Poetic Stories by D.M. Beebe

11-01-2024 = 45,778 page views. 
Read my Poems here for free.
There are about 50 Poems total.
Thanks and enjoy reading my Poems.
D.M. Beebe

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.

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.

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

White Waterfall -

Its never scheduled or planned, life ends suddenly, it always strikes too early, and too soon,
A loved ones passing, what will you do ? when the time comes, reluctantantly, some full moon ?
We cannot guess or forecast, our ancenstors longevity, in front of us, maybe in July, or June ?
We do know one thing, their lives are of most value, the fabric of our souls, living within us, they do tune.

When the time comes, it will be hard, it will be the hardest thing ever, that you have ever gone through,
The doctor and pastor puts you in the quite room, to tell you the news, that you cant believe, its not true,
I dont want to walk down that hallway, to see my mom, laying there, bandaged in the cold room, not alive,
Covered in many white towels, like a angel, so sorry I cant help you mom, your gone now, you did not survive.

A week or so later, after memorials and rememberances, and personal recollections, and special whatwithalls,
Is a cardboard cylinder full of ashes, after it all doesnt calm down, after we dont regain our wits, or our wherewithalls,
But we have to take you mom, where you said you wanted to go, up to the hillside, evergreen treed, flowing clear, water falls,
So we all walked her there, after her memorial, through Steffans green grass field, and I did hear the flying angels calls.

So we all carried moms ashes, across a 40 acre field, up to the foothill treed mountain, to our sacred, giving water falls,
To the flowing falls we grew up drinking the water, our whole life upbringing, it still does flow, turbulent, with echoing calls,
Those sacred falls that gave us all life, to be nourished and to be raised, and to grow tall and big, and to survive and give,
Then moms ashes, poured down from the top, cascading down, making a holy, white waterfall, for us to all, see and again live.

D.M. Beebe

Once in a Blue Moon -

Every now and again, visits me every few years, Once in a Blue Moon,
A friend like a stellar event, from near or afar, floats in on a hot air balloon.
Setting down, to just check in and say hi, then bye, might see you again soon ?
Saying as floating up, up, and away, from the Tualco Valley, hot July afternoon.

Memories upon my porch, a sitdown of coffee and thoughts, its asked of me,
Where, if anywhere, would you move, south like me, to the capital of Albany ?
I would like to move to Oregon, but its the wrong direction, catch me if you can,
I would rather visit for a year, the South Pacific, or SE Alaska, the Islands near Ketchican.

My friends facial espression, that knowing smile, of what I adventursome, exploringly meant,
Its hard to come by anymore, the older we get, as our lifes exploring treasure, is already half spent.
Its within us all, traveling times have passed on now, of going round the world, here and there,
If I travel now, near of far, it better have abundant fruits, to sustain me and mine, to bountifully bare.
  
Once all the old things, have been newfound, what will travel have to show, for mankind, our soul to heal ?
Where will we travel and explore anymore, the smaller of the Earths surprises, and adventures to reveal ?
I think the answer, once mankinds done exploring Earths lands and oceans, might come none too soon,
Its traveling through time and across space, to find new habitable planets for us all, past the Blue Moon.

D.M. Beebe

Skywriter -

The day nears an end, as the downflow wind starts to swirl and blow,
I look up as the light suspends, the inverted pressure is at a evening low,
The orange blue skies palette is streaked jetstream white, its a skywriter !
Triggering my thoughts instantly, antiquated, an old memory enlightener.

Days of old, days of green grass on our backs, upwardly cloud gazing,
Whats that in the sky ? A skywriter making a white trail, curiously its amazing !
We also look at the clouds and shapes, is that Charlie Brown, or Scooby Doo ?
Shapes and thoughts, in the minds of us, on our backs looking up, me and you.

Times experiences rise and set, round and round the Earth, and sometimes back again,
But some things like skywriters, and guessing shapes in the clouds, certainly do remain,
When I see a skywriter like this evening, I think back and remenisce, into my history,
I remember who I was with, in the green grass, upwardly gazing, into skyward discovery.

