Sah Wat Dee, Compadre!

Let me see let me see let me see...

In Thailand, we eat lots of coconuts, yes? Its milk resides in our food, its water hydrates us on the street, its oil soothes our dirty feet (more on this later) and sautees our chilis and rice...and where do we get these coconuts? 

Trees, yes--but who gets them? 

If you thought monkeys--you're right! 

(I can't quite name the cause for the perpetually dirty feet. This is not an exceedingly dirty place. AND nobody keeps their shoes on indoors. And yet--scrubbing is futile. I must get one of these popular massages, if only for the preliminary foot scrub. My school has a dress code of black shoes...and all said shoes ever do is sit outside of the classroom I'm in). 

Monkeys get the coconuts. These monkeys are bought (from the Jungle?) by coconut farmers, enrolled in "Monkey College" for a reasonable tuition fee, and 6 months later, these little guys have been trained to pick 1,000--that's right folks, 3 zeroes--1,000 coconuts/day for their masters. On a chain. 

I don't mean to raise a stink, but I visited the monkey college last Sunday, and I am simply reporting what I saw. Yeah, it is cute that a monkey on a chain can ride on a motor bike and untie a knot...but doesn't it sound a bit like slavery? 

Hell, this is not a Thai problem--this is a human race problem. We do it everywhere. 

Sheesh. I really did not want to start this off with such spice! A little sweetness:

Today I was introduced to my Thai teaching counterparts. An interesting note: all female. 

Oh, and the cackling did ensue!! How I adore the Thai cackle!! Again--we are talking unadulterated unbridled uncontrollable laughter that persists for extended periods of time and is encouraged in any situation. What a joy to witness! 

And all I had to say was ชื่อของฉันคือกรงขัง (pom chew Nick kap)--or in terms you may have a better chance at understanding: My name is Nick--and the room was thumping, I mean thumping, with joy. Can't beat that. 

And how do the Thais welcome farang (foreigners) into their community? A bit of healthy sport! 

Chair ball: A mixture between basketball, ultimate frisbee, and rugby. 2 teams of 6--1 person from each team stands at the end of the court on a chair holding a basket, and each team tries to move through defense with a volleyball and put it in their basket, which can be moved in any which way as long as the basket keeper stays on the chair. No dribbling or moving with the ball. 

When your boss of bosses, the principal herself, is staring you down with feverish  fury in her eyes as she charges with every intent to either steal the ball or lay you flat on your ass, you know it's business time. The Thais take their chair ball very seriously. And all the lovable hyenas on the sidelines cackling and cheering away with every dip dive and duck.  

The farang delivered a fair snubbing in the first half but were quickly humbled by a retaliatory whipping in half 2. The Thais would not go down easily. It came down to a tie breaker--a shootout!--and just by chance 'twas I with ball in hand, needing to sink a bucket to secure a victory. 

What happened? Let's just say we taught 'em farang ain't nothin' to be messed with. I reflexively supplied a spontaneous rendition of an American Football touchdown dance...oh the cackles! 

I have found a gym. A kickass gritty gym that reminds be of an old boxing gym in Southie--you half expect Marky Mark to pop out of nowhere and bust a cap in yer wicked fuckin' ass. I have a favorite "restaurant" (street food vendor). I know 1 shortcut. I have doubled my Thai this last week. I did my laundry (well, I dropped it off at one of the ubiquitous street-laundresses and came back a few hours later to a neatly folded bag of lemony smelling clothes). I frequent the same coffee shop AND I order the same thing every time (fuckin' watermelon pineapple slushy so good...)

The point is: I am not just visiting. I am home. My life with a Thai accent, a kick of green chili--and moderated by some coconut monkey slave milk. 

Can't wait to start educating these little buggers. The kids, I mean. 

Until later....ทั้งหมดคือความสุขทั้งหมดที่มีความสุข 

When you begin to get to know a place...

...it can still feel new and exciting, but that oh so ever-present reality of glaring imperfection begins to set in.

But I thought the point of life was to be always happy, all the time...(says the whining child within, unable to deal with life's imperfections, the pockmarks of existence's slightly overcooked lattice cherry pie)!

I wonder what the Dali Lama would say...probably the same thing if you asked him what kind of pizza he'd like: "Make me one with all." 

And all, the "all"--consisting of, drumroll please.......all. (To the unsatisfied pie-rejecting toddler within: that means even the crumbly bits you silly bugger...)

