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I am dead,
Beneath the ground,
Lie there shriveled,
In the dampness,
Without sound.

Far, in the distance,
The sound of an owl,
Can be heard,
As it circles above,
Searching the fields,
With the sternest of eye,
For the slightest of moment,
Below.

I came to you,
With face all chapped,
From wind and salty sea.
Across the great Atlantic
And through out history,
A lonely immigrant
From northern Germany.

Why must others talk
Of things that should
Concern them, not,
Or press their noses,
Into matters, without giving thought?
People do as they have learned
By rote and emulation.
It annoys me so, causing me,
Enumerable frustration.

I stop to sip and savor
The wine of my lost youth
And think of all the yesterdays,
Gone by.
Remembering all the pleasantness,
Forgetting all the bad,
Brings pleasure to me,
An aging man.
Come sip from a cup of kindness,
That's taken from the vine
Of youthful indiscretions.
Drink deeply, my new friend
And drain the cup.
Don't look back.

I love the weather in the Northwest.

Lying close
With deepest breathing,
Beads of love,
Appear in hairlines,
Eyes closed,
As if sleeping.
Quickly, with a deft motion,
You pull away,
From me
And are gone.

Do you remember me?
I'm the one, who smiled
At you yesterday,
In the hall,
On the stairs,
Or when crossing the street.
I would have stopped,
To talk to you,
But my nerve, lost it's way.
And so I found myself,
Passing you and I smiled.
You may have looked away,
Not wanting to encourage me,
Or perhaps you didn't care.

Lonely people, sit beneath the stars,
Searching for someone to love,
Spending full evenings alone

Sometime, when you are feeling
Pressure or time becomes a bore,
Come to me; we'll talk of things,
From a far and distant shore,
Nothing more.

It doesn't matter,
What I say or do.
My contribution,
To this world,
Will go unnoticed,
Except for one or two,
Who might remember.