So some sunset look upwards, at skywriters and cloud shapes, to view the setting sky,
Look up with a friend, discover and make memories, in your minds to recall later, if you try,
It is strange, that many years later, when I look up into the evenings, orange blue skylight,
I see the same skywriters and cloud shapes of our past, circling the Earth, in a prior twilight.

D.M. Beebe

To The $5 Flower Bouquet Thief !

When you first encounter, the honor system, of the beautiful, $5 flower bouquet stand,
A regular, honest person, pays a $5 dollar bill in the money box, with cash readily in hand,

Gladly and happily, one will pay a $5 dollar bill, for a beautiful handcrafted, flower bouquet,
But some of you thieves, deem it not worthy, and pay nothing at all, to our fuhqen dismay ?

We cannot understand your thievery, of our flower bouquets, sneakthieves, hands oh so fast,
Your thievery, is unjustified, its gotten old now, its gone on way too long now, finally at long last !

So go forever away now, you flower bouquet thieves, as we have watching eyes now, as of today,
Otherwise we will quit offering these flower bouquets, to the honest customers, who do honestly pay.

The Flower Shack  !

Mount Index -

When I need to getaway, away from life, get lost and not found, to be with nature, just my dog and myself,
I drive towards the foothills mountains, on hwy 2 eastbound, just past the lateral moraine, Cascade shelf,
I usually turn right onto the gravel Mount Index River Road, and park at the new discovery pass gravel lot,
However, if you are a iron oxide, rusty hiker like me, you know the way up and around, to the other parking spot.

If not so, park and hike, suck air in as you trek, up the old road, a mile or so, up to the Bridal Veils sign of Falls,
Stop there, if you know the old trail to the right of 4 falls, with Honeymoon Mine, take this route as whispers calls,
Exploring the mines branching shafts, into its tunnel maze of amazement, flashlight faces do adventourously show,
The old copper mine branches multiple time, left and right, even goes up with ropes, with a trecherous 30' cavern below.

Then hike up the old trail of many boots, climb up the old vines, take a break at any of the 4 falls, along the misty way,
The falls are all beautifully dangerous, so find a safe viewing spot, upon the glacial granite rocks, with splashing spray,
Take pictures, make memories, but also take time to look out at the valleys horizon, to find the truth inside yourself,
Then look up, when you get to Lake Serene, at Mount Index's towering peaks, recaculating your theories of wealth.

A blue tarp I have hidden, for my tent if it downpours, where mice and hawks only now go, as rockslides show,
The forest service, closed off that side of the lake, where winter glaciers and summer rockslides, always will flow,
I had many tent nights, at that little west side, mountain side, rodent infested, rockslide treed, Lake Serene, oasis,
I will hike up and go there again, whatever the rules, as it gives peace to my spirit and mind, nothing else ever replaces.

D.M. Beebe - the4beebes@frontier.com

Old Growth Trees -

I admire, the last big Trees that have still survived, to exist, and exhale air for us all daily, listen to their sound,
Humans persist, but I think the Trees are all more worthy of forever standing, upon their Old Growth high ground,
As they were here before us, and no others have a right more than they do, to be in their forest, in their surround,
Except their true friends; the wind, rain, sun, animals, and mycology, full of interactive nutrients, the soil is bound.

Sometimes you might want to listen to them, at least once in your life time, take the time . . . make your mind clear.
These special Old Growth Trees have something to say, they are the teachers full of wisdom . . . listen, can you hear ?
They have tried to talk to us for hundreds of years now, for the harmfull species to learn from . . . we are their friends, right ?
The Trees have real true friends, but its not us, even though we cant exist without them, does that shed some forest light ?

We humans are the takers of the Old Growth Trees, the gravel mines, the oceans fisheries, the animals, and the gas and oil,
We are exploiting at will, to meet our needs, how much more can the Earth take ? With this surface and sub-exploring toil ?
I mean really ? What can we do now ? To save our planet Earth, our special one of a kind, unique, Galactic, little blue marble ?
Give me an answer, because I dont have one, Im sorry, I tried long and hard to think of something, my mind has tunnel carple.