Why all this build-up re: the acceptance of life's imperfections? To be honest, it is kinda a big deal for me. A major stumbling block leading to frequent and palpable suffering. 

(A side-note: I have never been around so many Brits in my entire life, except when in England. I keep saying bugger and rubbish and knackered and cheeky.....it actually doesn't suck).

Amusement: before moving to Surat, all the eager and naive prospective teachers here with me (including myself) Google image searched our new home and came out with this:

And when we arrived found this:

Not bad, but different, no? And ah, the shock of a new place begins to wane when you find that you must actually survive, and your version of surviving is different from their version...

The previous days have presented me with various challenges:

The gym doesn't open until 9 am. 

You can't drink the water. 

I can't seem to figure out how to unlock my cell phone. 

I can speak a negligible amount of Thai. A useless, pointless amount. 

It is hot. Very hot. 

I was feeling the weight of these difficulties upon me. Why isn't everything like Charlottesville!? he whines. Out of all the places I've been--Thailand is perhaps the strangest. To me. 

But ah! In the moment of wanting to open your lungs to the sky and curse the gods begging for the instant acquisition of a foreign language or even just one drop of rain...

You don't get what you want--but you DO get something infinitely more valuable:

Perspective. And a pair of big boy pants. 

a) I signed up for this

b)Life is fucking hard dummy

c) It is actually pretty damn cool being here...

And so--to get to the gym? We go in the evenings. 

To get water? We haggle with the water lady down the street cause we heard that a jug is only 10 baht and she is trying to sell it for 100, only to realize that 100 is the bottle deposit after she calls her "English-speaking" friend to explain and when we try to bring it home on our motorbike it falls off crashing to the street and bursting as we round the last bend to our house so we go back to buy another and this time all goes well but when we return home we realize we already have one...

To unlock the phone? We contact AT & T. We wait. We bask in the joy of not having a cell phone for the next few days!

We learn some bloody Thai! And use hand gestures in the meantime. Luckily you can just point to food. Oh, the food, yes, yes!

No anecdote to the heat yet. But Lord it beats the cold! I kinda like it actually.

A nice touch: one must remove their shoes before entering any building. So we're always prancing about in our stocking feet over here. A bit cute. 

Some isms: 

--writing someone's name in red ink means they'll die

--it is bad luck to get a haircut on Wednesday

--cheese does not exist

--toilet paper goes in the trashcan 

And the best part is: I am really enjoying making lesson plans for the little tykes. Gonna teach 'em "ya'll." As in: hey, I like my job. 

Today I rose early. Took a glorious run by the river. Worked. Picked up some luscious fruit from the market down the street. Ate said fruit. Went to the gym to get a membership. Going to relax with my housemate and take a Thai lesson. Meditate on my balcony as the evening sets in. 

And why this obsession with qualification? Good, bad--these judgments: they only spawn resentment and disappointment. 

In the presence of life's difficulties, both in Thailand and the States, I write you from this very spot, a page nearly pristine with naivete--sickness, ignorance--and a drop of acceptance's ink falls, and begins to seep, slowly but thickly, into the fibers of this page's previously unadulterated but unaware, unREAL world of fantasy...

Does that make sense? 

Life is. 

ทั้งหมดคือความสุขทั้งหมดที่มีความสุข ...

Rambutan

Home: where the outstanding unknowable cheap street food is

Such an excitable mind I have, programmed for the immediate pleasures of life, swimming in bliss as my body consumes its 3rd ridiculously good Thai meal. It's just mainly all I can think about right now. 

24 hours has given us so much to report!

Arriving in Suratthani, my new home in the South, all I knew was that I needed to find Phantip bus and take it to Phantip Office. Seems simple, but the mind has a way of complicating things (what if no one speaks English and I am forced to decipher Thai's impossible runes?)...but I didn't fret because the trail provides.

And yes, the trail does provide--a major difference between my present state and the trip to Brazil 3 years ago--I had my hike in between. And Lord do I feel markedly more at ease! Brazil became familiar of course, but my initial daily wanderings were characterized by excitement and anxiety, whereas here, the excitement is slightly dulled (because unfamiliar territory is no longer so unfamiliar), but the anxiety is non-existent. So says the man who has been in Thailand for 24 hours. Ha!

Right, so I descended the plane, and yes! First thing I see--in English--is a sign for "Phantip Bus." I told the girl I wanted to get on this bus. She and four other youths a bit younger than myself led me out back to a van parked behind the airport and we piled in. They all worked for the bus company--I was the only passenger. 

