Current Work

Sonnets, Haiku, Tanka, Free Verse
Short Poems, Sequences, Haibun
Quartets, Couplets, Tercets, Songs

By Mike Garofalo

Working File, First Drafts, Notes, Sketches
Practice, Studies, Ideas, Research
Poems in Progress in the Spring of 2025

1. Highway 101: Techaphi Mountains

In 1955 the Ridge Route drive, old 1933 Ridge Route Drive from Los Angeles to Bakersfield.
climbed up and down Cherry Canyons sides
pas the broken St. Francis dam up to the Crack and Pass
Grapevien Highway valley road
over the hills Tejon Pass Castiac 15 MPG Castiac to Gorman
Techachapi Mountains
San Jaoquim valley Bakersfield
Betty Yarber and kids lived in Weedpatch pop 3000
Lamont Pop 15,000
Arvin Federal Government Camp

2. Potholes State Park, Washington State

April 2025

The tent buckled and shook
finally collapsed in a lump
relentless winds, blast after blast, these
high deserts winds attack and attack.

The April sun greed the rolling slopes
bald of trees, vacant of home,
ponds appearing willy-nilly
by the hundreds, here and there,
jagged small canyons filled with air
high desert sagebrush smells,
lizards breathing

Mauve vision, mountainless space,
spilling in six dimensions untraced
bidding colorful ducks to stay
counting potholes in which to dine.

Othello (5,000 Pop)

Moses Lake (25,000 Pop)

needle and thread grass

Rabbit brush
cheat grass
Russian olive
shrub-steepe
sagebrush
willows
riparian: willows, cat tails
basalt rocks

3. Killing for Fun

The rude boy stood tall
and told me he
shot squirrels and cats
with his Big Gun
for fun

I watched a TV "outdoorsman"
documentary.
Wealthy hunters gleefully
shot a Rhino.
Cowardly killers,
safely hidden in a blind,
playing evil
with their Big Guns
for fun.

Later, I heard
that the rude boy had died
shot dead while "hunting"
a careless accident.
Revenge of the Cats.

African Park Guards
shot two poachers
through their eyes
intentionally.
Revenge of the Rhinos.

So, a lesson for me,
I don't need Big Guns,
never went hunting.
Let cats, squirrels, and Rhinos
just Be Here like me.
No excitement for me in
killing creatures needlessly
or expensive escapes
or hunting sprees
or Big Guns
for fun.

4. Complainers

When you complain, 80% of your listeners will ignore or forget what you said; and 20% will wish you dead.
Most people tire quickly of complainers, a few share their complaints ...

Complainers are not popular
in face to face encounters
except in politics where complainers
point their fingers along party lines
and remind us of their enemies
like Nazis attack Jews
like macho men attack women
like Republicans attack Unions
like Trump calls everyone fools.
Like Christians attack woke gays
like millionaires attach all taxes
like city folk insult county folk
like racists hat foreigners and Blacks
like Catholics attack public school
like Baptists attack Planned Parenthood
like Jews attack Palestinians
like Muslims attack other Muslims
like the KKK attack integrated schools
like King Trump attacks
Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion,
like working folks attack welfare doles

I never though that most Christianity
were ever models of generosity,
compassion, or thinking well
Reading ancient Jewish folk tales
over and over
is to me a chore and bore.

5. Broken Leg

Coyotes cornered an injured calf
whose broken leg stopped his run.
The herd hung around fr awhile
seemingly guarding the stricken cow.

The herd of cows huddled by
the exhausted and helpless calf
whose broken leg stopped his walk
so he lay twisting in the grass.

The herd moved on to the barn yard
to eat, some milked, to stay
protected from the night's uncertainty.

Before the ranch hand
could shoot the calf
for venison dishes on Easter Day
the Coyotes cornered the helpless calf,
killed, then ate his bloody carcass.

Some bones remained in the grass
picked clean by vultures.

6. Skinwalker

While reading
Navajo myths
and tales of Skinwalker's feared
their justice served cold and cruel
with a magical twist and knife
Cutting the head of guilty Vice.

The stories told,
perhaps centuries old,
crawled up my skin,
rather fairness thin,
called revenge justified,
against a killer's lies,
Skinwalker's son smiled,
his father feared.