What I do when I feel lost within this World, and I have many questions, that nobody can ever give me answers to, or correlate,
I go for a drive to the foothills, park and take a hike, to a place in the mountains, by the falls, in the woods, to think, and to relate,
I know when I get there, Im with friends, with many answers for me, their always there for me, to breathe air with, and appreciate,
The Old Growth Trees are always my friends, and I am always their friend, until humans with saws invade, to friendship delineate.

D.M. Beebe - the4beebes@frontier.com

Poetic Stories by D.M. Beebe - Barnes and Noble

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/poetic-stories-dm-beebe/1121900201?ean=9781503568945 .

Poetic Stories by D.M. Beebe - Amazon

http://www.amazon.com/Poetic-Stories-D-M-Beebe/dp/1503568938/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1431456510&sr=1-1&keywords=d.m.beebe .

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

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

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

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

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

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 !

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

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

Short Story : All You Can Eat Bull Frog Legs Dinner Tonight, and Karaoke !

I was bored on a Saturday night so I drove to town looking for something to eat and something entertaining to do, by the way, my name is Fred Bogg.
If I had to describe myself, I would say I am a very round man, with big rubbery lips, and a bald head covered in liver spots, and oh ya, I have a big appetite.
I was fiddling with my radio when I saw a green neon sign illuminating over the Main Street sidewalk as I was driving by that read ' All You Can Eat Bull Frog Legs Dinner Tonight, and Karaoke ! '.
I thought to myself, that sounds really good, so I turned my diesel puffing truck around and found a spot to park out front as close as I could get because I dont like to walk too far if I dont have to.
I parked and got out, lit up a pre dinner smoke on the sidewalk 5 feet away from the entrance, and observed for 10 minutes all the customers inside eating, before I flicked my smoke down on the sidewalk, still burning, and then went inside.
By this time I was really hungry, especially after staring through the sidewalk window all of the distinguished locals thoroughly enjoying themselves upon the deep fried breaded Bull Frog Legs.
The hostess, a skinny little lady with green eyes, seated me in the corner at a small little table, as I was by myself and could only take up so much room in this busy establishment.
I didnt mind the corner table though, as I like to have my back to the wall, and can thus feel safe and protected while I eat, and can also watch all of the entertaining activity occurring in the busy establishment at the same time.
The waiter, a skinny little guy also with green eyes, took my order, and in no time brought me the special of the night, a jumbo sized platter of deep fried breaded Bull Frog Legs !
The whole time was very entertaining and the Karaoke for the night was different versions of ' Jeremiah Was a Bull Frog ' which for everyone , myself included, found to be very entertaining and enjoyable as I sipped my mighty fine wine.
I sat there and ate jumbo platter after jumbo platter of these mouth watering deep fried breaded Bull Frog Legs until I could eat no more, my stomach was so round and full that I needed to stretch and go outside and get some fresh air and have a satisfying after meal smoke.
I almost felt guilty, almost, at how cheap the bill was, as I paid my very affordable bill for my very satisfying deep fired breaded Bull Frog Legs Dinner and left a very generous 5% tip.
Then I went outside to the front sidewalk and lit up that refreshing after meal smoke and I took a big drag and exhaled my smoke which blew back inside before the entrance door shut.
I decided to go for a walk down the sidewalk and around the corner of the busy establishment and down the alley while I had my smoke.
As I walked down the alley and found myself at the backside of the busy establishment, I looked up and was met with a storm of activity going on back behind the building.
It was like a war zone scene colored in green and red with hundreds if not thousands of Bull Frogs everywhere !
Bull Frogs that had made it were wheeling around in squeaky wheelchairs with bloody bandaged Bull Frog stump legs leaving bloody wheelchair trails on the sticky pavement.
Some of them that had a tougher go at it in the kitchen were on the gurney with curtains drawn, alls I could hear was Clear ... Zap ! Clear ... Zap ! Didnt make it. Time ? Then Thump ! As they were flung into the dirty, bloody dumpster 15 feet away.
Some were in dirty, muddy, white 5 gallon buckets full of swamp water waiting to go into the kitchen on the back side of the building, I could hear sounds coming out, Chop ... Haruuump ! Chop ... Haruuump !
For some reason their big bulging Bull Frog eyes seemed full of fear as they haruuumped and watched through the open back door to the kitchen the human with black eyes and a white coat and big metal bloody cleaver chopping off their Bull Frog Legs.
As I puffed on my smoke I was confused and it didnt make sense as I am just a human, so I let out a big greasy deep fried Bull Frog Leg Belch that kinda sounded like Baruuump, and walked backed to my diesel puffing truck, got in, and drove my way back home.
As I drove home a torrential rainstorm was coming down and I could not avoid driving over at least 100 Frogs that were leaping and jumping all over the roadway.
When I got home and got to my porch by the swamp, feeling nice and full and and relaxed and satisfied, I lit up a evening smoke and realized it was a pretty quite night as I puffed on my smoke.
Normally the night time foggy air is filled with sounds of ribbiting and croaking coming from the back waterways, but it was quite tonight for some reason that I just couldnt understand as I am just a human.
Huh, oh well, I thought to myself, as I flicked my smoke down on the yard, still burning, and then thought, that sure was a good ' All You Can Eat Bull Frog Legs Dinner ', I hope they have that again next week.