As soon as the van started up they began to jabber incessantly. And giggle. Guffaw. In fact, they had burst out with sheer unadulterated laughter. And as we drove down the left side of the street (that's how they do it here) the laughter increased, until the entire van was shaking with their roars, and of course I had not a clue as to what was so funny, but I could not help but join in, and before I knew it we were barreling down a highway through the Thai countryside all in side-splitting hysterics. It was utterly surreal. 

They could have been laughing at me. Who cares?

When we arrived at Phantip, there was no one there to meet me. I borrowed a cell phone and called Poppy, my primary contact, and she sent someone down immediately. Many Thais have taken on American nicknames, like Poppy, Olive, Petunia, Beyonce...it is amusing. 

My courier asked if I was hungry and I said oh yes very but that I would grab some dinner once I settled into the apartment. Still he insisted that we stop at 7-11 to nourish me, pointing out all the things that are good and all the things that aren't. I ate some weird spicy meatballs in a bag that were actually fuckin' delicious. Even the convenient store food here is out of sight. 

And so far on this journey at least 10 people have stopped me to ask about my traveling guitar--it works its magic everywhere. I will never put that thing in a case again. The ultimate conversation starter. She belongs on the outside of my pack. Any name suggestions?

My apartment is rapidly growing on me. It is in a fantastic location in the center of town near the river, equipped with balconies and an AC unit. And a king size bed! It is slightly dingy, a bit rickety and dirty, but perfectly good for me. I've only found 3 or 4 roaches so far, and one was dead. The trouble is, I just don't have the heart to kill the little buggers--I'll catch one and then "it will escape." The apartment is also equipped with its very own house cat who likes to pop into my room for purring stroking sessions. I'm sharing the place with a Dutchman who holds an Irish passport and is pleasant and plays music--and mentioned a need for alone time. I think we'll get on well. 

Oh yes--and I was thrilled to note the bedet in the bathroom. So necessary in tropical climates. One must stay fresh, no?

Here is an amusing anecdote:

A British fellow who is moving out tomorrow offered me a ride on his motorbike (one of which I will be purchasing for personal use in the coming days) to the department store to get a power adapter. I grabbed a pair of shorts too and offered my credit card to pay for them. The cashier printed the slip and I signed, but then she shook her head no (while still smiling, of course--when in doubt, smile, even if you're giving/receiving bad news), showing me that the signature on the back of my card does not match the one I had just written on the receipt. And indeed they didn't--because the back of my card reads "Ask For ID"--an added security measure slowly catching on in America. We tried explaining in a hundred different ways that it was not a signature, but a security measure, and I showed her my ID (which has a signature on it)--there is even a picture of me on my card along with my name which also printed on the receipt. But this is useless to someone who thinks that English resembles the same monkey scratches that Thai seems to me. She called over another fellow who claimed to speak English but couldn't, and it was all kind of silly, until the British fellow I was with got a brilliant idea: to write "Ask For ID" on the receipt. I did such, and without a question or a blink, the cashier handed over my purchase to me and we left the store giggling. 

So from now on, everything I buy with a card will be signed by a fellow named "Ask For ID." So much for added security!

The saleswoman who gave me my shorts was also giggling with her associates--perhaps it is me they are laughing at. Oh well, I'm sure I am pretty silly to them. The joy present here is so palpable and refreshing--my mission will be to excavate how genuine it is.

This morning I meditated on my balcony then threw on some workout duds and hit the pavement for a run. No one here runs. Pedestrians have such little say in the constant flurry of whirring motorbikes. And pickup trucks! No tiny Euro cars here. Hundreds of pickup trucks and motorbikes. Anyway, I ran down to the river and over a bridge, and came across another bridge leading to an island. The island looked lush and inviting--it turned out to be a sort of rec park, with outdoor exercise equipment, volleyball courts, and a trail around the perimeter, and even a Buddha shrine. I will be returning. 

The rest of my day has been spent strolling through the city, picking up essentials (top sheets and hand towels!), and sampling various street vendors. Wow. It is all so varied, so full of flavor, so spicy (I was burn burn burning with a Ring of Fire this morning--thank you bedet--) so mouth-wateringly delicious, and so bloody cheap. 60 Baht here, 40 Baht there--for full meals (30 Baht=1 dollar)!

