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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

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.

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