The avenging Angel,
cuts lives at an angle,
appears then disappears,
settling accounts in arrears,
knocks on the door,
of the rich or poor,
shows the warrant,
no matter how abhorrent,

hóz hó = Walk in Beauty

7. How to Resist?

Don't travel to any pro-Trump State
Try not to purchase products from pro-Trump States
Weekly write and send properly worded and fact checked
comments and suggestions to public officials by mail.
Support our Canadian allies.
Reduce our use of electricity and gasoline.
Don't fly in planes, or travel far away.
Support good people speaking out.
Embrace the challenges of simplicity.
Give money to decent leaders, politicians, influencers.
Garden at home more.

I had a bad dream. Mr. Trump dies of a heart attack while riding a golf cart at Mira Largo in the Florida heat. Mr. Vance crashed into a tree, like Sony Bono, while skiing in France. Elon Musk
was killed in his exploding electric car. The USA attacked Greenland and Canada to steal land
and resources for the wealthy to sell... Suddenly, I awoke in a stir. Good dreams, bad dreams,
it's a blur.

Good news
bad news-
relative to whom

8. Myths

Myths emerge
from human concerns
centuries brewing
and stewing in souls
grasping scarecrow straws
hoping magical rituals draw
Good to some, Devil to run
but effortless schemes galore
fail to keep troubles and woes
safely outside our doors.
Endlessly, we personify
Nature's indifference to our lives
inventing cherry stories of gods
and goddess and ethereal beings
answering out prayers
fulfilling our dreams
rewarding us for trivial acts
holding our hands
patting our backs
pretending they care even a twit
about greedy human bad shit.

9. Queets River

flood plain glacially carved rain forest valley riparian
12 Feet of rain each year
salmon coho fall chinook winter steel head

red alders, sitka spruces, bigleaf maples, western hemlock
black cottonwood, vine maple, western red cedar,
Douglas Firs
nettles
cougar, coon, otter, bear, eagle
First Salmon Ceremony
wild anaclromous salmon 5 species
heavy curtains of green moss, huckleberries,
hair braids of lichens
sword ferns,
elk browse
dappled sunshine dances across
the grass to an ancient rhythm
Chance are no one else around
black berries, thistle, bramble thicket
"spruce colonnades so grand they resemble a soaring cathedral."

10. Miscellaneous

I uncomfortably stare in the Night's
disguise. Gathering stars and meteors
into a million memories lost from
the years of dark times. Tired, no sleepy,
poetry book in hand, electric lamp
guiding my nighttime flights
into strange lands.

In the solitudes of midnight moons
the veiled velvet skies on the move
My mind awake as a racoon's eyes...

Tired
Slower
Older

Held the fossil up to the light
turned and angled visibilities
a magnifying glass opened eyes
unraveled intricacies unseen
told a story without words.
A fish or some creature misnamed
that looks unlike a dirt-bound being
a denizen of an ancient stream
drying up in 250,000 BCE
Fish flopping in the mud
No dead, intoned in stone, all alone.

11. Soccer

Out Salmon Creek Girls Club League high school age soccer team played its final game this Saturday afternoon. Parents and grandparents cheered them on with gusto. We only had 9 players to play the entire game, while our blue team opponent had 14 tough players on their team. It was zero to zero with only 10 minutes to go. Then, we suddenly lost, 2 to Zero; stoically groaned, then all went home.

Ford High School
soccer field
industrial zoned

blue team
white team
fighting on

club soccer
we played
in the rain

Last game
season ends
losers not ashamed

mountains of clouds
dark valley
dim soccer pitch
rain on my face

Cannonball Quinn
out of the game
defense strained

Makenna
my granddaughter
two way play today

my grand daughter
played to
80 year old cheerleaders

12. Gray Squirrels

Dancing darting Grey squirrels
hanging upside down comfortably
challenging others to fight or flee
coaxing romance between the leaves
raiding bird feeders for a meal of seeds
burying peanuts to save for later needs

Gray Squirrels
dancing darting amicably
climbing quickly up fir trees
shaking shrubs angrily
living up 60 feet high in trees
Watching these nimble little creatures
thriving on human generosity

One comes
close to me
stands at attention
freezes

Walking in the rain
slippery footing under my step
raincoat becoming over whelmed.

13. Kansas

Rocking R Motel
Burlington, Kansas
Highway 75
June 1971
Karen and I drove from
Biloxi MS
to Los Angeles
on leave from military

Violent Lightening Storm
worst we ever saw.