D.M. Beebe

The old Ben Howard Road Winter's poem -

Back in the old Ben Howard Road neighborhood,
Time were different then, times were always good,
We all trusted, and we knew, who all are neighbors were,
We all as neighbors, were there for each other, to have that cup of sugar,

Some years, Winter's snow fell, and blanketed the Valley,
Out of the barns and sheds, came out the skates and sleds, and it was a fun time Wonderland rally,
Definitely days of old, definitely days of which I am Winter's time fond,
When we all skated and sledded together, on the old Haskel's Slough frozen pond,

Hot chocolate in a mug with cinnamon toast of course, in the humble old kitchen abode,
The moms always had ready for all of us kids, in any house along the old Ben Howard Road,
We all contributed, and we helped each other, as we all did get along,
Those days on the old Ben Howard Road, growing up together, where we all did certainly belong,

Maybe hike up to the cabin, way up beyond Stephen's Waterfall up on the hill,
Or walk the shortcut Trestle track to town, get ready to jump if you hear the BNSF whistle,
Dad worked for BNSF for 30 years, sometimes Dan and I went with him Ballard to Wenatchee,
Homeward bound through the Stevens Pass Tunnel, the Monroe jump off, then walk the Trestle track home did we,

Across the Skykomish River, it was a mile or so long Trestle track walk,
But when we got to the old Ben Howard Road, we would jump down, and not really then have much to talk,
Because we were 1/2 mile from home then, walking along the white line,
Frosty, frozen, white and icy, soon that hot chocolate and cinnamon toast will be yours, and will be mine !

You might think I have made things up, or you might think I have indulged,
But every account is true, making me reminisce and want to old times further divulge,
The old Ben Howard Road, with all of its grand, endearing, and fond memories,
What a great way to grow up, forever in my mind always, to write about this one and more future poem stories.

D. Matthew Beebe

* * * Winter's Snow * * *

* * * One night when it was white * * * I wrote this note * * *

A pillow top mattress in the clouds above ,
A powdery blanket under our feet below ,
Reminds us all of younger times we love ,
The magical world of Winter’s Snow !

The snowflakes fall on the wind and blow ,
Our hearts and minds rekindle the past ,
Dance down to us all as they put on a show ,
Winter's Snow is here again at long last !

* * * D. Matthew Beebe * * *

Thanksgiving -

Family, friends, turkey, stuffing, cashews, cranberries, and pumpkin pie with whip cream,
The big dinner table, rustic wood stove fire warming the household, why does this sound like a dream ?
Thats because if you know how I write, this poem will express how I feel, and intros arent always what they seem,
That said, I hope everyone is with family and friends this holiday, and truly have a Happy Thanksgiving !

Pilgrims aboard the mayflower ships, cross the big blue atlantic, finally landing upon the plymouth rocks,
Disease ridden, rats abundant, supplies and coopers barrels empty, no more filled with salted pork hamhocks,
As our hardscrabble camps grow, the natives bring gifts to us upon harvest day of; maize, berries, gourds, and turkey tomcocks,
For the indigenous peoples we brought no gifts except; trouble, greed, the measles, and the pocks.

