My Words

Understanding the World through words

Tag: Oregon

My Father, Oscar-Poem

My dad was a badass dude,
he bought a Harley—
him and mom would cruise;
up and down California,
Nevada, and Oregon.
He worked and bled for
our provision, I witnessed
first hand when he lobed
his fingers off.
At the height of
his prowess he was unstoppable, fearless, and always full of hope.
We’d sit down for supper
and listen to his wild man
escapades. He showed me how
to shoot straight, never to cower to life, and to have faith. To respect nature,
to eat what you kill,
and to be brave—
to treasure your woman with all your heart and
that family comes first.
He showed me his
frailties and love.
He taught most of my friends
how to make a living–he
taught them a marketable skill.
He wasn’t perfect, no man is.
He faced his own demons, then death with his chin up and
He’s my father and
friend to the bitter end.

Smith Rock-Poem

Heading up north closely following the Deschutes,

we’re going out for a trek on a warm winter day,

out with my nephews and sons;

our lunches are safely stowed away. Driving towards Smith Rock—

if only you could see it glimmering against the back-drop

of fresh air and Oregon western blue skies.

My brother-in-law racked with pain, cancer eating him away,

bedridden on his front-room couch,

yells at us to—“climb away, but watch out for the snakes”

his eyes wishing he could go, if only once more.

Every-time you climb a mountain,

you follow in the footsteps of great men,

those who ascended—making their aliyah, and

leaving the corrupt world behind.

I told the boys—“I’m getting older”,

don’t you dare leave me behind,

wait up for your uncle, I’m the one with the struggle

and its not just about climbing towards the pinnacle this time;

but of seeing my dearest brother slowly wasting away—

Finally, we reach the summit, I want to let out a scream.

Instead, I just sit and stare at the boys youthful-gait as

they climb around and around, exuberant, vigorous,

fired up and aglow;

forgetting for an instant that their father’s moments

are slowly ticking away.

And against this extravagant landscape,

so clean—an Oregon still pristine,

with a vantage point of heavens front door,

a sacred place where eagles make their craggy nests,

I let out my scream:

Daniel, I wish you be here with me and the boys!

Smith Rock 


Towards Oregon 


‘I Want To Write Like That’


I Made My Amends With God

The wolf with grey white coat
steps onto the freeway,
heading for the kill left
on the road. The same road
that heads towards Bend.

I’ve seen him before
at different intervals
in my life…

Once, when I was logging
in Alaska trying to
make college money.

On an island
in the South Pacific
near Ketchikan, I
lived with similar fated men.

We were thrust into the
wilderness to find precious
wood that
Japanese bankers
bought by the dozen,
until the tankers
were all filled up
with American logs.

Mostly cedars and fir,
we attached cables to them
and a helicopter would
swoop them up,
like a bald eagle
would swoop up a salmon
during their up-stream run.

One day, in that
dense Alaskan forest—

I turned a corner
and nearly ran into
that same grey white wolf.

We looked at each other,
curiosity got the best of us,
until we went our
separate ways,
nothing came of it,
just a distant
haunting memory.

I remember, I went out to town.
I had to take a plane ride in.
There I met a woman,
who like me—
was desperate for love.

We tore at each other’s
We were left
breathless, panting.
I imagine wolves
feel the same ravenous way.

A few years later,
I met my wife.
When I first saw her
I knew she would be mine.
Her smile convinced me
and the softness of her eyes.

I took her to Yosemite
on a winter escapade.

We drove slow through
the snow drift,
the precipitation
leaving its residue on
the road.

Around the corner,
hazy, white,
the way the atmosphere
looks when the snow
decides to make its way down,
we ran into a grey white wolf meandering
near the whitened road.

It was searching
for something?

Staring at us;
we marveled at its girth
and it’s lovely furry coat.

Something about its eyes
were both melancholy and
menacing; a lonely predator
on a desolate Sierra Madre road.

The wolf near the
highway that led to Bend,
stared at me
and brought a flood
of memories.

The wolf was
lazily strolling,
in the midst of the
many holiday cars.

I stopped to look at it,
I cried out to him,

“why are you stalking me?”

“Can’t you see, I’m religious now!”

The wolf’s ears perked up

The wolfe paced and
looked in my general direction
I yelled,

“I’ve made my amends with God!”

He stopped and stared, perplexed;

Eyes fixed back on the kill,

nothing, not even a human, would
dissuade him from the free lunch
left on the road.

Bend, Oregon Luscious


Purple mountain tops
Covered in twenty-five shades
Of snow.

Lakes as blue as crystal.
Waterfalls so icy and clean–
Rivers with one million meanings.

Air that lets your lungs
Know that you love yourself.
When you breath–
You breath the America,
That used to be.

During summer so tasty,
Prancing down the Deschutes,
In inflatables while getting
Ring-finger tans.

Winters are classic
Nordic delights.
With one thousand and one
Ways to play
In the follicles of ice.

The buttes like
The city high on
Desert nights.

An Oregon that bends,
Bends, bends,
Like a crooked river–
With capricious sisters
Gazing from afar
Towards an erect bachelor:

Perpetual phallic symbol
That overlooks
Our luscious city.

In A Cloud


We live in a different age
Musing over pictures in my
I write them
on an iPad instead:

And ideas…

Notebook and pen?
I tried that once.
they’re all lost.

It pains me to think
about were my words might be?
In Oregon?
For sure
I remember
I left some in Atlanta,
in an art studio-
I was trying
to find.

With this new
I just put it all down-
writing app.
It’s a snap.
With no
existential crap.

I can’t lose them, anymore!
They’re in the cloud
Think about that!
In a cloud is where
I want [them] to be.