14. April Random Notebook Entries

the racist cards
easily played
trumping spades

hate is easy
to energize
use fear and lies

SS Boosters
Skinhead pride
tattooed swastikas

15. Stellar Jays

Stellar Jays come everyday, eating peanuts off of our bird feeder trays. The biggest bird, by far, making a living in our back yard. His bright blue feathers, his long regal pointed plume, his Covid cunning, his swack-caw-caw songs, quite a drama for us all.

blue feathers
raspy songs
Jays

lone Jay
raspy songs
invitation to a party

16. Writer's Block Cracked

Where is my Muse?
She deserted me!
Blank pages accumulate
keyboard out of batteries
stuck and stumped of late
detained in worthlessness
locked out of date
void of metaphors fine
similes stopped on a dime
images dull derived
no rhymes for empty lines.

Catch a thought, then it flies
out the window gone and done;
invisible remnants of failed tries,
no words before my eyes.

Prompts did nothing
to trigger my verses;
the gutters of my dreams
were clogged shut with
unremembered themes.

No fresh ideas
no stale sentences to share
no striking insights
no old saws to sharpen
no clever phrases, anywhere.

I'm sure other poets face
similar frustrations occasionally
so doggedly they strike
to invent, to pretend,
to write something to tantalize.

Make a list to jog my brain,
to wiggle some words inside a frame
spill out nonsense lines unrhymed,
speed writing, extemporize:

sweet rocks
blind water
lemons talked
sun smelled
steel soft
legless walkers
radio off
time died
tornado lied
words crawled
hammers wept
baskets cried ...

Suddenly, I realized,
some words appeared,
my little Muse arrived.

17.

Love is Not

Rather than Love Mankind;
I'd rather respect a few
good women and men.
Love is a focused way of being
and working well with
a few well known souls.

Love is not butter on bread,
suitable for everyone.
Love is often just appreciation
for those who flatter us,
parrot our fanciful themes, or
cater to our unusual needs.

Love is a slogan, a sign,
a chanted cheer for our
favorite home team or
our lame country.
Love is an uncanny addiction
to some-Thing we possess.

Our Loving takes hard efforts
close attention over time;
not two cents or a tossed dime.

One said
"God is Love."
Another said
"God loves everyone."
We doubters clearly see that
That God only loves
those who worship
the magical myths
from the Bible or Koran.

Jesus Christ must have
lost is mind
to volunteer needlessly
for a suicide mission
to "Save All Mankind."

He loved America dearly,
for It he was willing to die.
But stuck in the battlefield horrors
when it was kill or be killed.
hate not love
was only left in his fearful mind.

Love keeps lovers occupied
by Nature's reproductive aims.
Addicted to intense sexuality
over in hours, finally, over years
that kind of "Love" fades away.

She loved gambling
He loved a NASCAR auto race
They loved to listen to Fox News all day
We loved her bouillabaisse
He loved drinking bourbon straight
She loved him by their fifth date.

Love is fickle, love is faked
love is unpredictable, love ain't hate.
Love is wonderful, love is great,
Love is All, love ain't hate.
Love is fleeting, love is brief,
Love is time, Loves a thief.

The Love of Wisdom:
an unread classic hoarding dust,
arguments with stubborn fools,
respected texts that make little sense,
flickering shadows on prison Caves,
language games with no rules,
Pascal's wager on canceled games,
Pragmatic evasions over ESP,
Hegel's History marching past Marx's grave,
Prolegomenas posted on paper trees,
Medical falsehoods overturned to late,
Scientific methods slapped in the face
Stale syllogisms out of tune
Metaphors stillborn: Beauty is Truth.

He liked to listen [Loves a stretch]
to Oscar Peterson on the keys,
Chopin Nocturnes by Maria Jão Pires,
or Bob Marley's Reggae hymns.

She liked to eat [Loves a stretch]
Mackerel nigri sushi
pickled ginger, wasabi,
spicy edamame with Sapporo beers.

He liked to walk [Loves a stretch]
every day to see something new
reminding him to stay.

Yes, we do love precious souls
close by us as we grow old.
Family, friend, fellow travelers
on the stony path we all go.

18.

What's Your Religion?

"What's your religion?" she asked me.
"I'm a philosopher. As for religion, and
I've studied many, I favor Buddhism,
Taoism and Stoicism."
She was befuddled; stopped and stared.
"You don't know Jesus?" she quizzed or
implied.
I said, "Obviously, you don't understand
what I just said. Let's leave it at that.
Goodbye."

