
as the bottom fell out of my foundation
I am falling in place going nowhere

the words continue coming this night
from somewhere I am not certain 
or nowhere perhaps
are they even there not really
my mind conjures them real
I write them down thinking of course
of how they look lined up as I have
yet new ones slip in and alter the layout

do welcome the late comers
as they bring new ideas and a freshness 
to what was getting stale and a newness
so unexpected so uplifting 
"how can this be?" says some old 
way of thought another ‘ages’ rules

free of that I enter a new way 
a new way of being with myself
my awareness aware of ‘I’
all this unfamiliar energy
allows the old way to dissolve
and open new avenues and new paths
where eventually words form lines
into a work a piece a shape a structure
telling showing gliding along the pathway
to those thoughts that were
perfect expressions
to write down and hold long enough 
to know them know them well enough 
to put them in writing and here they are 
the original perfect expressions
forgotten changed altered intentions lost

but the feelings sensations 
the with-ness so open so fresh 
so unexpected so welcomed and
as suddenly and unlikely as they appeared
they fly alway with the breeze this brings
and here I am left with the remnants
color swatches golds tans reds ochres
my self colored bathed saturated warmed
by this way of using words on lines
using these words that keep arriving 
through this night and placing them
in this what could be described
as structured intentionally by me 
yet I know it as a free form dance 
or like swimming up a river 
or riding behind the crest of a wave 
or being bathed under a fifty foot waterfall
surrounded by giant ferns moss 
exposed roots of fir trees
then hiking downhill for an hour
ah the Blue Herons on one leg
on the S shaped curve on the gravel bar
the MacKenzie River

I left the old no regrets the new was so right
the sensations no words can speak of
maybe a rebirth although 
what I saw then what I see now
no words no thoughts
I am appreciative blessed and thankful
for those years and time
never knew how much until decades later
I did know something thinking
the knowing is in not thinking
the something I knew thinking
was the illusion mind creates

all this and other blessings 
over the following years 
so over whelming and mind altering 
so welcomed some were so at home 
settled in place with family there was the time
for family in Oregon that was good for us all 
for that it has held through the distances
it holds through long time and space

Holding, letting go, keeping, losing, it is all one thing.

On the stereo Vampire Weekend
Modern Vampires of the City
9:30 PM - Saturday

Hey! Open some space here, drop the mind,
even though I imagine that I’m
writing some brilliant lines
there is time when I have to slow down
let the words pass-shut-down
there are other things 
that need attending to
as my mind is nodding off, other things
need attending to after all, hell, I’m seventy six,
and the long hours of these years are closing in on me
words to conclude not chosen or thought of
a simple goodnight suffices
and an I love you


On the Farm - I had a dream that I was building a small cabin on the flat shelf above the rock outcropping behind the chicken coop.
Woke up and wrote about ten lines. That evening I added more  of my experiences at the farm, but more to come when I’m in the mood which I am not now, I go days and weeks without any creative spark at all, maybe a dull glow... Life being busy… slow going getting back to the subject of this poem, sort of…

This is going to be altered changed edited many times before done.


I thought I was heading somewhere
until I found myself there
snowshoeing from the truck on the road 
from twelve degrees to the warmth of the cabin 
wood stoves baking bread muffins granola soups 
no electricity phone nor indoor plumbing
empty mind other than simply living
off all grids no news from the outside
a foot of snow on the ground and
two hundred feet to the outhouse
carrying five gallon buckets of water 
a hundred feet to the wood burning sauna/bathhouse
there were others living on the farm
but this is my story 
they have theirs

I thought I was heading somewhere
until I found myself there
chopping wood carrying water chainsaws
splitting firewood for weeks on end
insulated boots long johns wool caps
squatting to shit under the whisper of the 
Quaking Aspen song rising with the wind
walking to the clucking of the chicken coop
Road Island Reds White Leghorns Bantam Hens
when I didn’t get them in the roost before dark 
the Whites roosted in the trees outside the cabin
fresh milk from the small dairy up the road
two inches of cream at the top of the bottle
Coyotes barking across the valley

I thought I was heading somewhere
until I found myself there with two Nubian Goats
milking them a meditation
owls occasionally picking up a chicken
I thought it was fine someone else got mad
sometimes you could watch hawks teach their young to fly

sometimes if you looked up in the trees by the cabin
you would see a wild turkey looking down on you
all the while I was there home in the trees
Western Larch Ponderosa Pine Quaking Aspen 
Lodgepole Pine Douglas Fir Western Red Cedar fifty acres
and a many hundred acre back yard never logged 
and to steep to build on it remained wild 
with hiking trails criss crossing switchbacks 
to a hidden grove of seven old Ponderosa Pines
in the summers I’d be naked
except for worn leather moccasins
when I arrived clothing scattered along the trail
I liked to think I was the first to embrace those trees
sitting for hours in the sacred grove prepared me
for what was soon to happen

I thought I was somewhere
being there Being
and then the change came
thirty-nine years old I was
I was there home when 
my legs left me stranded 
out there in the outside world 
a stranger in a strange land
sent to the city black ice winter
wheelchair slipping and sliding fuck this
coping doping drinking uh oh what now
for a short while until it became apparent
this was my new life the drinking stopped
I fell in love blessed in the most blessed manner
time passed and new experiences flooded my being
surrendering opening loved and loving 
then fate altered everything choices made
the right ones for everyone
friends beckoned me from the Blue Pacific
I was heading somewhere again


(needs editing as most do...

