Eddie was the old banchee-like man
with a twisted, hairy face.
From town to town he went-
singing quiet to himself
along yellow grasses and highway.
Eddie says he’s the Bigfoot Man.
At night-time he sings,
while watching the ancient moon rise.
Over each belt of cloud,
and dark mesa dream.
If I had to walk away, and never look back,
Here are five things I’d take with me:
A piece of Turquoise,
My grandpa’s old cowboy buckle,
A small pocket book of family history,
A Jar of my grandma’s peaches,
And the first quilt my mom ever made me.
“Money controls too many decisions in the world today,” says my brother, after discovering our parents have been forced to leave home, for better paying jobs! They seem like poor cogs in the wheel of civilization. Poor mutes that depend on the beast to merely survive. What would happen if all the little workers stopped working, or supporting the beast? Would it really spark any biblical end? No, the sun would still come up the next morning. The way of the Beast, is a dead end, since the beast will go belly-up, when fuel runs out.
America and the material world are made of money. It’s too deeply entrenched into material things, that shouldn’t matter. A rich woman might carry a bag of diamonds across the desert, before considering a jug of water. That is the truth of the illusion. What matters, is surviving in this world, not exploiting it! The economy (beast) must feed on natural resources to exist. The economy (beast) depends on the “value” of something to exist. And whether it’s painful to hear, the beast looks like a parasite.
We’d all be back to the horse drawn carriages, if we didn’t have money. Wouldn’t that be nice? Deconstruct civilization. Fight the parasite! Be a freedom-fighting hobo! 
…diamonds weren’t even valuable, until someone indicated, a diamond was forever!
An elderly woman sits above a sandstone canyon,
looking at the moon, in the shape of a cow’s horn.
Thin and silver, its rests behind clouds.
She deserted her home, before her children arrived
to haul her away to the rest home.
Looking into the darkness of cottonwoods below,
She listens to the tireless flow of the river,
traversing an ageless path towards the sea.
Her own children betrayed her.
They ignored her dreams,
with their busy cell-phone lives.
This canyon overlaps her age,
or the wrinkles of her skin.
Her mind became wise
from listening to the wind.
She sings a lullaby, she used to
sing her children to sleep.
Now she sings softly to the sandstone canyon.
Her rusty Studebaker is parked
near the scenic overlook sign.
She wants the silence and beauty, one last time?
before those blind bats take her away,
to the place you go to die, a junk yard,
where society dumps your useless days.
They forget to acknowledge your long journey.
Nobody listens to the
Deepness of Rivers anymore…
I WILL NOT accept the things I cannot change.
I’ll break the windows of everything I know!
I’ll listen to passionate dissidents.
I want to deconstruct civilization.
I’m tired of frivolous squares
forcing circles to become squares.
I’m sick of Uncle Sam
the greedy pig, smoking
his cigar on top of Mother Earth.
I’m sad, because I’m
sick of the beast.
Squeezed by the left and right
to follow their political lead.
All I want,
Is the safety of thunderstorms
and gentle rains
and windswept red deserts.
Give me a horse, or a mule.
I’ll become an old hermit
With beauty in his life
and the wasteland in his soul.
I know that the first three segments of my poem are a little cliche But I deleted this poem at first, because I received a negative reaction from both parents. Why should I hide or sugarcoat anything that inevitably doesn’t go well with some?
I’m waiting in autumn for you.
I’m freezing in the snow,
waiting for the unknown to dissipate,
so I can witness a dream untold.
Somewhere in canyon country, you are waiting.
I see your crystal eyes reflect
off canyon pools in summer,
but nothing is there…
It rouses me, like weeping.
Only the howling wind is heard.
Sharpened trees, slice the wind.
Sunglow illuminates their flickering leaves.
The earth pads my tired feet.
Everything on the outside,
is stirring inside.
Something sensual and dark
hides in the bushes and rocks,
in the infrared clouds.
Deep from within Mother Earth,
the ancient shadow sings.