Ceremonial with compassion, care and concern, truly it must have been, trusting for the first Thanksgiving sake,
Indigenous and whites, must have had faith and hope in their hearts, and wanted to give then, more than they wanted to take,
The settlement camps grew, as did our numbers, as well as the white mans new law of the land,
Hindsight is 20/20, the natives could never have foreseen, the outcome of the great white leaders plan.

How far it has gone, since that day, in the wrong branching; hating, distrustful, destructive direction,
How far we have came back, the other way, never enough though, will there ever be a true resurrection ?
Land rights, water rights, fishing rights, hunting rights, reservations, casinos, and sovereign nations,
Thats all good, but what good does it do, when the great white leaders plan, is to incorporate and give back meager rations.

I hope that things will evolve in America, with which we did all migrate to, settle, and without asking, we did take,
Now there is current day immigrants, like 5 million from the south, no difference than us at the time, does it morally make, 
I dont know what the answer is, as the America of today can never be big enough, to make everyone sufficiently satisfied,
It seems like it has become not only the land for you and me, but also the land of the citizens with differences that divide.

Happy Thanksgiving

D. Matthew Beebe

Seasons Call -

The Seasons do Fall,
But eventually, we will all,
Throughout our productive lives,
We all hear the whispering winds call.

 

Our tree trunk grows, only so wide and tall,
Our Autumns seeds float down, overwintering where they Fall,
Our colored leaves, blowing down with the Seasons, they too Fall,
Windy, stormy, rainy, frozen over, such is life, such is it all.

 

Warm Spring, and Warm Sunlight,
Spring forth we have to try, we have too try, with all of our might,
Breakfree from our seeds, from our shells protection,
To become citizens, good people, worthy of natural selection.

 

To grow and shoot up, and climb like vines through our life,
With our careers, with our spouse, with our offspring, with our strife,
As we teach them, our kids, as they are our saplings,
Of our cave wall writings, as they are our life learnings.

 

Amongst the world, from what we know, we do try to instill,
Of who we are, and believe, from our skill and our will,
That whats in your heart, and whats in your mind,
Is the meaning of life, your life and thoughts to share, with others to find.

 

So seek out your sunlight, so seek out your world,
As it is there for you to find, as it is there for you to ahold,
So grasp, shoot forth, grow tall, and conquer your canopy and your world,
As you only have one shot, to become a king or queen, and destiny to behold,
To enjoy, to realize, that the bright stars in the night skies above do exist,
For you, they are yours to see find, to achieve in life, to hold in your hand and mind, so do persist.

 

As time is of the essence, time is Seasons within us all ,
Time has its Season, and the Season all end, and will have a Fall,
So sow your seeds while the sun shines, grow them for you and us all,
As we all want to continue to exist, do you hear the Seasons Call ?

 

D. Matthew Beebe

The Curse of the Mummy -

Life makes us feel at times, like we barely exist, as we wear many constumes,
Covered and layered, we try daily to resist, as our many of lives resumes.
Lifes demands are layered upon us, from the inside out, underneath, and way deep down,
So existing we are, our bodies and minds, like Mummies, wrapped up and tightly bound.

Covered and layered, in busy preoccupied lives, look in our eyes, we are nowhere to be found,
Thoughts and minds are lobotomized, reality is buried in us, the fictitious self and society surround.
We all want to break free, try hard as we might, but nothing is ever unearthed or newfound,
So existing we are, our bodies and minds, like Mummies, wrapped up and tightly bound.

What can break our dirty, weeping, bandages free ?
What can unwravel ourselves, so we can be happy ?
Thought and mindset, optimism, positively, just maybe ?
What will the future have instore for us all, how do we awake and see ?

I peel away and unwravel myself, my bandages fall down to the floor,
I step out and away from the pile, I am not bound by the Mummies curse anymore.
I am set free now, I am happy, literally, in my body, and in my mind,
What a newfound sensation, I can finally be me now, after I was muted, and after I was blind.