Suratthani bears an uncanny resemblance to Salvador, Brazil. The shops and streets, the weather, even the rotting trash smell (which has a fishy afternote to it--and you know, the funny thing is, it is kind of putridly addictive, as in I catch myself taking a nice big whiff when I pass the trash pile on my street). Yet, it is cleaner. The folks seem more jovial and welcoming to foreigners. And there are no homeless people. I haven't seen a single one--an unprecedented uniquity. The language barrier can be hard. But I will learn. For now my bumbling half Thai (and inversely, their similarly mottled English) and hand motions will get me by. 

I am not living in a tropical paradise replete with beaches and mai tais. I am living in a real city, with real people, and I'm grateful (Luckily, I'm only a short boat ride away from said tropical paradises--har har har!).

I look forward to connecting more with the international community here. The other teachers. I look forward to having a motorbike. I don't really look forward to inevitable hardships, but I will accept them with attempted grace. Even gratitude. I look forward to discovering this city as I more deeply discover myself. I look forward to connecting with and inspiring children. And after this long list of future desires, really, I truly seek freedom from desire, and the stability to exist wholly and completely in this very moment. 

Not so easy.

Stay tuned. 

ทั้งหมดคือความสุขทั้งหมดที่มีความสุข ...

Can you count the pickup trucks?

A new life?

Of course, you can't really prepare for a moment like this. 

Yeah, you can get your visa. Plane tickets. Pack. You can tell all your friends. But it never really sinks in that you're moving to Thailand until you're sailing over India at 5 am witnessing a truly Eastern sunrise...(yet in a round world what does east even mean?)

I awoke 2 days ago at the same hour in a dark house in Virginia with my stomach juggling the previous night's ceviche, imploring me, really forcing me, to spring up and hit the head. I guess intense nausea was my body's way of telling my mind to relax--ah, the wonders of distraction. 

I slogged through bus rides, city traverses on foot, and DC rush hour traffic with my pack (a bit heavier this time around, but I don't have to walk nearly as far...) holding my stomach and trying not to collapse. I appreciated my extended family's presence en route to the airport--the Indian restaurant we stopped at simultaneously tickling and torturing my taste buds--and before I knew it I was descending into Abu Dhabi 12 hours later munching on the last homemade granola I'll eat in a long time and smiling like a goddamn ghost. 

And looking out over the rivers and palms through the billowy clouds of the Asian Sky (again: round world--Asian Sky? Sky is just all encompassing! We think these things are owned...a sensation dispelled via round world sky travel, yaas) I thought that wow, I really am changing my life pretty drastically. Everything I know is dissipating and all that comes hence shall be new...I was gripped with fear, excitement, and a deeper knowledge that that is simply not true. 

Stepping into Bangkok I first noticed heat. Not so much air. Thickness of heat. And smiles! And different colored people. And Subway, 711, Burger King, and English everywhere. 

I am grateful for my ease of movement thus far--traversing Thailand's capital at 8 am would have been much harder without the help of the American Presence. But I couldn't help feeling a little sad. It's true that Thailand has never been colonized--at least militarily. In other ways? 

I already feel good vibrations all around me. I've been here 6 hours and it IS different. I know this. I have so much to absorb! For example: to my dismay Thailand does not support Netflix. But ah--a handy google search on how to acquire a US IP address...and it's like I never left home. 

Hell, I still haven't even gotten home yet. 

Where is home?

My new apartment in Surat Thani, the City of Good People? Boston, my hometown? Charlottesville, the city I chose to live in as an adult? 

Here's the point: I am changing locations.  Traversing. My life will be very different. But I ain't leavin' anything behind. Just adding to the pile. Traversing. Inside. Same old Bootsy. 

ทั้งหมดคือความสุขทั้งหมดที่มีความสุข ...

Poems from the Trail

4/14, Mollie’s Ridge Shelter, GSMNP

Fire burns

So do you, so do I

And truly, even with the wind

Ripping itself apart outside

In the unpaved world beyond,

It is this fire that has kept me in love

For all these years.

4/17, Peck’s Corner Shelter, GSMNP

The gold and sweet orange of our star

leaning behind the mountains.

Though only barely painting the tips of my tent,

as if with pine paper bristles,

it still warms my solitary hive,

even as the cool of night takes hold.

4/20, Hot Springs, NC

As those two eyes falter

Only saying it’s too late for poetry

The white beam from the center

Indolently shines on--

And rest, despite the rhythmic backdrop,

Definitely wants to win this one.

