Simple Forms of Beauty and Adventure

Yvon Chouinard, founder of Patagonia clothing once said. " The word adventure has been overused. To me adventure is when everything goes wrong.That is truly when the adventure begins." I often find myself daydreaming of trips to foreign and exotic places when I'm older. I even compiled a list of places I wanted to visit when I am older.  I yearned to have a "mountaintop experience". I wanted my breath to be taken away by something beautiful. Why? I have learned now that you can find beauty,and adventure in the simplest of things. You don't have to travel halfway across the country to find them. The sunrise over a field at the farm, a drive through Davidson at Christmastime, Sitting with friends playing a favorite song. Those are truly the "mountaintop experiences".  Hitchhiking after a day of being lost on a trip,searching for a friends deer with coyotes howling in the distance.Those are true adventures. Take delight in what you do now.Don't waste your time planning your future adventures when you can be having one now.

Avalanche -an ode to homework

It starts out small a quiet rumble resounding in the distance.
Yet it slowly is gaining speed ,and volume as it nips at my heels.
I'm running but can't seem to catch my breath .
It soon overtakes me a melee of books,pens,papers,orders,and confusion.
The harder I fight to gain freedom the more I am crushed by new strength that it gains with each day.
Why can't I go back to the top of the mountain or hurry to the end.
Why can't I dwell happily on this path without the fear of being trampled by a new challenge.
Endless nights ,and short sweet sleep. This is the life that avalanche chose for me.

Exile Peom I had to do for school

Exile Poem

Cold is the water in which I swim at the break of day.

Gnarled are the trees that rise above, as I walk along the path.

Soft is the sound of coming snow.

This will be the third lonely winter in a row.

Your love was like the wings of a bird in morning’s flight.

Sweet was your laughter on summer night.

Our love was simple, sweet, and bright.

Your spirit was pure, and contrite.

Now I sit alone in this weary old house with its old oak door and unkempt yard.

Laughter, an echo of joy once filled these halls.

I often wonder what might have been.

I search for you each day hoping for a sign.

Hoping you will defy natural law to end this heart ache.

I could reminisce just as it once was.

Take a walk by the lake, and watch the setting sun.

Now my life seems empty, and cold.

My heart is stricken with anguish I cannot control.

It is a shooting pain like a knife in the heart.

My heart is rimed with deaths cold frost.

You were taken in the dead of night.

Not a bird was singing all was quiet.

They came silently like a cunning serpent.

The blood ran freely as you were dragged away.

I cried aloud as I lay there watching my one true desire leave me.

It has been 3 long winters since that infamous day.

Why my love did they take you?

Why must I bear this weight?

I reasoned, and pleaded to no avail.

As I watched them sail away wind in those evil sails.

I dashed along the side of the water.

To catch a glimpse or a divine intervention, from thy heavenly father.

I finally caught up, and there you lay.

A dead young soul cold, and gray.

I shrieked my displeasure across the plains by the sea.

I rose slowly, and carried you away.

To bury you in a quiet secret place.

Up the mountain I went step by step.

I could see the mist coming from my labored breaths.

My soul crushed within my heart pounding with anguishes din.

At the Peak I looked around.

The view so pretty yet so grim.

It was a beautiful tragedy as I stared into your lifeless eyes.

I buried you up there on that mountain, and then began to cry.

I walked away without a sound.

Head hung low face staring at the  snow covered ground.

I walked out to the great rocky cliffs, and began to leap.

Falling watching the foam and waves come flying toward me.

The wind was in my face as fell to my watery grave.

I sank deep beneath the sea eyes looking heavenward.

Then I opened my eyes.

It was the same dream I had before.

When will this anguish end I miss you so.

My heart will forever ache till the good Lord calls me home.

The Man The Myth The Legend

His face could tell a thousand words without saying a thing. His eyes are like the sea .distant ,and sad but sometimes happy ,and twinkling.
He is our old crusty sea captain with his sharp tounge ,and quick whit.
His fire ,and spirit will not be put out. He will fight till he can rise above ,and start ordering us around again. He's army man born ,and bred. He keeps his Citadel ring next to his bed. If your sitting around he will put you to work. But if you need help he will help you for sure. He's made some mistakes but so have we. All is forgiven ,and passed like a storm at sea. He loves the farm ,and calls it home. From the midnight train horn.To the morning dew at dawn. To his old ford tractor that hardly works. Or his huge imagination that raises hopes,and sometimes a nasty old building. We love him ,and hopes he gets better soon so he can regain his post as drill sergeant,grandfather,and mentor to his family; his platoon.

Summer work

Summer work how mundane you are
keeping from having fun
 but giving me work that is oh so hard
I try to make sense of words a hundred years aged
But to no avail i can't climb out of this literary cage
It's ruined so many things I want to do
Next summer . I will start earlier on finishing you .