We can all cut loose of lifes bandages, that bind us in self and society,
We can all relate and understand, we can all eventually regain our sanity.
Or we can all continue to be bound, by whatever it is, whatever it may be,
That makes us like cursed Mummies, mumbling as we walk through life, aimlessly.

Life is to short to be wrapped and bound, like a cursed Mummy,
So try to find happiness in yourself and life, so try to set yourself free.
From lifes bandages that bind you, so try to find yourself in life, and be happy,
Otherwise in the end, life can turn you, into a wrapped and bound cursed Mummy.

D. Matthew Beebe

Frankenstein -

I awake confused and feel bizzare,
With fresh stitches and many o scar.
I look in the dirty and broken mirror,
My green skin and yellow eyes reflect fear.

What is this hideous experimental surgery ?
I am the doctor frankensteins emergency.
Who is this physically created monstrosity ?
I am a reanimated medical abnormality.

With gang green I am injected and infused,
My ? organs are transplanted and abused.
I am lightning storm volts short circuited,
My ? brain is sparking and berzerkuited.

The insane doctor frankenstein I must extinguish,
As no bride was made for myself to distinguish.
The township torches burn my castle of creation,
With fearfull pitchforks and screams of abomination.

D. Matthew Beebe

To Kill a Vampire -

Hunting hanging inverted, ye flutter hither,
Hide in ye casket, as the twilight makes thee wither,
Twist and squirm in agony, as the stake delivers the sliver,
The heart and liver writhe, as they tremble and quiver,
Screams echo through the ruins, but there is no evil forgiver,
Red raindrops drip a spatter a pither, forming into a bloody river.

D. Matthew Beebe

The Firepit Gazebo -

The radiant glow, surrounding The Firepit Gazebo campfire,
Is the need of us all, like the early primitive cavepeoples desire.
The safety, the embers warmth, and the overnight protection,
The human clanspeople in numbers, will evade predator detection.

Thousand of years of humanity have grown, from around the fire,
Mankinds safety and socializing, there is certainly no denyer.
If not for The Firepit Gazebo structure, today we would not exist,
Together, togather, to band against our world threats, to plan, fight, and resist.

So simple and powerful, is The Firepit Gazebo,
I have experienced its firepower, to absorb and to grow.
If you have ever, like me sometimes, have had black ash in your heart,
Thats the energy it absorbs and it burns out, giving anew spiritual start.

Radiated when I leave, my heart is green as a leaf,
The Firepit Gazebo gave me, a newfound philosophy and belief.
To carry on, to protect myself and others, with The Firepit Gazebo power,
To start a new day, blazing, like a spontaneous combustion flower.

No matter where you come from; food, warmth, shelter, safety, we can all appreciate,
The big anthropological picture, a common connection, we can all certainly relate.
There has been many good times for my family, friends and I, inside The Firepit Gazebo,
They are not gone because they are in our memories, to take with us in life as we go.

D. Matthew Beebe

Living by the River -

Rockbars, sandbanks, willows, and cottonwood trees,
Magnificent green water, natures sustaining constantly flowing giver.

Salmon, people, life, renewable energies, fisheries, estuaries,
Wonderful, turbulent, healing power, it does hydraulically deliver.

Families, memories, fishing, campfires, relax, float, explore, island safaris,
The Skykomish, the Sky Valley, whats better than Living by the River ?

D. Matthew Beebe

Humming Bird -

Back and forth, and in and through,
The Humming Bird floats, to me, to you.
Up and down, and here, and there,
Shhhhh, watch, or you will give them a scare.

The sugar water feeder, with the red flower,
Is the tempatation, giving them energy wing power.
Swoop, swish, buzz, zoom,
The Humming Bird, will come again soon.

Watch them fly away, where do they rest ?
3 seconds its takes them, to fly 1/4 mile away back to their nest.
Little babies they tend to, small as a seed,
They soon will hatch, and zoom around earth, wings shell freed.

I love the Humming Birds, during their feeding season, how they fight and court,
What a interesting little bird, what a elobarate sort.
We feed them sugar water, 1 cup sugar to 2 cups water,
Soas to help the Humming Bird family of, father, mother, son, and daughter.

