In 2009 I went to Peru with my best friend, Griffin. There was lots of time in Peru.  On the days we were in villages along the Amazon we went to bed with the sun. Plenty of time to sit around and read Whitman by the lamp in your tent shielded from mosquitos. Lots of time for thinking in the morning on the dirt floor when the roosters wake you up. Tons of time on the canoe with a potato and boiled egg breakfast dreaming of banana pudding and holidays with family.  Time for wondering about wandering forward in life. 

In that vacuum of time and far away space - I wrote these poems in my journal. And I still cherish them as treasures. They hold fragments of that time; glimpses into my mind during those precious wanderings and wonderings in Peru.

Here they are, along with some of my favorite Peru pictures I took:


How Is It That Sometimes?


How is it

that sometimes

a whole speech is quite worthless

but one word can mean the lot?


How is it

that sometimes

years of embracing are forgotten

but one gentle touch

is not?





I give authors respect by soiling

in relentless use, their books.

I award my fedora and Oxford suede shoes 

when they stink as bad as they look.


My Author wrote me well and yet I rebel;

I crave clean, tidy, unstained -

when what honors Him most is brown sweat on my brow and

at The End, see this body worn lame.



Blind Hunter


To whom shall I be

to this likening of a bride to be?


I am nothing.


Perhaps a blind hunter

dressed in orange as my only sign;

but a parade of orange it is

to this bride to be.


“What an orange is he!” says she.





I think I’ll bottle myself soon;

put me up on a shelf -

not to preserve but rather, ferment -

keep every feeling to myself.


She who discovers me one day

will be rich, and I not sorry;

for she who finds this jar of clay 

Will be my wife, I do pray



Sometimes I think

I would like a dog:

a sweet, Brittany bred.

They only would like to keep you company

and if you wish to

scratch on their head.

I get lonely of touch

though I have God love

it might be nice to have Him snuggle instead.

But since not, for a while

I will settle for dog

and have it cuddle and sleep in my bed.



I’ll disappear soon

like the mist atop a lake;

born with little reason 

then gone without a wake.

It seems time spent so fleeting

might have little or no cause,

but my time was spent in peace -

the most important time of all.

I’ll disappear into the lake;

no more of misty me.

That wispy mist above is with

the Lake who is beneath.

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