Empty Chair (Some poem from between about 1971 and 1980)


To the Longstreet family with love;


Empty Chair


A moth fluttering in the room.


The unseen observer

waits for the moon.


The table,

the chair,


holding the sun and the moon

and the stars


from falling.




Poems from the Browntown Cafe

Quietly;  near dawn,

four souls,   half asleep,


fire rumbling,  fire consciousness,

rumbling in two drums.


Sound of the creek;

wallpaper clinging to the walls,


two roosters crowed in the dead

of night,

perhaps these chickens parallel us,



breath, breath, breath, breath,

taps the universe.


The dogs pounce on the door,


A baby cries.


Cats in the kitchen

stealing bread.


my cup is on the bookshelf.




Cats and people

crounched in the Browntown Café,

waiting for dawn to be served,

some dreaming,  some awake.




When the big changes come…


leave the mind to itself,

be here now,

don´t expect me to say

or do anything,

laughing,    laughing,

even when the tears come – laughing!

Leaves on the ground,  snow,

It feels like spring,

buds in the winter sun,


Browntown  1972




View From The Mountain


We pick and choose

our way

down the mountainside,

down into the chaos,


Our words

and what we see

and feel,

caught in the swirl,

and composed

into what we are,


sunlight glinting off

the clouds shrouding the mountain,


the grain which runs

through everything,


all creation,

in the heart of

a single rose.




Hot Night Itch


There are people

and things

I have known

and do not know

tossing together

in the hot night itch.



Three Rivers, California





Past Lives

If our past lives

are revealed in our fantasies

and dreams,


If reincarnation is a reality,


we´ve met each other before

so many times on the other shore.


Once I was a cruel soldier

and ran you through

with a sword of hate,


Another time,

I was a stone,

and you were a tree

and you embraced me

for a lifetime.


Our lives are parallel,


We´ve come down the same

stream together.


You don´t know

who I am,


And I don´t know

who you are,



Trying so desperately

to find one another.




To Dylan (the day of his birth)

The unborn child,

the unborn self.

Did it ever exist?


Lying there, in the cradle,

so helpless, so perfect.


What do you know?

Absolutely nothing;

no concepts,

no words,

no thoughts.

Will you ever be the same?


On the journey

from light into darkness,

darkness into light,


Spurts of energy,

Love and



Everything in a swirl,

As the moon

came over the mountain.




Full moon




Peeling Off

She twisted

her way





A bird flying by


The old railroad

brown shacks

with silent stovepipes

across the creek



and sooty, red-grey gravel


but what matters is


this cloud floating by

without a trace


of peeling paint.


8:76 Sandpoint, Idaho




Sky Blue Sky

Quartz veins running through shale meat,

shattered and tumbled down, patches of skin, swirls of grass and moss, dry brown clusters of Great Bull Pine needles strewn about,  A winged seed, (seventeenth or eighteenth century) fell into a crevice where it sprouted, took hold, and grew for two or three hundred years, the sun rose and set a few thousand times, clouds passed, snow and rain, the moon circled the earth a couple of thousand times, there were several droughts and hard winters, a great fire swept over the mountain and burned the tree, gnarls grew around the scars, a man came and girded the tree with an axe,  the tree died hard and died painfully,  the bark fell off and turned the grain grey, when most of the twisted limbs had fallen off and lay scattered on the rocks, a pair of osprey wove a nest in the trees arms, they raised their young and taught them to fly, screeching in the sky blue sky.


Eagen Mt.




Hobo Creek

The flow of the water


around and beyond our bodies,


up through the shale

peeling off the mountainside,


across our hips

and breasts,


running through our hair,


You can feel it in everything,


In the sunshine,

In the water,


In the cool breeze

blowing through the cottonwoods,


These naked children,

squirming specs of light,



in the eyes

of God.




After Christmas Poem

So it´s over now

and we´ve seen it,


The lights and

the feast and

the gift giving,


The misty glow we put on

when it peaks out,

is consumed like booze,


The trimmings and

trappings are still

lying about,


It´s raining

and the snow is going fast,


The next day

I´m alone for a while,

And feeling low,


But it´s alright,


It´s always like that

when you´ve been high,


Then I think about my friends

and how good they´ve been to me,

and how much love I´ve seen in them,

and it´s beautiful,


and it´s alright.




Eagen Mt.


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