Driveway full of “woodchips”, wood that has been “chipped”,

Tattered, torn, wrented to piesces, torn and shredded

by a wood chipper, without bloody arms from North Dakota,

green, brown, yellow, dark brown, wood, branches, strips of wood.

Now to load them into the huge two tired wheelbarrow to haul

to the backyard to put over the  cardboard covering the grass

which  will die.

Lumber piled on the side awaits construction of raised vegetable beds, instead

of the grass, which  is supposed to  die.       

– Small Town Boy 


Rest stop 

Stopping for rest on I-5 near Redding,

Birds singing singing singing,

Man asks for money for gas,

Semi’s blow air brakes like grey whales blow.

Getting warm.

RV pulls in next to semi eighteen wheeler.

Yello cabbed tractor pulls trailer out with a diesel roar.

Yellow vested driver walking across parking tobathroom avoids lady with barking dog.

Familiy’s back. Time to go 

– small town boy

Airport people

Are you an airport person?

Are you rolling down the carpet in a segue you can sit on?

Are you dressed in fine gangsta clothes and bling?

Are you telling your friends from Utah about how to swirl and taste wine while admitting to being arrested for DUI?

Are you an morbidly obese person in an extra wide wheelchair?

Are you working the counter but can’t broadcast boarding and missing passenger instructions without giggling?

Are you pulling your little suitcase on four wheels?

Are you goth? Japanese? Hispanic? Mormon?

Are you playing with your iPhone? Sitting by a plug suripticiously charging it?

Are you laughing? Talking quietly? Flirting? Waiting?



Then you are ready to be in an airport..

– Small Town Boy 

Little boy’s questions

What are you doing, Mamaw?

Why are you doing that?

How do you do that? 

Do you know the guinea pig ate her hay?

Whenever I want I can give her this?

Mom, can you get out Butterball?

Grandpa can you clear a path into the closet?

Is this the birdseed?

Did we buy it at the bird store?

Does it feed the golden finches?

Can I feed Timothy hay to the dog?

Why do I have to leave this toy here when I go home?




– Small Town Boy

Can I speak?

May I talk to you for a moment?

Will you allow me?

Come and sit by my side for a little,

Could you?

If I could talk to you, really talk,

Not the weather, not the news,

Not the TV nor your book.

If I could reach way down inside of me

Will you allow me,

To talk to you?

What? It’s not up to you? Then who?

What? I’m waiting on me to make the first move?

Will I allow me? To say what is on my mind?

In my heart? Deep down inside?

OK then,

I love you.

-Small Town Boy

The me

I am trying to understand art, and artist.

I am a scientist, from science teaching.

So it is apparent that i’m in  a different world

all of a sudden.

This is nottheworld of test and discover, question everything,

and learn the truth, or is it?

Now instead of a test tube, I am studying me.

Instead of a microscope, I look within.

No equations will help  me uncover


Each theory must be replicable,

each step must be able to be repeated,

no observation may be subjective

in the scientific world i’m leaving  behind

to practice my art.

Now it is my own depths that  I must plumb,

No one can show me the way and I am obligated

to  show you

the Me that He has made.

I am one of a kind, the only me

and I am obligated to share it with you

so you can see that small part of the universe

that is in me, and only me.  It is a sin

to hide it.

– Small Town Boy

Greenhouse Blues

im sitting in Schmidts greenhouse 

With a cup of coffee in the heat

Of the hot house, thinking

Of my friends in grief 

Who have lost someone important

To them.

I’m sitting among the plants and flowers

Next to a “water feature” at an orange

Outdoor table and four orange chairs.

Waiting for happiness.

My friends are in heavy deep grief

And I am seeking happiness in a greenhouse?

If I had a harmonica (and someone who

Could play it) I could sing the

Greenhouse Blues.

– Small town boy