D.M. Beebe

Facebook Society -

I wonder what this is all about ?
This socializing on the computer.
We give each other a selfie or a shout out,
Am I the entertained, or am I the entertainer ?

Do I really gives a $h!t ?
Highspeed interactions during the day.
Is my social time really worth it ?
Should I go, or should I stay ?

Does this really payoff, for the time that it consumes ?
All of the daily info, that I absorb and I am infused.
This facebook society of us, our uephoric life resumes,
A daily injection of nonsense, do I feel facebookely enthused ?

What does this all mean ?
I asked myself the hard question.
I thought about it for for awhile . . .
I found the answer, but I will keep it to myself and not mention.

D. Matthew Beebe

Great Big Leaf Maple Tree -

As I sit here under and lean my back against this Great Big Leaf Maple Tree,
Thoughts of life fall down like autumn leaves and spinning helicopters upon me.

Cracking my head open like a nut crowned with knowledge, wisdom, reality,
What would I do without this gift of perspective, that gives seasonal insight to me under its shade canopy ?

D. Matthew Beebe

Warm Spring -

Long Indian Summer, colorful crisp Fall, frozen white Winter, rainy Spring flood,
The Seasons leap and jump forward, as the winds howl and chimes ring,
By the thousands the Frogs crawl out of their sunlight warmed waterway mud,
To breath the fresh Spring air, as they ribbit and croak, to live another year, and sing.

D.M. Beebe

Trees and Friends -

Allow the light to filter and descend.

If you cast to big of a shadow,
Nothing within your perimeter will grow.

The air is cold, the ground is fallow,
Absent are friends, plenty are foe.

Learn to share the light and in the end,
After awhile it will begin to show.

By extending your branches upward and extend,
Friendships around you will begin to sew.

Allow the light to filter and descend.

D. Matthew Beebe

GooD DoG -

A good dog barks at night from the porch,
At mysterious threats looming in the moonlight.

Coyotes sneaking around with eyes glowing like a torch,
A good dog knows that something isnt right.

Scare them all away, protect the barnyard,
Keep them all at bay, gratitude do not discard.

Pat the good dog on the head, also a good dog handshake,
For all the threats he made fled, and the chickens they did not take.

D. Matthew Beebe

The Hoof Trimmer

His name is Mike Nichols and hes from the east side,
Theres lots of cattle that need hoof care to heal and subside.
If your lucky once in awhile he will work his way west,
To take care of your cows that need done what he does best.

Clipping, grinding, sanding, and medicine applying,
All the while on its side the heifer is lying.
He drives a multi colored ford truck with a clearcoat of dust,
Trailering a cow flippen contraption made up of hydraulics, steel, and rust.

I notice his tall leather boots Mike wears as he works,
This world needs more characters like Mike and alot less jerks.
Tough as they come but his face wears a big smile,
I admire Mike Nichols, you dont run into his kind but once in awhile.

D. Matthew Beebe

How Now Brown Cow ?

Moo Cows, any color, but especially brown ones are my favorite,
If you are from the city, sometime head out of town, to experience and to savor it.
Thats where you will find the locals, the farmers and the cows, the ones that labor it,
The tall green grass pastures, the manure drift in the valley air, local folks kinda favor it.

The bovine is always fine, if you are born with and grown up around the smell and sound,
The locals, the farmers, you will quickly find out, that they arent messen around.
Early AM you always have to walk through the muck and get your boots dirty,
Grab some gloves because you have to shovel some $h!t and make your efforts worthy.

But in the glowing sunsets days end, when the days work is never done,
You feel sureal, like your one with nature, but nature has definetely won.
An appreciative respect for the cow, as the bovine has its own will,
That ruminant species has taught you more, than a wheelbarrow can ever fill.

They have those big brown eyes, and different personalities, each in their own stubborn way,
But on the dairy farm, they become like family, and they look forward to seeing you everyday.
Those cows that you have a connection with, but you wonder why and how ?
Makes you think what is life really about, my best friends are all of those cows.

