winter wash

Bare beyond belief

upon the sand

under the stand of the lifeguard

they sat on an empty landscape

with the breeze blowing

tender to the touch

raw emotions rolled with the waves

The sunlight washing winter away.

 

Goons

If you were born in the dark ages
and I saw first light today
we would still be friends

no space
no time
no status
would separate us

I could call
and you would be there

with a

“how you doing dick face”

loyal like brothers

willing to bury something in the backyard

nothing could separate us
not dirty deeds
rising with greed
not being born in another time

we would be friends no matter what

you could take a baseball bat to that.

Pocket of Space

I am

Within your grip

the moon the tides
gravity
Can not change it

I will struggle
Strain at the hips
Drive my teeth
Through my jaw

before I lose you

There isn’t a force on earth greater than you

Not a pocket of air
More comfortable to be with in
every bit
Of what I am

You grasp

Love Letters

I have no Idea who you call at night. I never asked for your cell number. Its those wild blues. The grey blue, its that laugh. I sat there with a smoke in my mouth. A thousand drags, a thousand draws on life looking at your freckles. I wondered how you looked before the sun came before you were kissed with so much beauty.

I woke like any other morning and looked around me, I looked at the sun through the window, unsure of how late it really was but when I turned I saw your back and each drop of light that ever touched you. I looked over you like a field. How long would it take to get across you? Each freckle a blade of grass. I wondered when first light had touched your back. I was sucked in. The scent of your hair made me breathe deeper. A thousand freckles unsure of where to begin.

The next time I hooked my finger on your jeans, the tip touching your hip bone. Like citrus you said to me and I thought of lemons. I was sure I smelled and tasted of the earth. I was sure I was low tide. But you said no you taste like citrus.

Cookies and giggles we laugh within our eyes. Your sneakers scuffing my shoes. I can still feel your hip bones and the way your breath was drawn as we touched cotton to cotton.

How you said we had gone to far. I agreed and you slept better. You slept better than you had so many nights before. But I lingered in the late night waiting on the chirps of birds because I could not contain myself. Wondering why  I wanted to write love letter again when I never even asked for your number.

Getting Published

article

I have published 18 articles and poems since May and this is what I learned.

 

  1.  Put yourself out there.  No one is going to find you in your basement apartment behind your bong or under the beer cans you should be recycling.
  2. Write!  Write as often as you can, when you can and where you can.  I don’t care if it is in the can or on the can.  Write on your gay friend’s white bare ass for all I care.  Write, write and then rewrite.
  3. Know your weaknesses. Work on making them better or at least try to avoid them.
  4. Demand honesty!  You are not going to get the truth from your mom or your girlfriend.  They love you and do not wish to crush your dreams.  Well at least your mom loves you.  I hope.
  5. Deal with it! You’re not Hemingway or James Joyce.
  6. Know who you are!  Make no apologies and find like minded people.
  7. Read!  Read the classics.  They are classics for a reason.  Read the greats in your genre.
  8. Market yourself.  Face the fact that you are a word whore and a pimp all rolled into one.  Shake your money maker Biotch!
  9. Get a website or a blog and update it.  So I don’t follow some of my own advice…sue me!
  10. Write! Write,write and rewrite!
  11. Find writers!  Get them in your corner and bounce ideas off of them.  Let them proofread your work and listen to them.  You do not need their approval just their skills.
  12. Write!  Write, write and rewrite.
  13. Don’t forget! The pen is mightier than the sword.  You are a mighty word throwing thug.  Now go out and kick some ass.

Cutch

 

osprey header

Photo by Tom Poet

In one day Cutch managed to fly 286 miles. He made it from Long Island to South Carolina in two days.  Five days later he was in Cuba, he then crossed the Caribbean and by September 27th he has in Columbia.  Tagged with a GPS transmitter he was being watched the whole time by ornithologist Rob Bierregaard.  On the 29th Cutch’s signal stopped moving. Rest assured there were no Colombian cartels involved in his untimely demise.  He died while doing what osprey do, hunt for fish.

cutch-flight

Photo “borrowed” from Mr.Bierregaard website

Cutch was accidentally impaled on a piece of a tree sticking out of a pond on the Chico Mono Ranch.  At first Cutch’s death was thought to be an assassination but it turned out to be an accidental suicide. Mr. Bierregaard thought Cutch may have been shot down at a fish farm or something but it turns out he just didn’t see that little bit of branch sticking out of the water.

cutch-pond

Yeah I “borrowed” this one too

There is still hope for North Fork Bob an osprey who is figured to arrive here on the 1st or 2nd of April.  North Fork Bob has had a transmitter on since August of 2010 and still appears to be going strong.  That’s good news.