4/21, Hot Springs, NC

Sitting here, warm and toasty

Thought of you

Whom I love

Mostly

Not that there’s part that I don’t love

Just you’re the best,

And 1 more contrived line

Will make this shit come out just fine

The orgasm is complete and unrelenting

The release changes the man, whereas before,

He would remain stoic and unmoved

4/22, Rich Mtn. Fire Tower, NC

Rumors of meteors convinced me to sleep on top of a mountain tonight.

But the moon was too full—

Like when cake is too sweet,

Or pocket watch chains are exchanged for seashell combs.

And so now, it’s only the wind that pierces the night sky.

4/23, Firescald Knob, TN

Have you ever coughed so hard

You felt like you’re tearing pieces of your throat

Out your mouth?

If you spat those coughs into a can

While trees threatened to fall on you

While relishing in the simple beauty of this life,

you’d know where I am.

4/24, Hogback Ridge Shelter, NC/TN

O Fun Patrol, where art thou?

Where dost thou lay thy soggy heads this evening?

My muse has fluttered on, or so it seems.

For the words before you come apart,

at the seams.

  
4/28 Cherry Gap Shelter, TN

O, Cinco de Mayo,

Come twice a year

Once in a day, and once in a week—

In East Tennessee, rain water is beer—

Come Virginia & Spring,

[that prospect looks bleak]

But who wouldn’t mind

If the next town is dry?

Only lap-dancing Lila

Won’t you give her a try

And spades will draw crumpets

From out of this space

Smashing their pumpkins

Right into your face

Hallowed thy name?

Thy king will soon come

But where is the queen?

In bed with his son.

5/1, just north of Rt. 19E, TN

The grass grows deep

And even though cars whisper,

Unseen, on the ridge overhead,

The groundhogs bustle,

Shielded from teasing drizzlings,

And I, safe at last,

Cleanse my open pores of the dirt the day has brought,

Simply, by closing my eyes.

5/2, Moreland Gap Shelter, TN

Lake of Watauga

burning bright under fire—

Our laughter the fuel,

The sun the match,

And yet, why this dream?

For verily, we won’t even be there

Until tomorrow.

5/9, Big Wilson Creek, VA

Is it a creek or a river?

Crashing through rocks with purpose

Providing a place to wash these tired hands

And listen to its trickling (gushing?)

Until all the world turns blue

5/16, Lazy Fox Inn, Damascus, VA

Creek beckons

Rain’s clouds threaten

But who on this godly Earth

Could taint these sunshine-laden valleys?

5/17, Lazy Fox Inn, Damascus, Va

River whispers softly sweetly

Then roars with the pride

of rolling grasslands and dark hollers

Singing my lonesome feet to rest,

Wrapped in goosefeathers and silt,

To tide off the end of night

Into the breaking of day

5/19, Davis Path Campsite, VA

When you’re lost in the rain

In a valley far from home

And thunder shakes the trees

To remind you you’re alone

Just catch an angel in the water

Before she goes to her throne

And throw back your head and be

Free.

Free: of worry,

Of money.

Be free:

Be something not costing anything

Be a GIFT

Expecting nothing in return—

no strings attached, and also,

Floating, liberated,

With no strings, attached—

5/21, Little Laurel Creek, VA

The thunder of the night

plays fetch with the thunder indoors

“Go get it?” she asks

And answering:

thump thump thump

5/30, Rice Field Shelter, VA

What is Warmth?

Warmth is not simply derived from the sun.

Nor the fire that burns within,

as they say.

But warmth, my friends and loves,

Comes from the peace

That all within and without

Sing as Robins in harmony @ twilight

6/4, Charlottesville, VA

Bootsy

Tuning in

Dropping out

Not flopping in

Never stopping (in)

Pausing

The continuation

Of the journey

Liberal—to be free

Gratuitous?

Aloofedness

Dissolution—

The solution.

Non-minutian

Beautiful mutant.

6/7, Calf Mtn. Shelter, SNP

Shackleton is in the box

Shackleton is not in the box

Eating smoked salmon

cut from soccer-playing companions

Can he reach the Elephants?

Secluded far away?

A life raft for the ages,

Sitting cross the bay.

6/8, Pinefield Shelter, SNP

He who plucked

His last note

Ringing wildly in the wilderness

Made space for a symphony

Uptempo & Vigorous—

The river rolled,

Cicadas on sax

And God bright and in tails

Raising his hands

To conduct the multitudes.