My body, in conflicting with aging
un-relatable this me who as another me
goes fencing with medical prognosis
diagnosis advice suggestions
time to leave is a present thought
the layers of non-life threatening nature
different parts of the structure colliding
some rebelling some holding fast
this form of me swimming through
seventy-six years on planet earth
in this very moment
this blend fits a comfort zone
how it is day by day how my days go
to tell I hesitate I hesitate
as it is a bizarre show or tale
the one moment the one day
that goes by and I feel good
and say good day
is rare
I drop everything and go with it
because it’ll go by fast
be gone be over done into another
they are bad those other days how bad I won’t tell
four areas of my physical being malfunctioning
compounding everything confounding the mind
but not taking it off course stand up
get up stand up bring yourself home


Thinking about that heart of gold
and I’m getting old a Capricorn with a Sagittarius rising
I relate to this I like the relationship of the two
and the vague searching for that heart of gold
continues on is it fools gold
the real gold is being there
being here now
yet the missing persists


(in progress... this has possibilities)

hiking barefoot down from the hot springs
low lands marsh white long legged birds
plucking translucent pink fish from the shallow bog
as they flitter through green grasses
tiny white flowers soften birthing waterfalls
falling over rocks onto thick moss and lichens
soft under the feet sensing the body’s muscles
adjusting and adapting to the gait
of the legs and body traversing creek
you are so agile she yelled out from behind me
i was embarrassed i was young i was home
you were someone else’s wife
you nudged me to where my heart needed to go
pushed me through the wilds me holding on tight

-gary schooley

to be cont.

01.01.01 say, ‘till now

(Begs to be edited altered elaborated - truth be brought to billboard size)

It keeps me up at night
the lower back gripped like a claw
the undersides buttocks pelvis legs feet
burning stinging like boiling oil in the veins
the muscles crying helplessly
no let up for the past six months
all hours of day and night it persists 
weasels ripping my flesh
overcomes normal thinking 
it convincingly tells the mind to give it up
let it all go body mind leave relief
the mind inventories my meds
hum, got enough, but this Pacemaker
is going to keep my heart from stopping
put me in a coma no way
take one toke or two
deep exhale of breath reprieve

deep exhale of breath reprieve
only temporarily of course out of mind
the pain though is merciless no quarter
how even I questions where this power
to stay the course keep still Be in the Light
comes from and holds me true to who I Am
I know somewhere but this is only a poem and
word play is necessary to convey my inner life
without being a bore or seeking sympathy
life is an undisguised blessing open for all to see
I am alive all of me and am blessed to be so 
even with Dybbuk being on my case for years
being his angriest meanest cleaving mother fucker
of all time persistently seeking my weak spot
but hey dream on my man
my weak spot is my strength
never venturing anywhere near that spot
staying close to the power source has allowed me
entry into the inner world the empty mind world
I am the only one to handle this situation in all 
its complexities uncertainties and surprises
and I will
you will



back to the script
another long pause
it’s always about words
meaningful meaningless
tragic comic sad laughable
the script is about the shadow
an invisible shadow
something outside myself
inside of about myself
I’m not a script person
I claim halfheartedly honestly

what is it that directs our actions
but ourselves who else
toss the script

when writing a poem
when all ideas are tossed lost
dumped trashed deleted
left with nothing but this mac
how can another word appear

these times late night silence
balance equilibrium in-between
pause flight catch the current
dive far and fast when hungry
a gently flapping of your wings
when satisfied catch the long wind
over grandfathers and grandmothers
who knew what some of us
learned from them then forgot
bow down to those forgotten ancestors
those who knew the lands of earth
before we arrived Eden was everywhere
no Adam or Eve here
maybe an Amitola or Ahmik
living where we can only imagine
the lush wetlands from Canada to Texas
From the Rockies to the Mississippi
marshlands teeming with life
our minds can’t even grasp
unless we unloose our imaginations
and be with millions of birds fish deer
beaver moose and after a while
when it all began to dry up
Spanish arrived while looking for cities of gold
brought the people the horse

the mind what it does
dreams up stories imaginative
ideas discoveries that keeps us busy
away from ourselves barley peeking back
but it is fun mind play
so long as we can drop it
and go nowhere

I guess this is about time passing
and the time standing still
and all the expressions experiences
personifications imaginings
that were had during my life worked
the tuning was set good enough
the stories were good refreshing fun
other worldly a melding of change
intense startling un-believing sad
wide open loving intimacy a give all
be all in all of all in One

while time passes mind stays busy
still no title as the mind pries itself
open slipping into forbidden territory
hoping to find one needing recognition
mind-no-mind no mind me all's play
I’m a mind occupying a no mind space
and maybe it wasn't about time passing
or time standing still either
but about no time at all passing away
unnoticed fading into obscurity
a place we only know of
when we come back or return from
always ready to go again
the never ending trip of mind
that of course will end
as we meditate
and as we pass on

-Gary @play

There she goes, the lady of the woods Kay, the Lady of the woods Boogie woogie country girl Walkin’ those country paths Toward ordained moments Moving so lightly, softly Supple as she goes Gently preparing her Being Moving Towards the One One time Florida City Chick One time spaced out flower child One time mad bitch Always moving, soothing, smiling Lightly, as though she is the mother of us all Holding fast to herself Slipping occasionally But recovering sweetly Looking back over her shoulder Waiting


KAY was written in 1985, five years after the last time we saw each other. I’m not a poet, these words are simply a description of how I saw Kay during that summer. She, living in her tipi with new daughter, Yahava, and cool dog Moses. Moses, and my dog, Buddha, got along just fine. No head trips here.

~~~~ PART THREE ~~~~
All poems written decades ago
They all involve women in my past
Women who were important
Meaningful at the highest level

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NOTE: All pages are in a constant flux updating altering & rethinking mode