Moss 1January 14, 2018

Nogal House

Vera Cruz, New Mexico




I find center

Standing on one foot

With my toothbrush

In my mouth

As my oatmeal

Grows cold

On the stove

And I have yet

To have my juice

I rushed

To wash my face

And comb

My hair

Lest the thought


And escape me

As I cannot

Think a poem

And then recall it



Has always been

A sign

Of true balance

In my life

And I have found it

As I said


On one foot

As it is

As unsustainable

As ones balance is

When standing so

And at some point

The shoe

Has to fall


Such an analogy

For a life

At once

So in balance

Yet teetering

On the precipice

Of necessity


I cannot stay

And remain sane

Or even sustain

Such happiness

Without risking


That I have gained


Or spiritually

As I cannot

Pay my bills

Nor fill the coffers

Of my soul

From my present


There simply isn’t

Enough income

To be had

And I am

Much too content

In my solitude



That the morning

Is so silent

That I heard

The whistle blow

From the trestle

In Carrizozo

Twelve miles

To the west

Or that I chanced

To be outside

To hear it

With an armful

Of wood

In my hands

At sunrise

And nobody

To distract me

And laughing

Out loud

At the wonder of it

Someone might think

I was crazy

Had they chanced

To be here

To witness

The moment


Such a conundrum

That I will

Have to leave

To sustain this

And return

To restore it


I am so lucky

As to replicate

The same

With perhaps

Some company

In some

Far off place

Or else

These are lessons

On how

To attain it

Right here

In my present

State of life

Though I will

Have to leave

In order

To discover it.



It is time

For breakfast.


If I spend my waking moments formulating my thoughts for the day, I cannot staunch the poetry. I have books full of the same, those rampant thoughts which spill from my mind in torrents when everything is in balance. I wrote tons of poetry when I was a teen, and continued to do so for years afterwards, and then left off for other things. Still yet, I have always carried a notebook and pen as they will spring to my mind out of nowhere, fully formed and ready to record. I have to write them as they come or they escape me, if it runs through my mind first, it is gone……the bits and pieces floating about but never returning to their desired order. The same goes for my prose, though sometimes I can hold onto them a little longer. The poems are instantaneous.


I wrote poetry daily when I was out on the Plains…… a harbinger of my happiness. I am rediscovering the same here, even as I plan to leave. Ironic, isn’t it, that the solitude is so appealing as I know I have to leave. If it was otherwise I would be concerned, as I have been in all the years I have lived here. In spite of a plethora of friends, I have never found the outlet I desire. I have tried! There is White Oaks for occasion, but it is alcohol centric also, as the meeting place is a bar. There were potlucks in Carrizozo for years, which I genuinely enjoyed, and even fit into, sometimes, but they are long gone. There was the open mike on Fridays in Ruidoso, but they too have moved on to richer things, at least from the financial perspective. If they built the platform on local talent they can now bring in the bigger names, and ours will be forgotten. The following remains the same as they live there. I might try again elsewhere but I don’t quite know where to start and besides, I need to work. I could go back to Three Rivers but money would remain an issue. It is simply time to leave, for now.


The conundrum is this; I am happy! I am by no means yearning for anything else, not now, not yet. If there was no job to go to I might feel differently as money was a concern all summer. I have a moment’s stability now, but only as I am counting on the income going forward. I have growing store of artwork also, but there is never enough income from that, not yet! I am aching to go dig in my garden, but I cannot fix the windmill……which leaves so little choice in the matter, and makes it easier to leave. Instead, I am taking notes, and making promises to myself that I full well wish to keep. It may require some extra effort but there are things I wish to have, happiness amongst them.


Funny, but the same things that hold me here make me restless for to leave. I want to go find the place that I am speaking of, the same as this, but more. I want a small but lively village that I might somehow be part of, not too close, but not too far. I can see that old farmhouse, by the highway, with the porch that sags just a touch, but is still stable. There is a stove pipe on the roof, waiting for a fire. There is a small barn in the back, waiting for a horse. It has been empty for too long, but it is reparable, nothing the Californios would want, but perfect still for me. The place wants me there as much as I want to be there, I can feel it. If I were there now we would both be so content. If it is so close to that here there is the reality that it isn’t, at least for now. I will have to go look to find out. I will land on both feet when I do.





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