D. Matthew Beebe

Soil -

Toil if you will, but wouldnt you rather,
Walk barefoot on the beach in the rain, a pitter a pather.
Go for a hike in the woods, maybe even climb a tree,
Tube down the sky river, explore a river island safari.

Toil if you will, but dont take too long,
When you can stop and think, and write a poem or a song.
Thoughts of life and love, and family and friends that you hold dear,
That keep you centered, and peel back lifes busy veneer.

Toil if you will, but the seasons wont slow,
The mind gets smarter, but the body starts to show.
The weathering of life, like autumns spent falling leaves,
Your old now and tell stories, that know one has the time for or believes.

Toil if you will, it doesnt matter but only to you now anyway,
Whatever keeps you going, and pre occupies your day.
In the end you will know, who has always cared and has been loyal,
As they stand there with tears falling down, while you are returned to the soil.

D. Matthew Beebe

Lemonade Sunlight -

I want to walk in the garden with you,
I want to walk through the day with you,
I want to walk into the sunset with you,
I want to walk through life with you.

If you want we can have a campfire tonight,
With a big bottle of wine it would be just right,
Together talking as the day turns to moonlight,
I think the grass and dirt path of life we made is just right.

The colors are so bright in the flower bed with you,
Try hard as I might to look at the flowers instead of you,
The sunsets colors in the garden is just right when Im with you,
But my favorite color is the color of your blonde and blue.

Life turns every day for us with the setting sunlight,
As long as were happy then everythings alright,
Lets try to enjoy and soak it up before its twilight,
Lets drink all we want of lifes lemonade sunlight.

D. Matthew Beebe

Killdeer -

The Killdeer were the very first sound,
I heard, as I surfaced, grasping for air, after I nearly drowned.
I gathered my senses, I saw the rockbar flock, gasping for breathe, as I looked around,
My near death experience, life flashed before my eyes, it was life changing, it was very profound.

The killdeer to me, make life very clear,
With their sound all of life, was again precious and dear.
I swam towards their sound, from my upsidedown kayaks river snag,
I reached the shore, as they were all around, my mind was confused, surreal, and vague.

I rested on the bank, with them for awhile, they were close by me, all of those Killdeer,
Diligently, intently, too me in that moment, they seemed welcoming and indear.
They looked and they hunted, through the water ripples and wrinkles,
Deep down into the sinkholes, for the perrywinkles.

I always think and remember that day, when I see my bird friends,
Those lanky legged grey blue creatures, that the spirit world sends.
To welcome me back, and greet me in their own way,
To my new chance at life, be more carefull . . . I think they surrounded me to say ?

D. Matthew Beebe

Dog Friends -

I remember green grass, purple clover, big buzzing bumblebees, and blue sky,
Giant cottonwood trees, leaves blowing in the wind, towering and swaying, patiently up high.
With my first dog friend, she was tolerant, nurturing, a female big great dane,
I was a young blonde haired blue eyed 1 year old boy, and I cant remember her name.

But I can still see, and I can imagine clearly, like we are still there together,
She watched over me, as I learned and I played in the yard, she was my dog protector.
I remembered that we talked in our own way, as we spent the summertime with each other,
Forehead to forehead, my teacher, my loyal canine mentor, she was my dog mother.

I have learned through my life, thinking back, I have always had a dog friend and protector,
Scrounge, Chance, D.O.G., Otter and Gracie, have always been my life friends and harms deflector.
My girls grew up with their own dog friend Abby, from a safeway cardboard box full of pups,
Her name was Abby, fuzzy orange, purple tongue, a classic chow protector full of growls and yups.

Abby watched over my girls, because they were also her own, as they were her pups,
She was their sister, then mother, seven years to their one, she grew up with and answered to their yups.
One day when Emily was 3 years old, and decided to walk off exploring to the back slough,
Through the corn field Abby brought her back, by leading her home to our valley echoing yelling cue.

That day as always Abby knew what to do, and if not for Abby that day, I dont know what I would do,
Things would have been different, and I would have not even been able, to have written this to you.
I think about all of my dog friends, how they have been there for me in my life, as the days flow and continue,
My life is and has been blessed, with my loyal friends that I love, and I say to them all, good dogs and I thank you.

D. Matthew Beebe