6/11, Grandma’s House, Luray, VA

King of the Road

King of the Highway

Prince of the Nether-Land

Colossus of Clout

Because my friends—

Life is not about fame,

Money or power

Yet instead

The way in which you might take some time

Out of your day

To smell a rose

6/12, Tom and Judy Shelter, VA

Making movements North

And do the bears and bats

Even notice me pass?

The Buck—he does:

Feathers of fur, he bows as I make my entrance,

And then runs to mate

In the sassafras and nettles.

For us, the woods spell

H   O   M   E

6/14, Blackburn AT Center, VA

Love, it does come for free

And this I know, without a thought.

For if you had to take a loan

For a piece of love,

What on Earth could you do to repay it

But love back?

And that, to love, is effortless

6/21, Rocky Mtn. Shelters, PA

Family, like the way of the trees

Harmony—a sappy half-rhyme

But oh, when executed precisely,

What a sensation to behold!

So let the bees sing it

Just like that.

6/23, Jerry’s Fry Shelter, PA

Gotta get some of that stinky hiker trash on my stoop

In my poop

To be there in my life

Ooo yeah child

Gotta get some of that stinky hiker trash

Just to be there for me.

6/25, The Doyle, Duncannon, PA

Train whistle, it blows

And the cogs screech and tumble by my hotel window.

Will this antique wood crumble onto the street

The next time that iron mountain rolls on by?

Or will the lightning and rain topple it from its feet.

I like to think that The Doyle,

With its pinballs and poolhalls,

will breathe yet another day,

reverberating in its kindness,

Through East Market Street and on.

6/28, 501 Shelter, PA

All empty and awake

Sez Ray under the cold Carolina Stars

In a world like this,

Only the 1^st person plural exists—

And that, too, is not.

6/29, Eagle’s Nest Shelter, PA

Tho music rings & fire sings

Hikers scatter

With rain’s pitter-patter

6/30, Port Clinton, PA

A Mandolin plucks on the night air

Or is it a ukulele?

And cicadas—or are they nighthawks?—listen,

verbally, or are they chiming in?

Does this wandering mind sleep or dream?

7/1, Eckville Shelter, PA

My mind is too full

To write a decent poem

This is what happens

When you leave a mouse alone

 7/2, Bake Oven Knob Shelter, PA

Bastard Bugs

Cannot keep

All their kin

Supplied with sheep

So strap yourself

To a tree with boots

If you ain’t goin’ nowhere

7/8, Brink Shelter, NJ

Happiness,

Amongst the rocks and hills

Late night quiet distilled

A solitary buzz on the soundscape

The wave of this silence

peacefully crashes over me,

Cradling me in its waters,

I, safe in its power

7/16, West Mountain, NY

Mountaintop arias whistled by the crickets,

And me, alone,

asleep in the grass,

Watching the sun bleed into the blue

through closed eyelids

7/17, Deniro’s House, Poughkeepsie, NY

The Band rings out

From the Church Downstairs

Strings bursting out dissonance

Intertwined with melancholy yodels…

If I could feel the air from their strokes

Rather than feel to endure their theoretical racket

Perhaps I could sleep.

7/18, Appalachian Trail RR Station, Pawling, NY

Whipped by the train

Rocked to the core

And back & forth

If only poison ivy had flowers

Or bugs had names

Empathy: a theoretical state of being, in modern times—

Still, a nice word,

A façade for Narcissus to slink under

But ah! Let the flowers speak

And the crickets shriek,

Bowing and stringing on those fibrous stems,

Through the whoosh and wail

Of cars passing into the night

7/22, a shelter 12 miles out of Great Barrington, MA

Pat drip pat

Rain on a tent

With the rest of the woods,

Trees sighing and crickets,

Rain makes the duck down inside

Even warmer

7/23, Upper Goose Pond, MA

Trading money
Trading spaces

So quick, so quick

And whoosh—

The tables are turned

Are global economies just a game?

7/29, Congdon Shelter, VT

The creek sings

Cradling this travl’r in its bends and curves

Smoothing the rocks

So as not to poke or jab

The current urges

Under bridges and through the pines

Flowing, glistening yet satin,

Into the belly of the wild.

7/30, Kid Gore Shelter, VT

The Moth

When the moth is this close

It sounds like a drum thumping

Thwacking it does nothing,

It’s stuck struggling in the grass

Its wings could mend my tattered shirt

Dead or Alive

I want it gone, but death is no option—

Not because I’m brimming with love, no

But because killing something so violently alive

Would make me uncomfortable

8/5, The Lookout Cabin, VT

Dust and dirt have settled

On the brand new oak floor beneath me

Just in the manner that I’d like to lay my thoughts,

My whole body—to settle onto this floor and wait for the wind,

A wind, to move

8/6, Thistle Hill Shelter, VT

If the dirt under my overgrown fingernails

Were to represent my happiness,

In quantity of course rather than disposition,

Composition, really,

I’d give it a 10

Or at least a 3 out of 3.