180 Degrees South

This Movie has sparked a new passion for patagonia and it's conservation just watch this clip for an incredible movie http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C52vyEKnDeM

Climbing

   Climbing is a new interest of mine. its one of the most amazing things I have ever done. The way people can move along the rocks with the quickest of ease astounds me. It's the idea of people putting themselves in places they don't belong. But they do it anyway. They defy the mainstream,and challenge the body,and the mind.

The Heat

You beat down upon me as I toil day to day

You are unrelenting as if my soul is yours to take

You feel its your right for me to perspire

As if this is a worse could not transpire

Though sometimes your are a welcoming friend

When I need your warmth deep within

But winter turns to summer I know whats coming

I fill up my water bottle ,and hit the ground running

You soon catch up with vengeance on your mind

As I try to go inside out of sight out of mind

Great song

http://vimeo.com/14141537

wood and steel melody - a poem to my guitar

You rest easily upon my lap

to the side lies your loosley hung strap

You have a subtle grace about you

As if you've always been in tune

With something more than just strings

But of more complex things

You came from a tree long ago

Hand picked ,and crafted just so

To be a gift that sparked a passion

Who's joy it gave would never go out of fashion

Countless hours of playing you've seen

From this great knowledge of music I have gleaned

You may not be the nicest ,and your definitly not the worst

But one thing is for sure I know you will always work

Many more years we will be a team

Playing for others to show them the true meaning

Of music ,and its gift it brings

To enlighten peoples minds ,and to capture their hearts

To trigger the spark of passion that you impart

Goodbye For Now - dedicated to my school

You have ended for the year. what shall I do ?

 You still feel oh so brand new.

Traces of you like an early mornings dew.

I try to forget you but I simply can't .

You changed me in ways I never knew could be true.

Some parts were good others bad.

But that just enriched the experience we all had.

We learned from others mistakes ,and a few of our own.

I hated school but now I treat it as a second home.

It holds vast knowledge ,and friends too.

Great times like water melon tuesday with my good friend Drew.

So we all will miss you until early August blooms.

When we can travel to Windy Gap ,and start anew.

You have helped me grow ,and for this I give thanks.

Go on take a load off you deserve a good 3 month break.

The Thrill of The Sea - a poem of surfing ,and the ocean

You rise with the sun, and sit in the sand

Your board under your arm, and leash in hand

As you rush to the water with its icy morning chill

You paddle on out to reach Mother Nature’s thrill

Here comes a wall of water crashing on down

You ready for battle as the surge tumbles down

You paddle your heart without ceasing

With your boards speed slowly increasing

You rise into the open space with greatest of ease

Completing a tradition that is as old as the seven seas

Harnessing the wave to work toward your favor

As the ride starts to end your strength starts to waver

But you turn around and paddle with all your might

To reach the place where calmness abides

This dance of water and balance is a picture of grace

As you catch a glimpse of a more holy and majestic place

Of days long ago where our hearts desires were filled

Where the hustle of today stood at a stand still

We try to grasp those days of old

But the only way we grasp them is through stories untold

Where did we go wrong?

What did we do right? To cast away the beauty and the oceans might

We sit and try to grasp the old ones memory that has grown ever so small

By those that were there who answered nature’s melodic call

So I ride my board all the day long

 To get in tune with Mother Nature’s sweet song

The rush of the waves, the thrill of the sea

Feels like a fire rising up through me

I grasp that fire, and fan the flames

Of the love affair between man and sea

Not the best poet ,and I do know it

When I tried to write poetry. I wanted to get to a certain message across. I tried to bring about a unspoken imagination that we all possess.Into the form of poetry. For those that can do this my hat tips off to you. The way you utilize the English language to touch people at the center of their emotions is truly amazing. You take a myriad of muses and ideas ,and formulate them into this oxymoron of chaos ,and order. Your poems flow with the grace of a dancer that does not falter. They rise at points,and fall in others. They pull out thoughts ,and feelings people never thought they would feel. They inspire ,and lift up people the world over. For these things you do. We thank you.

Fork In the Road

Lying here awaiting mornings light
Hoping everything turns out alright
Not knowing which way to turn next
A fork in the road puts a halt to my quest
Two options two doors they stand there awaiting which river I choose to ford
Life has many different decisions some right some wrong
Which ones you choose will help right your life's song
For  better or  worst a choice must be made
Its time to get up ,and let your life's song play.

