About Me

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Sometimes, I just need to go for a bicycle ride, on my Schwinn Cruiser, around the Loop Road, Rainclouds or Sunshine. And sometimes, when Lifes circumstances prevents me, I do it anyway, with Windy thoughts peddling circles in my mind. I am D.M. Beebe . . . Born July 07, 1967 in Seattle, Wa. Sprouted one hour away, due North East, in the fertile Tualco Valley. I didnt really ever go too far away from the Valley, as I didn’t need to. As Life in Tualco Valley, seems to have always intrigued me. As I pay attention to the Valley, I do notice the slight changes every day. Throughout the 4 Seasons, within the Valleys full Spectrum, Rainbow array. When I watch, and when I pay attention, I develop many reasons. To have many thoughts about Life, throughout my Lifes Seasons. So I think about Life, and about Nature, and Plants and Animals, and Humans. And how it unfolds, within my mind, and my thoughts, and my insights. And so I write Story Poems of my Lifes experiences, and of my observations. And so I go forth, to reveal my conclusions, of my slightly insane perceptions. Thank You for reading my Poems . . . D.M. Beebe

Monday, December 12, 2016

Poetic Stories by D.M. Beebe

01-01-2021 = 37,155 page views. 
Read my Poems here for free.
There are about 50 Poems total.
Click on the Poetic Stories by D.M. Beebe links below for the Amazon or Barnes and Noble online bookstores to purchase my book.
Thanks for reading my Poems.
D.M. Beebe - the4beebes@frontier.com .
ps, I'm looking for a publisher for my next book consisting of these 50 poems + more, any publisher suggestions? email me, Thanks.



Wednesday, November 2, 2016

Gold Rush -

What would you do, Im sure like many, if given the option and time, amidst Lifes hard 4 hindering Seasons,
Oh to Live Life uninhibited, free and ambitious no matter what, your unruly adventerous, and Exploring reasons,
Some will say your tormented, inevitebley, but truly Spiritually satisfying, and somewhat selfishly appeasing,
Different ways to look at it, and all of the ways have hard Bones, but also a Soul, thats pain letting and aleaving.

When we all Travel through day and night, under the Sun and the North Star, upon the Land, of the new unknown,
Eventually we will soon realize, that we are all Similar, and are not far away, from our old Township local Home,
Hardscrabble Villages will tell you, the Coyotes howl at night, means the Packs caught dinner, and is eating well,
Ramshackle safe and fed for another night, Us like the howling Forest Dwellers, with bellies filled, round as they swell.

The Desert is so barron clean, and dusty dry, with sand and rocks, upon the surface of a dried Oceans prior existance,
Many have joined its side, to be on their own, by Trekking out, into the dehydrated Landscape, of isolated resistance,
Many say Good Luck, all of the Fortunes already been struck, like the Ghostly Townships, times have come and gone,
Miners seeking Fortune, with moral hearts and ethical picks, and Sourdough shovels in their hand, never quit and toiled on.

The Norths Explorers Adventurous lives neared the end, when their Gold Rush Fortunes, either struck out, or hit the Big Jackpot,
Then they slowly drifted down the Cold Yukon, to sell their Dust and Nuggets, weighed up on the Scale, to see what its bought,
This is when Many O' Miner, have earned or lost their Mother Lode, at this very end of a hard Season, many too often go broke,
The logbook records their Ounces, and also their Souls, and valuable Dreams into History, tribulations of many good worthy Folk.

D.M. Beebe - the4beebes@frontier.com - Poetic Stories by D.M. Beebe : Amazon and Barnes and Noble online bookstores.

Thursday, October 13, 2016

Shu Shu Ga -

When you see see it, you stop and think to yourself, what was that, was that a big blue bird ?
Its swoops in the reeds and cat tails, to evade detection, whithout anything, ever having heard,
It is so stealth, it is so silence, it is so elagant, so long leggy lengthy, within its silent existance,
Not even a green slough frog, can hear it coming, to defend against it, nomatter stealth resistance.