8/8, Velvet Rocks Shelter, NH

Frogs dance and rabbits sound like bears

outside my tent

Here in Outside of New Hampshire,

New Hampshire—and the leaves shudder with rain’s pretenses

And even if I’m wet I’ll still be twirling at dawn

8/14, Beaver Brook Shelter, NH

Clouds won’t lift

Rain won’t shift

Hate won’t mold

If it’s cold

Get your kind

Off wintertime

‘Cause you ain’t goin’ nowhere

8/16, Chet’s Place, Lincoln, NH

This plywood mattress

Is not speckled and freckled with dirt

It’s down—from the ducks

Found on the side of the road.

They have the softest down…

8/19, Lakes of the Clouds Hut, NH

When the water feels luke-warm

A simple dripp-ed foe

Can ripple the sheen across a threshold

Into new color,

New light,

A new scene—

A giggle turns to a laugh,

Surely permitted—

Snores to dreamy sleepland,

And sighs & smiles

Into quiet nothingness.

Like this, a new idea is born.

8/20, behind a bank, Gorham, NH

On sidewalks

In brainlocks

The body does writhe

Sucking up pavements

Squirming with lies

When the pebbles rain deeper

And the scurvy does flow

Don’t ask for a blanket

Or help from below

8/21, Imp Shelter, NH

Ah, when the wave descends

Breaking, sand and shells

Fill my ears

Salt my nose & mouth, hair

Or is it just the wind?

The nectarine sun bakes and tans all

8/24, near the Maine border, NH

When the light

turns golden and green

& the coyotes howl over a kill,

Rabbit or marmot,

We in our duck fur

Pick a guitar

Around the fire

Singing out in mismatched harmonies

The life of the simple man

At home

On the trail in the woods

8/25, Full Goose Shelter, ME

Hands

The first time I ever liked my hands

I was lying in a tent in Maine

That night, they weren’t fat

Weren’t small

But chiseled, strong, knuckly

And I thought to myself,

“What an above average pair of hands.”

I could hear lovers whisper

And chipmunks rustle

Next door in the trees

And if the moon hadn’t been so bright that night

The stars’ glow may have reached me as well,

And distracted me from this newly perceived beauty…

but no.

That night, it was my hands,

Just those beautiful hands,

Writing these words,

For that night is this and the trees & stars & lovers are here, so,

Will I still think they’re pretty in the morning?

8/27, East B Hill Rd, ME

Ride high on the king’s highway

Take the A-train north

Move through fields and deserts

And when your friends

are nothing more than grains of sand

On a prairie dog’s lip,

Time to bite the cactus and piss into the wind,

Find new friends—icicles—dripping and fleeting,

Fragile, but hardy at the base—

Frigid and refreshing, signaling not the beginning nor the end of winter

But the dead of it—

Or just sit alone

In a field of grass & bugs three inches deep

And let her blades crush you

Envelop you

Caress you

Itch you

Switch you on

Shut you down

And then, maybe then,

Your mind can rest

8/28, South Arm Rd, ME

Though the light flickers and dims

The pencil still surreptitiously slithers thorugh the lines

Camping stealthily, but only briefly,

Leaving a wispy shadow

Before moving onto the next word,

Grasping at some sort of meaning…

9/1, Cirque Campsite, ME

On the days when you’re too tired for poetry

Heat up some milk

But don’t let it thicken (or burst)

And pour that fiery sustenance into your crevasses & chasms

And maybe then a poem

Will find its way from the ether to the mind

(soul?)

to page—a dream, too, will suffice.

9/3, Little Bigelow Shelter, ME

When the sun goes down

Earlier than you think

And it’s still bright just miles West,

How can that frigid rushing water nearby not beckon?

For, on that night, it was limbs numb as ice

And exploding hearts

That we hunkered down into our musty homes

And slept restlessly ‘til prickly daybreak

9/4, Pierce Pond Shelter, ME

I saw a dead toad today

Squatting, toadlike, squashed

But intact,

I thought to move it…

--lazy

--justified laziness: it’s nature.

--other people must see this

--did not want to get dirty. could have used a stick.

