About Me

My photo
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

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

People have Pollen and Flowers have Friends -

We exist within nature, learning and growing every day,
Our lifes pollen is love and caring, sharing every way,
With intertwined roots, and flowering fruits on the vine,
My pollen becomes yours, your pollen becomes mine.  

People have Pollen and Flowers have Friends,
We live on forever, we live on again.
Our pollen flies, on lifes swirling wind and stormclouds,
And falls down upon us all, with lightning and thunder loud,
As we pollinate each other, over and over again, in the rain,
Life sprouts and starts, life wilts and ends, evolving not in vain. 

People have Pollen and Flowers have Friends,
We live on forever, we live on again.  

When lifes season is gone, the memories of us, lives forever on,
Because we become one another, our pollen of love, has not gone,
Theres a sacred garden, where we all exist, and grow in the end,
The garden where we will be, is here in time, forever to again spend.

People have Pollen and Flowers have Friends,
We live on forever, we live on again.
D.M. Beebe

Monday, April 27, 2015

Old Big Blue -

Old Big Blue, we surely will miss you,
Many jobs and chores, we got r done with you,
Always tried and true, you always came through,
44 seasons we did work, many acres with you.

Big and bold, you were old, not shiny and new,
You brushcut and rototilled, always right through,
Old school, Old Big Blue, you were certainly badass,
You always turned the soil, you always cut the grass.

Fill your fluids up, and it just would leak through,
But slow enough, to get the job done, Old Big Blue,
Spread and backblade gravel, yup, you could do that too,
Or move chips, or manure, we could always count on you.

Clear the woods, you would just push right through,
It seemed there was nothing, that you could not do,
84 Horses in a 4x4 Ford Tractor, Thank You, Old Big Blue,
You were something else, we will always remember you.

D.M. Beebe

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

50 Feet Above Sea Level in Tualco Valley -

As I stare with my dog friend Otter, into the campfire sparks, flamingly ablaze,
Our thoughts swirl and float up, grey and thick, mixing with the smoky, swirling, haze,
With Otter, a overcast spring rain is coming down upon us, and our friends, the spring frogs,
Together we listen and think, as it wrings and rinses out, our saturated, mossy minds fogs.

One might think, that this is not right, or even seasonally, strangely spent time in the rain,
But to me and Otter, its much needed time outdoors, spent soggy, with much for us to gain,
As we dont like other recreational activities, or crowds and sports, or loud fast race cars,
But we like to campfire in Tualco Valley, and watch above on clear nights, the moon and the stars.

We are not strange, but in fact, we are both witfull, and thoughtfully, rather kinda normal,
Even though, we always look like farmers and dogs, in the flatland, wearing our fur and flannel,
As this is our life we have made, and this is the life we are from, and appreciate, and do like,
Ever since being both born into Tualco Valley, and into the foothills trees, if we uphill take a hike.

We do know and understand our placement in life, situated precisely where we greatfully are,
Which is 50 feet above sea level, in Tualco Valleys fertile farmland, marked with many tractors scar,
We can go up if we like into the foothills, or down deeper into the boggy, saturated, flatland,
But to have the valley to oneself anymore, is hard to find, but theres always plenty of sand.

So we just watch it all blow over somedays, in the skies above, as we stay put and enjoy,
As we watch the world run its course everday, with no one else, but us to certainly annoy,
Sometimes the worlds comes to visit us, and says sometimes, lets be neighbors, or friends,
As it is welcoming here, come visit us sometime, as Tualco Valleys friendship has no ends.

D. M. Beebe

Sunday, April 12, 2015

Bigfoot -

When I walk in the woods in the day, and I tent and campfire through the long, dark night,
I have heard the trees knocking, and the screams of strange origins, making me fright,
I have heard the stories, from the indigineous, and the new invaders, exploring the land,
I can understand only one thing, and that is, that are minds, can explanation demand.

We are smart enough, without evidence, to consciously make up an explanation,
For what we cant see, but myth and experience, and senses, do spill into certain revelation,
Of a hairy monkey mankind, that does hide in the rainy forests, of the moss, and of the trees,
And that for thousands of years, has eluded detection, but for what your mind makes believes.

When you go out alone, into the woods of rain, into the terrestrial woodland darkness,
Your mind feels scared, your body vulnerable, phsycologically, you need a harness,
Something to make you feel safe, protected, because against nature, you are never strong,
Because mankind as always, in the wilderness alone, needs Bigfoot, to survive and get along.