The Native American people, a different name, to them, they called the dinosaur bird, Shu Shu Ga,
It always walks in the shallows, fishing for minnows, or polywogs, with a long beak, to skewww ya,
In the evening, when feathery bird bellies are finally full, and its time to go nest, not low on the loost,
They take flight, in the twilight of the night, to the hills estuary evergreen big tree tops, up high to roost.

They stay there all night, in their old growth evergreen estuary, of tall timbers, on the big green hillside,
If you look from afar, you will see the tall group of trees left, upon the hills, the rest is a clearcut homicide,
The old blue dinasour birds, dont have many places left anymore, in the treetops, for their branchy nests,
After hunting in the valley for frogs, during the day in the sloughs, they have to fly home, after their quests.

The coyoyes howl at them also, while hunting in the valley at night, they hear sounds in the trees, birds ?
My farm dogs also bark at them all night from the porch, waking me up, off and on, making my dreams blurbs,
In the twilight, or in in the dawn, to see the magnificent take to flight, or glide and land, upon the thick, foggy air,
You realize that the big blue heron, has a respected purpose in the valley, its a iconic relic, prehistoric, very rare.

D.M. Beebe - the4beebes@frontier.com - Poetic Stories by D.M. Beebe : Amazon and Barnes and Noble online bookstores.

Monday, October 3, 2016

Climate Change -

Spring : The Spring rains, storms pour down, cats and dogs, raindrops drips, a wet spatter, a splashing spither,
Summer : Flowers of Summer wilt, and so to the season soon will dry up, dust devils swirl, as it all does wither,
Fall : Ghostly fog flowing, nightly into the valley, bringing with it, windy colored Fall, doth our way hovering hither,
Winter : As Winter slowly sets in for a spell, orange spice tea is on the wood stove, a simmering steaming sither.

Spring floods the valley, with rushing early mountain snow and ice melt, and rain storms saturated water tables,
Rising liquid levels of rip-rap levy breaking rivers, catastrophic events, in which made are long told old time fables,
Farmers hurrily move machinery and livestock, up to high ground, before the water rises, to the barns high gables,
Cows and other critters, moved to safety, rounded up and herded, out of the barns mucky, stanchions and stables.

Summer is hot and dry, 5th year in a row now, leaving strange sunspots on the crops leaves, and my burnt skin,
We have nearly run our well dry, trying to irrigate, it just evaporates upon the surface, the soil is to dry to sink in,
Carbon monoxide, and sulfur dioxide, up in the atmosphere, hovering the Earth, how to fix it ? how do we begin ?
Lucky for all, it helps the depleted ozone layer, deflect solar radiation from upon us, yay ! greenhouse gasses win ?

Fall like all 4 seasons now, are a month or so early, bringing with it spectacular colors of leaves, and orange sunsets,
Last chance to swim in the green river, enjoy bbq campfires, kids have no school or college, lifes time with no regrets,
But soon the chemically intoxicated sugar filled leaves will fall, with gusty gail force winds, chased by big storms of fret,
The atmospheric pressure changes, your ears will pop, fun times are gone now, a new season has now commeth to beget.

Winters icy cold crystal frosty frozen wrath has eventually arrived, the season of harsh, wood stove heated, white asunder,
Times of frozen pipes, crawling under the house, hairdryers thawing out icy plumbing, myself man-made unprepared blunder,
Some are enchantingly sledding or skating, or making snowmen & snowwomen, upon the 3 feet of powdery snow to plunder,
A wonderland of fun times to some, and when will this white blizzard end to others, signs of Climate Change to me, I wonder ? 

D.M. Beebe

Cruise The Loop -

The trek to town, across Lewis Street Bridge, to stock up on feed store supplies, Safeway, maybe dinner ?
The family together, shopping in town, for lifes wares, sometimes Pizza, games, quarter machine winner !
And on the way home, we did sometimes Cruise The Loop, to view the farmland scenery, to guess, to talk,
The Tualco Loop Road, many good Valley memories, to view and remember, just go drive on it, bike, or walk.