I don’t know why I recall this toad

Hours later in the safety of my tent

Maybe because I’m loath to write more

About the eternal nearby water

Night after night

Well, now, the toad lives on

9/5, Pleasant Pond Shelter, ME

Incorporate compassion

Walk those woods

Through worlds, night & dark,

Sun & blue, a cloud,

Like Jack Wilinger’s Sunday morning pancake—

Syrup not only sweetens the day,

It fills it right up

9/6, Moxie Bald Mtn. Lean-to, ME

Loons crying in the foreground!

The Hunger: for food or sex,

Those 2 carnages,

Proliferating these spotted night-birds

Through one more Autumn…

And in a night as clear & cold as this,

You can see them dive down,

Into the shimmering depths,

Making love and feasting on fish,

The endless stars above admiring themselves

In her lake’s dark mirror

9/7, Monson, ME

Belly noises join forces with droplets of rain in the quivering leaves above—

The bass and violas, humming and strumming away together,

Eloping, a previous engagement,

To the muddy foot-passes of Maine’s cold interior.

9/8, Gentle Adventures, Willimantic, ME

My wavering eyelids

Cannot block out the flicker

of late night football from inside

But my skin keeps the sharp chill out,

Tho it feels the air’s freshness all around!

The clouds have surrendered to the stars,

So I say, “let the cold in,”

And it sinks, hardening the grass,

Revealing our breath,

And making us feel particularly warm

Once we get there

9/9, Cloud Pond Lean-to, ME

Wind is whipping!

Cold moves in next door.

The ripples on Cloud Pond wave welcomingly,

Right back.

And me, the grumpy bear holed up in my den—

Please don’t invite me to the block party,

I’ll come out next Spring.

9/11, Brook Falls Shelter, ME

Oh, the stream!

Powerful since the storm!

Enough to turn turbines—

But ah—

But ah, but ah—

No turbines out here but the trail

That keeps our feet moving about it,

The sun energizing

And simultaneously draining us

The pines silently looking onto, into, this madness…

All to wind up back in the river.

Heads submerged, refreshed, cold,

We make our offering:

Ready to be thrashed & twirled,

An aquatic circus, circle, all starting again,

On itself.

9/13, Hurd Brook Lean-to, ME

Bones bruised

But still can walk

Mind tired

Still can write

Heart torn

Still loving

Even against my will

Because my soul

Has gone through the ceiling

And touched that (eternal) light

9/17, Lexington, MA

Sitting quietly in a jungle

Ferns and jaguars

Flies, heat, water

All of it.

And I’m just sitting there

Nothing near or far

And I’m doing nothing

9/23, Lexington, MA

Nimbly, the poet waits

Listening with eager awareness

The din of harsh voices, resounding in the hallway

The wind off the flicker of candlelight

Is not enough to fully expose the conversations of his forefathers

And so, silently, the poet tip-toes closer—

And yet, to hear, truly, would surely taint the romance

The romance of such a mysterious evening

And ah, without romance, what is a poet?

9/24, Lexington, MA

Even the recently brightened-by-batteries beam of flashlight

Shining up the otherwise dun but everlastingly soft flannel sheets

Due to multitudes of launderings,

Cannot stimulate this mind enough

To make its hand do what it wants it to.

10/1, Niday Shelter, VA

Crickets converse—

wah wah wah—wah wah wah

The dark leaves, foreboding above

Although the sky looks gray

It’s just simply darkening

Enough to let that first star shine through.

10/4, Wilson’s Creek Shelter, VA

Is there always room for poetry?

But ah, isn’t life but a poem?

(is there room in life for life?)

Stanzas and phrases

Slipping into the cracks within emotions,

beauty, time itself?

But ah, only a poet would say that.

So does that qualify yours truly?

Or is it simply that I write the poem

That’s already there.

10/7, John’s Hollow Shelter, VA

Does solitude apply

when surrounded by crickets?

Or even trees—wind?

The mind itself?

In the Cage, silence ceases to exist—

In fact, it never did—

The mere idea of silence disintegrates

Under the shrill buzzing of neurological impulses

And the ritualistic thumping of blood & heart.

And no, solitude never applies,

For the presence of those Other

Can never cease to exist.

10/8, Brown Creek Shelter, VA

How many poems can a man write about crickets and creeks?

10/11, Charlottesville, VA

Off of hardwood flooring

The red light has that sheen

Non-existent in the woods

Tho the beds here are more comfortable,

I’d rather see that green-black silhouette

Of leaves