mountain man rendezvous

multihued capotes
grease blackened leggings
soiled oversized cotton shirts
the black powder and campfire smoke
makes the cloth its own
white is no longer white
not on teeth spittin' chew
or fingernails scraping food
from wooden bowls
their weather beaten hands
pass whiskey flasks
by campfire flames
voices getting louder
as the night grows cold
and the whiskey flasks empty
laughter roils through the trees
and one by one they stagger off
to buffalo robed tents
and ash covered wool blankets
nary woman in sight
to warm their old chapped hides
and the still night is broken
by the chorus of snores
occassional footprints stumble
into the brush to either puke or piss

the dawn brings bacon.

if you blog in the forest

and nobody hears
are you really blogging
or are you doing the same ol' thing
of writing in your spiral notebook
which you leave
hidden under your bed
willing to be written
and perhaps discovered
either while you are alive
or when 'they' clean out
your personal effects
oh
so that's what was on
his/her mind.

what i like about you

everything
i like to watch you
i like to see your facial movements
your smile lines
your animated expressions
your drop dead gorgeous smile

i like to watch you
in the morninng
see how you walk
admire your tallness
and secure body movements
your hands when they make
breakfast
the way you choose your
clothes and how you're not afraid
of color or designs
and they way they drape
on your strong frame
you could wear a hefty bag
and look glorious

i like to watch you
in the evening
as you flick back your
long hair
or lean forward to
stir the coals and blow it
into flame
or pass the bottle of whiskey
from one friendly hand to another
your joyous face illuminated by campfire

i like to hear you
your voice resonant and rich
like maple dripping from a tree
you don't have to shout
you are heard
because people and me
want to hear your words
your stupid jokes
your teachings
your anecdotes
you say nothing mean or gossipy about others
and people know then
they are also safe
to be goofy or obnoxious
you pass no judgements

i watch you in a crowd
and see how everybody respects you
because in part
you treat everybody respectfully

you are a very good man
and i'm so thankful to have you
in my life.

xoxox nila

post-nasal drip

this is kind of a mixture 'found poem' with
my own asides

post-nasal drip (PND) occurs
when excessive mucus is
produced by the sinuses
the excess mucus accumulates
in the throat or
back of nose
based on the following symptoms
i know full well
this is what i have
swallowing...constantly
particularly noticeable at night
when i attempt to push on my throat
to diminish the largeness
of my gulping
i'm surprised i dont have black and blue marks
from the effort
tickling in the throat
more like a toothpick jammed
in my esophogus
chronic sore throat
i've tried hot salt water gargles
to no avail
also tea with lemon
and the myriad of over the counter
drugs and even a few prescription ones
bad breath
oh great i didn't even check to see if
that were one of my symptons
fortunately i virtually talk to nobody
coughing
i could have started this 'poem' with
persistant coughing
but thought post nasal drip had
a more literary ring to it
feeling nauseated due to accumulation
of mucus in stomach
which then causes me to
vomit due to excessive mucus
in stomach
there's nothing like running down
the hallway at work
with a mouthful of puke
trying to make it to the bathroom

i now even eat food based what
i'm willing to puke up
eating artichokes for dinner last nite
was a mistake
apparently they don't digest easily
and my now converted bathroom waste basket
has turned into my bedside puke bucket
attests to the fact that just mucus
is not the only thing puked up

another side effect of the constant coughing
beside irritating co-workers
is the incontinence
piss cough piss cough

i'm sharing this personal experience in case
there are others out there suffering from the
same malady
you are not alone
i fully commiserate
wherever you are
just make sure you wear
a pad if you sit on any of my chairs.

whiteman rendezvous

i've never been a part of one
i've seen them on the sides of roads
near parks and campgrounds
whitemen dressed up like old timey
mountain men from the mid 1850's
muzzleloaders and trappers
women folk in long dresses and aprons
canvas lean to's and tents
it looks like fun
kind of like going to a pow wow far away
where you have to camp
tipis and friends
i imagine it to be like that
and we always 'allowed' white people
to visit
not tourists wandering by
but white people who were friends
i hope 'they' will allow this indian
to visit
i'll dress the part
so as not to be mistaken for tourist
but i will also take my camera.

i haven't been writing much poetry lately

and because want to be able to comment on my newborn grandbaby's blog, i had to sign up for google blogs.
and now that i have a blog, i shall use it as an excuse to write more.
but who in the heck reads this?
comment if you do come across this so i know i'm not shooting blanks into nowhere land.
well actually, it's okay if i am, because that's so much of what poets do.
keep their little journals of angst and share with no one.
it's actually rare that poems ever find human eye.
with that said here goes my first/second blog will be poem.
nila northSun