We cannot accept, that we never will be, the strongest of the woodland hairy wild beasts,
And that many other species out there, could have us at will, as their hot blooded tasty feast,
And so we make up, the myth of the manlike creature, we name Yeti, Sasquatch, or Bigfoot,
To be on top of the food chain, to feel kinship safety at night, with stories that deeply take root.

D.M. Beebe

Sunday, April 5, 2015

Tomorrow -

There is always tomorrow,
Tomorrow is always another day,
Tomorrow is to dream about, such as happiness or sorrow,

Tomorrow is faith and hope, the future history of Yesterday.
We will all not rise again someday, on the third day,
While the palms wave and line the streets on display, we will all be there anyway,
Because you do not have to take sides, to believe and to have hope,
Because a kind gods religion, has not leverage, to pursuade threat of hell or death, within its scope.
We will all look upon and ponder our future, we will all survey lineage, anotherday,
We will all think of our offsprings future, within our mother planets magical big array,
As we all our spirits of our childrens future, memories of their past,
Like ancestors before me, in the air and in my mind, memories and instincts, that do seem to somehow last.
I hope you respect my opinion, I hope you understand,
That the unknown great energy force of our galaxy, to me, is never to be known, or to be in a book within your hand,
But we should have faith and hope anyway, even with the unknowing,
And any of gods kind religions would not condemn, judging upon your lifes deeds and showing.
And they would I hope, not leverage the threat of hell or death, if you did not commit bad deeds, as well,
 And that a kind god of mankind, has such a big forgiving heart, to enclose the earth, if it did swell,
So forgive me as I do follow the path, of uncommon thinking of the mystical prince of peace and the father giver,
As I think the higher energy source power that makes us evolve does, accept me and you, as worthy, as the eternal forgiver.
D.M. Beebe

Tuesday, March 31, 2015

Timber r r -

As I stand here for 600 years, and survey the landscape , of my foothills and valley, as far as I can see,
Never until recently, there has never been, lights on the horizon, when the sun sets daily, into the sea,
There is a species, I have caught wind of, I have heard from the birds and squirrels, its called humanity,
They have a need , they call it urban sprawl, to fullfill there life dreams, within their society.

To expand and grow, to achieve and succeed, from the bottom to the top, to climb their species ladder,
They need a home, made from my tree bones, to saw and build upon my lands, to them it doesnt matter,
They dont realize, that I inhale their carbon poison, and I exhale out their much needed oxygen,
Maybe someday, when the sky turns finally grey, even inhalers wont supplement air, of times gone and when.

So I stand, and I watch, upon days end horizons lights, as they move across the foothills and up the valley, and grow near,
I watch the scars of clearcuts grow closer, my family is cut down in their progressive thoughtless path, as we do treefully fear,
Until one day, the human came to claim, even the far hill of 600 years from which I stood, watched, breathed, lived, and resist,
To cut down my tree bones, to make many of little homes, for their species, to survive in a box, thrive and exist.

Inevetibly, one morning, the sky lead line yarder came near, with high line and 4 chokers ready to drop set,
The human in a hickory shirt, with his butterknife, did get ready, at my trunk marked with an X, to 2 cycle rip-roar, and blood let,
I felt the notch sting, I felt the backcut burn, I felt the white hot feel, of the chainsaws teeth ripping steel,
I spurt out my blood of xylem and phloem, I cannot believe this is my 600 years of respect I get, this is my end, it is so surreal.

I pass out from the pain, with my last view of the horizon, as Im rushing in the wind, one time, last again,
This time not standing, blowing, swaying in the breeze, but dying as I fall, and bust up and crash down, to remain.
The humans said ' Timber r r ', I guess thats my given human name ?
But my sapling offspring call me ' Hemlock ', and they will repopulate the hillside, to fight back, to once again, reclaim.

D.M. Beebe

Brother Dans 50th B-Day -

Good times are when, fun times are had, at my brother Dans 50th birthday,
Good times are when, the sun shines on us all, from above that timely day,
Good times are when, you enjoy all, many great people, everyones friends,
Good times are when, you talk with each other, into the sunsets orange ends.

When you socialize, learn and meet, interesting old and new friends,
To hear lifes stories, as the day sets slowly, until the sunset no longer suspends,
Spring forward in March, not us, no way, as we reluctantly acknowledge, but disobey,
We want to hold back time, BBQ, party all day and night, we do want to make time pay.

But time does somehow, strike our lifes clock, to give us its timely advise,
Somehow it finds our lifes hour, at our cost, to charge us its annual price,
And when we realize, that we might have finally at long last, eventually lost,
Because all of our lives are just a warm Spring thaw, or a cold Winters frost.

