I am a mutt. I have lived all over the US. Spent 20 years in California, had a restuarant in Houston for 12 years, lived 12 years in New Hamster as a kid, moved to Maine in 2014 after losing my partner to breast cancer.
I have spent most of my life engaged in small business enterprise of one flavor or another.
I am an outstanding chef, a great poet, and a masterful sailor.
Currently, I sell real estate in the midcoast region of Maine. I was just licensed to sell real estate in Texas so I will divide my time between Texas and Maine.
I really love selling - I started my sales career at 5 when I was selling flower seeds door to door in Omaha. My goal was to win a pony. If you sold $100 worth of seeds you got a free pony. When my first check came in and it was $20 my father got nervous enough about my success that he sat me down and lectured me about why we couldn't have a pony in the suburbs of Omaha - a man with small dreams and no vision.
Big Sur
Whose lives were forgotten,
who stood in the surf,
who tread neath the pines,
who hitch hiked to Texas and Florida,
who wrote songs and poems,
who sang and danced with women of luster,
women of lust and succulent wetness,
who stared at death and took his hand one time,
then another,
and came back
to stand again,
stronger, pure,
translucent and glowing with the energy inside,
Who never left,
who always cried and laughed,
who suffered loss and love,
hate and forgiveness,
life and longing,
loneliness and desire,
who walked across the George Washington Bridge
tripping on acid,
who walked ten miles in the cold still night
of New Hampshire to see his lover,
who lost money and never
understood how to get it back,
who studied Jesus and Buddha ,
Ram Das and Jung, Water.
Whose soul was confused
and wandering,
always searching for a home,
a warm embrace.
Who left home at fifteen and shouldn’t have.
Who lost his mind,
his faith, his heart,
and found them all a dozen times again.
Who slept under bridges and newspapers,
soft sheets and down comforters,
lovers and hospital restraints.
Slept beneath stars and rains,
blizzards and hurricanes,
pines and cactus.
Whose heart was an ocean,
viscous and changing,
mercurial still,
but big as Texas and ready to love.
Whose eyes grew weary,
watching his country starting war,
after war, after war.
Killing for profit,
for oil!
Whose ears heard holy chants late at night,
rising out of the distance ,
wafted in the cool night air like the scent of jasmine.
Whose footsteps fell heavier now,
but found their way there,
and back again.
Found their way back to his lovers bed,
her ass, her breasts and thighs.
How long had he loved her,
how long had he lusted for forgiveness ,
and love, sanctuary,
solace, peace.
2,
I know what it’s like
to be thin as paper,
beaten to a pulp
and covered with someone
Else’s words.
Some days, all lines end here,
collide and collapse,’
collecting like pools of water at my feet,
wash over me still,
their touch a hope I carry,
that all my words are holy,
healing and true.