Muskrat makes his Blog debut appearance

Climbing out of his hole sometime around mid-morning, Muskrat sniffs at an eastbound wind and rolls a juniper twig of a cigarette.  Rubbing the match head against the wall and lighting the dangling participle of his morning inches from his whiskers, Muskrat lets out a sigh.  The bottoms of his feet are black and his fingers cracked and trying to bleed.  Muskrat  figures if it wasn't for his garden, six tomato cages, a raised bed of zucchini, a few small pepper plants, brussell sprouts and an assortment of petunia's and lavender plants, it's on that train he'd ride.  The only problem is he's isolated himself to a town without trains.  It's a town where the trains used to go.  There's a commuter train northbound and an autorack repair facility a few stumbles south but for Muskrat the air is silent and still.  He listens intently each morning to the birds chasing tail on the electric and telephone lines, listens for the overriding sensation, vibrations in the air of the old lonesome whistle and wail to pull at the heart strings and make an aging Muskrat pull up roots and ride.  But there are none.  Instead he places his nose in a crossword, nibbles at homemade blueberry scones, eyes the piling stack of dishes on the counter and settles into an Albuquerque morning.


So that's Muskrat... he's a good egg, a little miss guided and still learning like we all do all our lives.
give him some time, he may come around...
until then...

Solidarity forever... ride free, be safe and tell the people around you you love them.

New poem for a coworker

I know i have been lacking in my postings as of late.  Going to try and be better about these things.
Right now I have a few new poems.  One that i composed for a coworker on demand for his last day at work.  It's kind of a work poem for the lonely barista's and the such.  I also just recently sent out a few poems to Syntax Magazine up in Denver.  A fellow Poet and friend City Mouse resides there and fingers crossed, is pitching my stuff to the editor.  Thanks brother, I owe you.

Last work poem for Brandon

Bob Dylan is singing his Visions of Johanna
over the loud speaker in the lobby
and here among the early evenings
we still pour burnt milk
for strangers
and pray for thirty mile gusts of wind
to lift patio umbrellas
into a red sports car side door
or for the girl in her black jeep
to pause and smile
write her number on a sweet and low sugar
and drive onto Montgomery
until tomorrow's caffeine
addiction brings us together
without interruptions from headsets
or twenty four minute timers
        give me a quad espresso
        Eighty fifty and hour
        Chai in my cereal
        and her number on a sweet and low packet


Later today I have some of the first of Muskrat's ramblings to share... if I never explained Muskrat to you. I will give a brief scribbling inkling of him later this afternoon.

until then god speed lil animals
I love you... ride safe. ride free and keep a song in your hearts
smell the bottoms of your tomatoes for happy thoughts