I know the osprey by me is back already and as far as I know he/she doesn’t have a name.  I just call the osprey TP for the piece of white paper sticking out of the nest.

tp osprey

Photo by Tom Poet

 

osprey flight

 TP taking off after I went to close to the nest

For the full story on Cutch and how he made national news check out the story in The Suffolk Times.  I’ll be keeping an eye on TP since he/she is right by where I go fishing with my girls.  I can always feel spring coming on when the birds of prey arrive on the shores. And Please remember to always check the water before diving.  Have a great summer.

 

Check out the Cutch’s flight and story here.

North Fork Bob

Richard O. “Rob” Bierregaard, Jr.

Ithaca Flower Power

 

Weighting in a perfect 7.5% ABV

I can’t say enough good things about this beer.  Citrus bursting suds, malt base and a fresh hoppy flavor a beer lovers palate would consider paradise.  Chuck full of grapefruit and a touch of pineapple, a biting beer full of heaven.  Reminds me of…..

Beer advocates 95 out of 100 World Class Rating

Rate Beer 97 out of 100

Untappd 4.09 out 5

The Brewery spin

Enjoy the clover honey hue and tropical nose. Simultaneously Punchy and soothing with a big body and a finish that boasts pineapple and grapefruit. Flower power is hopped and dry-hopped five different times throughout the brewing and fermentation process.

My Smoke and Toke Take

Has a great golden color and the lacy head remains on the glass.  Nice bite, great hoppy flavor, leaves just enough bitterness on the tongue and has a clean finish.  Can barely taste the alcohol.  Great beer. Refreshing, strong and flat out awesome.  Ithaca Brewing company has a winner with this beer.  The best beer I have consumed in a long time.

Port Jeff Starboard Oatmeal Stout (SOS)

 

Weighting in at a whopping 9.2% ABV.

This is a stout with a kick and half. A hint of chocolate, thin head from out of the growler and a minimal aftertaste of alcohol.  Leaves lips sticky but then again I was smoking a bit when I tasted it.  Could have been cottonmouth…

Beeradvocates gave it an overall rating of good.

Rate Beer gave it a 3.68 out of 5.

Untappd gave it 3.74 out of 5

The Brewery’s Spin

Summer’s final ferry has departed from Port Jefferson Harbor, and colder weather is imminent. A suitable remedy for winter’s inevitable arrival? Starboard Oatmeal Stout. A luscious, velvet-smooth pour of sweet chocolate, roast, and comforting warmth, Starboard Oatmeal Stout is brewed with flaked oats, brown sugar, and raisins. Breakfast in a glass, basically. Dessert, too. Every meal, actually, and the perfect companion for contemplation near any serene winter landscape. Especially a shoreline.

My Smoke And Toke Take

Overall I enjoyed this stout.  Aptly named SOS because after a few you may need to be rescued from the couch.  It packs a punch and will certainly get you whacked out of your skull if you have more than a few.  For a beer with 9.2% alcohol you can barely taste the alcohol, has a dry finish, silky going down and a brown sugar stickiness on the lips. Good stout, kick ass buzz!

 Tom Poet

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cello Bass Face

All links can be found here.  Thanks Rochelle for hosting.  Warning there is a curse in this one.

Copyright-Roger Cohen

 

They bellied up to the bar exchanging notes.  One sat, the other stood.

“They’re not the same.”

“You sure?”

“Yep”

“Why did you say it?”

“I didn’t.”

“That’s what you heard.”

“I know what I heard.”

“I don’t deserve this.”

The bartender poured one last drink.    It was hard to tell who was who.

“What’s up with you two?”

“Having an argument about nothing.”

“Nothing.”

It didn’t matter the sun was rising and the place had been closed for hours.

Their strings out of tune, they went out back, looking to play more than words.

“It’s a Cello!”

“Bass, asshole.”