| Creative Writing Page |
| My hunting trips: There is a sweet cool in the air, misty view here in the woods. As the sun rises many forms of insect life make themselves known. There are black and yellow striped butterflies. Dragonflies in many colors. There are the skeeters and the buzzing flies. The spiders are busy in early light, retringing their plate sized webs in between the paths on the small-path cutting roads in the woods. The first path taken is one that leads to a five foot deep pond Then on the way from there are a series of bog and dirt paths. There are roads that slither in and out the entire tract. From these the buggies wander off the find packs of slash pines, marshes ending in cypress walls, or the fields separated by huge clumps of palmetto trees. |
| The first path is our indication to take a left. Riding along this way we parallel the camps above us. From our camp we can take a route straight to the hunting roads, but you have to have a big enough buggy to follow. That pathway is deep water. Let me describe the season requirements. You can't use hunting dogs until general gun season. During the first three weeks is archery hunting. You have to stay on the roads on with the buggy. To hunt you have to set up a treestand. That ideal tree is usuall too far away and you have got to leave your stand there the next time you want to hunt. So there you are on the treestand and you get to deal with swarms of mosquitoes and warm temperatures. I dont think this sounds very fun...Thats why we wait for muzzleloading season. Muzzleloading is a time you can get out the black powder guns. Its fun to use them but you only get one shot. |
 |
 |
 |
| Gravity check Out here in the icy regions of space Memories they flood me of mother earth's face Only things here billions of stars and the fading glow of the sun To see another human to shake a kind hand Feel the sun on my face set my feet upon land To hear the ocean striking the shore and the sound of the seabirds calling to me once more Moments is time so far from my home Fold up the space reach back to what I've known. |
 |
|
| Some of My Songs and poems |
| To the Almighty Old spirits reliving, relearning, and earning.... Their parolle off of this prison planet Changes taking place always at the worst time I run in stress Looking for a black hole to fall in Or a golden staircase to climb on out of here Cause I am not good enough to be translated God, my father in the Cosmos I am learning everyday Trying, overcomming, looking for the answers to set me free I thank you for the beginning plan and I thank you For being here for me.... |
| Mein Potloat A hand with a pencil is a mighty thing Creations of Infitesemal forms..... Never Ending Supply Simply wood and lead A constant application .......assembling emotions Creations of thoughts..........architectures of Form History Science Insults Notes to your Beloved...... Build You up to tear you down Show you something beautiful...... Or Push you off the edge oblivion when you can't use it Sublime when you can.... Execute... A Scratch...........A doodle...............A word Pictures and design Or Maybe a dream And O, what a mighty thing A hand with a pencil... |
| my prize poem: |
| an attempt at journalism: |
| More Soon to follow...... |
|