Goose Watchman

[Photo by Brett Sayles from Pexels]

All the way from Canada come the honking geese

Winging their way to this ancient bitter hospital

Rather than purching to rest from the journey

this watchman stands ready listening for goslings

moving and pecking from inside the light shell.

Staying alert in the midst of the night the goose

Must be alert for raccoons and miserable people

Standing firm against the dark, the wily bird

Never knows what creeps hidden in the darkness

Nightly sauntering the lightless street

Near the menacing hospital to meet

This fearless creature, standing watch

Every night this goose fights sleep

To wait for the arrival of his chicks.

His mate sits quietly in a nest

Above the street tending the eggs.

Treading softly along the darkened lane

I came to the nest of the sitting goose,

And of the watchman.

Under the full moon the pile of twigs

Lay empty, the watchman goose gone.

Perhaps the goose took his family to the lake

Where his tiny family can splash and play in daylight.


Night Shift

The moonlight whispers through the trees

While the hundred year old building rises

Hauntingly out of the blanket of night.

Geese stand waiting for dawn

Like ancient watchmen preparing for flight.

The darkness cools, refreshes like a swim

in a mountain pond on a spring sunrise.

The ancestors of humans stole away at nightfall

To hide in the blackened cave to rest and wait

For daybreak.

Now instead of resting in the cover of midnight

We force ourselves to toil into the waiting twilight

Never to feel the folds of comforting blackness.

And the quiet rest anointed by the moon

In the calm embrace of darkness.

From Wal-Mart on a Snowy Night

Stepping outside of a lonely Wal-Mart on a snowy evening

I glanced at the collected white powder that blanketed my bicycle

Quickly dusting off and unchaining my two-wheeled vehicle

Before other’s darting eyes could strike me in judgment


Covered head to toe protecting my face with a scarf from the chill

I started off into the darkness, into the drifting snow

The stillness, the dimness, the deep chill, and whipping wind

Lay bare my soul to the depth of loneliness


Pumping my cheaply made vehicle creaking and cracking

The only sound on this empty, white street

Glaring lights glancing off my covered face

Moving slowly away down the slippery trail.


How much more cold can I endure on this winter’s night?

The wind cut through my dingy uniform

My hands were stiff from the cold

How long can I go on like this?


When will I reach the end of my journey?

Will I ever feel the warmth of the fire again?

Struggling up the hill I see the trailer park

I turn in and the night deepens


Solo rider on a snowy night

A light in the distance hearkens

A door creaks open pushing back layers of powder

A voice answers, “ Thank goodness you are back.”

Written about a night in Yelm, WA

A Wind from the Western Asylum

A quiet wind from a time

Deep in history

Before technology,

Before climate change

Before the the pressures and anxiety

of modern day life

Primitive wind, Archaic wind

Blew lightly.


Against the faces who stared

Back through their fog

of delusion.


The soft light glanced against

ancient trees.

The simple yellow light laughed

From deep in the past playfully.


The light’s rays danced on

the faces of those who

could not see the razor sharp

reality of life.


Staring at the light glowing

dancing, reflecting

a time when Earth rejoiced


I stood at a paradoxically

peaceful, delightful

the whimsical light and gentle

breeze at an ancient

crossroads with faces whose minds

have long disappeared.

March 10, 2017 5:00pm