In the early morning mist- a fond memory

Its dark,and cold.The smell of coffee ,and last nights meal linger as the light of the fridge glows through the cheap venetian blinds.Sounds of others stirring getting there gear together starts the excitement.The moon still hangs over the earth but is starting to slowly lower back below the tree- line. The light from the kitchen table reflects off old family pictures ,of hunt weekends of the past. Long forgotten jokes,stories,and memories. The front screen door creaks behind  us as we quietly step  down the front stoop. The grass is white with dew almost as if a light snow had fallen,and a heavy mist has rolled in . The creek gurgles along as we cross to the other bank. Slowly the woods come to life with the slow but sure calls of song birds bob-white quail ,and crows. Then a loud cackle cuts through the air like a knife. My blood runs cold.My father gets out his call ,and responds to the turkey with  a quiet yet alluring sound. Immediately 3 birds call back.The hunt has begun. We quickly get set up on the edge of a clearing.My heart begins to race ,and my breathing increases. A large Jake begins his walk down through the woods to search for his prized hen. My fathers whispers to me reassuringly that he is going to be a great kill ,and to keep your gun still,and be patient. I try to keep still but the thrill of the hunt has gripped me ,and will not let go. He slowly comes into a closer view. I raise my gun,slowly ,and take off the safety.Times slows down my heart beat just barely audible.The sound of the gun was drowned out by the adrenaline that had me shaking like a leaf. The bird falls.Suddenly a huge rush comes over me ,and I let out a long satisfied sigh. My aim was true,and I could relax ,and take the bird back to camp to show off to the rest of the group. I had fulfilled a tradition that had been passed down through generations of fathers ,and sons.

Visions of Summer

 Everyone wears their Sunday best. The sounds of the band starting up, starts the parade of kids that are hopping off jeeps and trucks to get to the front door in time. You breath in the sweet summer mountain air of mid July, and know this is where you belong. The brook that runs along the old Barn that the dances are held in adds to the great sounds and sights of a summer night in the mountains of North Carolina. The sweet sound of a fiddle and the accompaniment of a guitar, banjo, and stand-up bass start things up as tons of people of all ages go into the barn .The guys  take a girl by the hand and head for the worn dance floor that is just about to fall through but maybe next year. So many have shuffled across these floors for decades .Following Glen Bannermans’s calls as they echo throughout the old barn.  So it begins with the bowing and curtsying, and grabbing the hand of your dance partner. As you look around the room you see all the different people that you have grown up with over these 15 almost 16 years of coming here. Then you see some you don’t know that are experiencing this unique tradition for the first time they don’t quite know what to do awkwardly shuffle stepping across the floor. But the great people that have done this before, and remember there first time always lend a helping hand. After the Dance if you are a true to the tradition of a Saturday night in the North Carolina mountains . You head to the blue cone for some ice cream. It is a small little shack with a big neon blue cone hence the name that sits just in front of the old rail road tracks in town . Everyone sits around, and talks about how there year was, and who likes who, and who was looking good at the dance. Who was going to play ultimate Frisbee tomorrow? Friends having fun without worry just enjoying stories, and laughter shared between them. Then you all go back to a friend’s house to hang out play guitar, sit by a fire, and just hang out listening to the swirling of the creek, and all the noises that are coming with the steady nightfall of the North Carolina Mountains. 

Learning To Surf- A short story

The morning is a warm one. The sun is rising on the horizon I sit and watch the waves rising in falling in such unison it feels like they have practiced the same song and dance for generations . Rise crash fall .Rise crash fall. Over, and over. I wax my board in circular motions and start out to the water. Bam. Right away I am hit with the cold clash of water to skin like needles stinging in your arms. I keep paddling till I reach the calm past the breakers were everything is slow and monotonous, until that perfect wave comes through.  I sit and I wait, and wait for that perfect wave to send me back to the beginning so I can paddle all the way out again.  Then it came rising on the horizon like a giant shadow steadily gaining size and speed  it was upon me paddle, paddle, and paddle pop up into a pose to try to keep my balance as I try to ride this  aqua roller coaster . I rose upon the wave like the ruler of the seas on my water chariot riding through my kingdom.  It was chaos yet peace as I road across the water with surprising calm I felt the power of the wave behind surge me toward the shore .It almost felt that time slowed down while I road across my water highway to the sandy horizon. Finally the wave dissipated to foam, and I fell off the board into the water.   Whoosh another wave goes over me carrying some other ruler of some other kingdom. I get up and shake the water from my ears and start the epic battle between man, and nature back to that place of calm, and nirvana where the world seems to be still except for you, and the wave. The place where you are moving on something besides fossil fuels, you move by the organic force of motion that many people forget about but this always will show you who is in charge of the world. Not men nor women nor national leaders, but God the creator of the seas and land.  I rise up again a little more familiar with the rush of speed once you stand up on the board. I once more fly across the water to the shore. I get to shore again it is time to go in for lunch I will be back though I can’t escape that feeling of flying across the water with quiet grace like falling. It is not a loud sport all you hear is the quiet rumble of the wave underneath you as you glide across the water. 

New in town

I am new to this whole blogging thing . I started this blog to talk about things that are happening in our community ,and our world. I just am giving "my two cents" on the matter. Also I will just talk about what ever pops into my head that sounds remotely intelligent. I feel like if one is to start a blog they have to say something extremely deep that will change the way mankind thinks or something lame like that. I can assure you that I will not fall to that level.I just want to talk about things that are on the common man's level.