But my brother Dan to me, in and throughout, all of our lives changing Seasons,
In all four of them, through our lives, has given me many of perspective reasons,
No way, no how, could I have ever asked for a better brother, my constant protector,
I would have been lost without my brother Dan, my perpetual lifes harm deflector.

Good times is the thought, me and my brother Dan, will again experience lifes wonderous insight,
We will walk together, someday again, through our long lives brotherly path, to the magical light,
Good times is the thought, me and my brother Dan, will again learn about life, our struggle and strife,
We will talk together, someday again, as brothers always end up together, in the happy ever afterlife.

Love You Brother Dan & Happy 50th Birthday !

Monday, February 16, 2015

Rusty Treasure -

The things that I like most, the things in that I place value and trust,
Are not gems, or silver, or gold, but are aged from old wood and iron rust,
The old, the aged, the fallen down, layered with dirt and dust,

Like old farms, old barns, tractors with implements, with a surface crust.

Certainly what one seeks, is certainly to ones own pleasure,
But for me there is no doubt, it is the buried rusty treasure,
The old, the forgotten, the dilapidated, the old homestead,
Thats long been without cattle, long been without household head.
It has been long forgotten, it has been long left to the seasons,
Why left so long ? Im not sure ? But they all have there reasons,
So upon the land and buildings, and machinery, of old farms revitalized,
Historic rusty treasures are to be found, their past they have symbolized.
But they are not valued by most, the old farm relics, from valley days of old,
But the ones I have salvaged, I appreciate, I ponder the past, as I hold,
It might seem funny, to some, that are not from the valley farmland,
But to me, worth saving, times rusty treasures, of wood, rust, and sand.
D.M. Beebe

Monday, February 2, 2015

H20 and Life -

Like ghostly spirits, floating, swirling, steaming vents, expanding into a midnight tryst,
Under the bright star light, and illuminating moonlit night, does glow, a evaporate, heavenly foggy mist.

With which we gather, and with which we extract, out our condensate, of souls to then exist,
So that all of us live, and all of us absorb another day, with each other on Earth, and all of us then, do so persist.

Such as freezing ice and snow that forms from the air, its existance is everywhere, solid upon the surface,
Weather it be a icy glacier, or hanging as a icicle, the solidifyer can stand still, nothing else can replace.

Hard as a bone, and white as well, the shaper of time and valleys whenceforth, does always live,
It is alive today, high on the hills and mountains, and its thawing tears pour daily, and it does always forgive.

Drips, raindrops, falls, liquid water, a collective stream or creek, its runs together with which to form, cascade and deliver,
Always born with power and full of life, inspiring, as it forms into a turbulent, abundant, river.

Our creator of life, the giver for every species on Earth, from the air, or from the land, or from the sea . . . 
From the far outer galaxies icy asteroid, too the deep ocean floor, it will be there always, for us all in between, into our eternity . . .

D.M. Beebe

Time and the Mind -

Make your mark on Earth, timemark it with your hand,
Color your environment, paint your worlds palette, the sky, the land,
As time is of the essence, the clock ticks every year, so do it while you still can,
Add purpose, and reason, timestamp it deep, into your wonderous lifespan.

School, college, work, and challenging pursuits at life,
Coffee, commuting, classrooms, cubicles, timelines, all encompassing strife,
Tribulations, schedules, lifes tests, maybe get a happy hour drink ?
Always every day, it makes you wonder, it always everyday, makes you think.

As we all are aware with the passing of time, and we do all somehow know,
Each year turns a page of our life, and the years of our life, they do eventually show,
But our minds do persist, and makes our memories therefore, that do stay and last,
Chiseled into our thoughts, to be there engraved, overtime, to stay and to everlast.

But facial recognition, even with the name, I'm maybe still not for sure,
If I remember you, If my memory of you is still there, still clear, and crystal pure,
It does get clouded, over the lifespan of time, the older that we forgetfully get,
As Im sure you know as well, if we had to make a remembrence bet.

The thing is this, is doesnt matter, lets forget about each others memory lapses, so lets shall,
Because my forgotten friends, I have a hard time remembering you all too, longlost, as well,
It does not really matter much anyway, as myself and you have long faded into memory,
From days of old, from the time when our stories are made and to offspring told, of when we lived our history.

So give me some slack, so give me some leadway, if I dont remember way back, way back in the day,
As my memory of us may be clouded, by many days and years, by many seasons, cloudy, rainy, and grey,
But when I remember you, It most certainly would be during a stormcloud, sunbreak, double rainbow,
And with that sight, I will smile my friend, and our acquaintance, ponder, remember you and know.

D.M. Beebe