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, 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