Haiku_September 6, 1994

A shining silver
moon smiled, satisfied, full of
the beautiful night.


Foliage, RoundTrip, Drive from Nashville to Johnson City

Thursday, driving to Johnson City:
My eyes hungry for a
delicious feast of fall foliage.
Soft green disappointment.
The trees just wished for color.
There were touches
of golden hues-
dogwood, sassafras-
barely tipping the trees.
A few early reds-
sweet gum scarlet-
black gum wine-
promised the
hullabaloo of the tree’s Mardi Gras,

Sunday, driving back to Nashville:
Slogging through the mist
the wet sound of tires
harmonized with the swish-beat
of the windshield wipers.
The fall wish of gold tipped leaves
lightened to lemony yellow tones
black locust
box elder
ash & elm
some poplars
And a few browns for balance-
sycamores, hackberries.
Beautifully streaked maples.

Zen Time

This is a zen sort of time-
Responsible only for me
No children to watch over and care for
I sort of drift in and out
of conscious thought

It’s a feeling—-watching—-feeling mode

I’m comfortable with my company

Off to bed

Saw a guy in Applebee’s that looked like Tom
A Kirby? I almost asked him.

Log Cabin, Thursday, Drive from Nashville to Johnson City

Log cabin
perched on a ridge
small, one room cabin
empty and alone
I watched the cars
on the interstate
slide by
as it nestled amongst
it’s own blanket of trees.

Log cabin
A monument and tribute
to the people who built it
(and others who built
cabins like it)
Long ago-
white folks learning
from the “Indians”
A reminder of those strong people
and their self-reliance.

Log cabin, with a view.

An 18 year old Co-ed, EIU,Charleston, Illinois

Up the stairs
1st door on the right
Hide-a-bed couch
overstuffed lounger
wooden chair
little closet in the corner
little bathroom
A tiny table
by a big window
with tall trees, squirrels and birds.

I was happy there
by myself.
I was happier there
with you.

Our first date
we went to the quarry
on your Bultaco.
A guy wiped out
in front of us-
he was okay,
scraped or bruised.

We weren’t
apart much
after that
It was good.

Tuesday, 12:55 am – August 11

What should I do
in the night
with my memories?
My haunts?
I’m afraid
if I make
with my plagues
….it will be my
What if I leave
loose ends
and I never
get to say,
“I’m sorry” or
“I’ve never stopped caring”?
I’ve probably made enough mistakes
to keep myself
busy making amends
for years.

I wonder what this life means
I wonder
seems like there are many people
I knew before
in other times
in other lives
in other places
Why are they
all here
in this