Jehovah's Witnesses
at the door
Bible soldiers on patrol.

Communication
broken in half
by ignorance

19.

Final Words from a Fool

An old Catholic ritual fan that
I once, unfortunately, knew;
said "I'd throw shit on queers
in a parade." Or,
"The current liberal Pope's a joke." Or,
"Trumps the Best. Bidens a Fool." Or,
"Alfred Kinsey's sex research is a fraud."
Enough, I thought.
Goodbye.
I'd rather listen to a kinder
and more sensible soul.
Never spoke to him again.

20.

Ordinary Days

Not much trauma in my life
no physical-mental diseases
no downslope addictions to drugs
no divorces, no affairs, no escapades.

Peaceful libraries to work in and roam,
quiet gardens around my home.

Never been to foreign lands, but
a virtual traveler everywhere,
into the past, into distant homes,
into other minds that
come and go.

A wonderful life with my wife,
never penniless we were both employed,
no great losses or tragic ends,
little homes, food for the table,
decent children on their own,
two regular folks growing old.

21.

Manzanita

I hiked over the Nehalem Bay dunes
on a slim sandy trail through
high sea grasses thick and green
till I arrived a La Playa's edge
the cold Oregon sure on the ebb.
I dropped my shoes and socks
walked out up to my knees
in the sand-moving flushing surf.

Trickle streams swallowed
by a gluttonous hungry sea
salted

Thought for awhile
fiddled and stalled
walked out on myself

22.

Potholes 4/7/2024

Scabbard canyons of basalt stones
remnants of Missoula floods
before humans came to these lava lands.

Canada geese
Big Sagebrush
yellow currant in bloom
green blossoms Norway spruce
O'Sullivan rock dam

Daybreak sun strikes the dam
splits the willows bare and tall
with red wing blackbirds dawn calls
Hun in the breeze, spilled like sand.
The Potholes resouvior shined
a shimmering mirror in the sun's eyes
Blazing low sliding bright lines
Lake aglow, alive, the night died
A peeping killdeer hurried by
Hiding in the Big Sagebrush twisted maze;
Canada geese filled the honking sky
in V formations
hundreds flying by every day.

At dusk, the chilly wind picked up
and we bundled up.
Huge flocks of geese flapped by
heading west into the darkening sky.
A cacophony of honking cries.

Geese in formation flew
west to east at dawn
east to west at dusk
day after day
obeying the Sun's Way.

We do the same:
work from 9 to 5,
home to work at dawn,
work to home at dusk,
month after month,
obeying the Paycheck's Way.

Rain eats the desert rocks, and
wind combs the sagebrush twigs

23.

Teenage Allies 1965

My brothers and I
quickly became teenage allies
defending our fragile integrity
using stealth and lies
and pretended obedience
to demanding imposed authorities:
nuns, priests, parents,
the pompous Moral Majority,
church people, police,
bossy men with power
in their petty pockets who
we often despised.

Not to say, we did not try,
to do "good" in our eyes
from 1963-1973,
when The Changes threw
monkey wrenches into
conventional suburban
American lives.

Long hair and beards for guys
jeans and beads for gals.
Loose and easy, not ashamed
of real flesh and figures.
Using The Pill
provided a free ride
until, later, AIDS and STDs
halted random pleasure asides.

The earthy sour smell of
a pipe smoking hot
burning pot dry green
vapors of silly dreams.
Puff after puff scattered our brains
ordinary habits of workaday claims.

24.

Writing

Why do I write poetry?
When I have free time
and ample excess energy
a hobby like poetry
challenges my creativity
as might gardening, painting,
cooking, piano playing,
knitting, carpentry ..
All agree, pleasurable hobbies
is a complex field of real energy.

When I create a verse
with meaning for me
it appears and is seen
a freed Artifact first
like a handmade dress
a painting framed,
an ancient oak bonsai on display.
Separated now from me, independent,
standing on its own, a artifact of me,
actual words on a page
others can see.

Actual text on a page
others can see and read
not changing, not vanishing,
unlike the thought following me.

When others have read
my poem on a page
it pleases me for days
if they enjoy what I said.

We have somehow related,
connected, integrated, mated
ideas and words and shared
flying together in spaces created.

25.