Some day you will remember, Cruisen The Loop, as you keep going straight, at the old Grange Red Swiss Hall,
Lets roll around the Valley family, Valley watching, to see whats maybe new, even if its nothing old, or new at all,
Look at that, and look at this, these are the things, in time to remember, to think back on, just maybe even miss ?
Like rumbling across the old Riley Slough Wood Bridge, certainly memories I will not forget, or ever easily dismiss.

Somedays its a good thing, to just go drive, or go walk, or go ride your Schwinn Cruiser, and just go Cruise The Loop,
I know you will also find, in time, thinking back about the Valley, as you circle around your own lifes ring, Hoola Hoop.
As you think back, memories take you back, once again, in body and mind, so take your own time, to find your own loop.
As you remember and try, to keep your eyes dry, old memories, as you make your life anew, upon your own farms stoop.

Nothing forgotten to me, my Valley good life history, I have had to ponder, through my life, like at the sky river, Camp Beebe,
A good life in the Valley to live in, but more important always is my kin, do you remember eM & Kels, The Big Maple Tree ?
It has been a long time now, that we have lived in the Valley and how, nothen is taken lightly, as you too will eventually see,
Family, friends, and neighbors, helping each other out and get by, all of us, you, me, we, in our lifes loop, called Tualco Valley.

D.M. Beebe

The Barn Swallows -

The barn swallows, have come to surprise me again, this sunny day, in spring time,
Right on time, upon the blue skies, and white puffy clouds, as the sky turns on a dime.
The clouds are changing now, to blueish lavender, and pinkish orange, even greenish yellow,
As the barn swallows, circle and swoop about, to eradicate the skies, of the pesky mosquito.

I hope they make nests, in my farmland barn eaves, with eggs full of babies, to be hatched,
In years past, they have done so, I Iook forward to them every year, I have become attached.
They are a signal of transition, a changing of the seasons, from the spring, into the summer,
As times change, its natural to think about life, I contemplate my place, my mind gets numb-er.

Maybe the swooping barn swallows, that have come here this year once again, to live, and to explore,
Might remember being hatched from shells, in nests in my barns eaves, to thrive, as done times before,
I want to hope so, that they feel safe enough here, to continue their many generations, with no fears,
To me that is a honor, I want them to continue, so they can populate my barn eaves, for future years.

The barn swallows, are a elegant flying seasonal sign, of a wet spring, changing into a dryer summer,
When I see them for the first time of the year, back again to visit, it makes me question, and I do wonder,
Where do they go, to the south somewhere to over winter, only to fly north again, into mosquito filled warm air,
I think to myself, when I see them again every year, my feathered friends are always welcome, my shelter I share.

D.M. Beebe

The Dirt Witch -

Clump . . . scrape, clump . . . scrape, clump . . . scrape, clump . . . scrape,
The Dirt Witch, makes her way up the stairs, dragging her long, old, black cape,
With unkept long and gray, dusty hair, green mildew eyes, and yellow jaggedy teeth,
Crooked, barefoot, long boney toe and finger nails, with red stains, deep underneath.

The Dirt Witches cackle, makes you sit straight up in your chair, at the lonely dinner table,
Cuz you know then its real, and the warnings, are not of, a long old made up, household fable,
She is coming for you now, this creature, that lives in the basement, imaginations do create,
For the solitary young boy, sitting at the table, that didnt eat it all, and clean up his dinner plate.

Fear comes to mind, thinking back, at my limited time I had, to finish and save my own fate,
Apparently the Dirt Witch didnt mind, if I let my dog Chance help, as he never did hesistate,
And so miraculously, when I scraped off my leftovers, under the table, upon the old, checkered, vinly floor,
The Dirt Witch would go back down the basement stairs, and I did not hear her cackle, that night, anymore.

One night around 3am, I tip-toed down those stairs into the dark, thinking of the Dirt Witch with no food,
I felt sorry for her, down there in the cold basement, by her solitary self,  I do hope shes in a friendly mood ?
So with my little plastic bags of cheerios, chocolate chips, and green grapes, I entered into her dark space,
I waiting down there for awhile, disappointed, she did not come out, relieved, my mind and fears, I did embrace.

D.M. Beebe