Selling Fantasies on TV

Illusions of a world for us to see
driving a new SUV.
No other trucks or cars
on daily TV ads carefully

showing me in vacant deserts
on empty city streets
in campgrounds where nobody camped
on mountain roads featuring only me

Driving free from traffic lines
leisurely, exclusively, magically
open wilderness just for me
faked freedom from the ordinary
realities of millions of others
wanting escape fantasies
just as me
fooled by clever commercials
selling SUVs to escapists.
Agreed?

26.

"A thousand martyrs I have made
All sacrificed to my desire..."
Aphra Behn, 1688

Have we martyred bees and butterflies
by the use of pesticides?
Did I pollute our land with plastic cups?
Have I helped drain our oil reserves dry?
Have I stolen what was clearly not mine?
Did I kill animals to fill dinner plates?
Did my shit foul a nearby stream?
Have used my wealth for selfish ends?
Did I hurt others with indifferent pride?
How many martyr's crucified
to satisfy my lusts and drives?
How can we ever justify
destroying our world
for mere handful's of dimes?
Reflecting, questioning
embarrassed
but repeating our ways.

27.

Doctor's Visit

My new electro cardiologist was tall and slim,
neatly bearded, youthful, serious;
reminded me of a younger me.

He quietly read my pacemaker's memory
stared at the wavy heartbeat screens
ran some Boston Scientific pacemaker tests
thought about what it all could mean.

"Your doing quite well" he said
relieving my tension, anxiety, dread;
"I'll see you next year," he said;
time for a new battery in my chest.

No lecture about eating or exercise,
no warnings about what not to do,
no changes in medicines, only
by a new sphygmomanometer to use.

"Your echo cardiogram results
were good" he said,
Much needed good news for my head
less fear of a heart attack striking me dead.

Would I have thanked him
if he had said
my heart was in serious trouble
and I might soon be dead.

Stoically, reminding me
to accept uncertainty
deal with reality with
a carpe diem positivity.

Anyway, fairly healthy today;
celebrated at Dairy Queen
a vanilla malted milkshake
sweet and cold, sip by sip,
my future not yet ripped.

28.

Madman in Bell Gardens

Some compare a heroin high
to an intense orgasmic spurt
or floating pain free for awhile.
Or cocaine for excitment
a blast of energy so fine.
Or, PCP for a power trip ride
Hercules for hours.

A few sips of brandy
coffee in my mug
a cold beer in July
a few puffs of pot
are the extent of my wildness;
a wealthy hard drug user I'm not.

Once, on my morning walk,
a naked crazed man passed
he hit a child with a stick,
so I intervened fast.

He was mumbling and trembling,
blood dripping from his chest;
we circled like street fighters
while I tried to talk some sense.

A naked man yelling
and threatening me;
the stakes were high,
It was him or me
not the time for mercy.

If he had swung his stick
at my head, I swear,
I would have beaten
him near to dead.

A crowd gathered ad watched silently
Fortunately, after round ten minutes
to sheriffs arrived; then,
the bloody drug addict
collapesed and cried.

The boy was unheart
and so was I;
yet, honestly, I wished
that fuck-head would die.

29.

The Dice of Days

Options free off the shelf
The Future ... our open doors
The Present offers little help
The Past offers so much more

The Future: our opened doors
Free rolls of loaded dice
The Past offers love and lore
Beauty served straight on ice

Free rolls of the loaded dice
Gamble's choice to bet or not
Beauty in a bowl of rice
Scheduling every time slot

Gambler's choice to take or hold
Sometimes free to bet on me
Scheduling out the random cold
Others always depend on me

Sometimes free to just let it be
Unpredictable is the name of the game
Others often love lucky me
Standing uncertain in the rain

Unpredictable randomness unhitched
The Future: and more opened doors
Standing fast, taking risks,
The Past a vast fixed shore.

30.

Cloud Hands Blog

Bundled Up: Tanka Poetry

Quotes for Gardeners

Zen Poetry

25 Steps and Beyond: Collected Works

At the Edges of the West, Volume 1
Highway 101 and Hwy 1: Pacific Coast

The Gushen Grove Sonnets

At the Edges of the West, Volume 2
Highway 99 and Interstate 5

Cuttings: Haiku and Short Poems
Arranged by the Seasons

Mike Garofalo lives in Vancouver, Washington. He worked for 50 years in city and county public libraries, and in elementary schools. He graduated with degrees in philosophy and library science, and did further studies in business and education. He has been a web publisher since 1998.

Michael Peter Garofalo (1946-) grew up in East Los Angeles, was educated in Catholic Schools, lived with two other brothers, graduated (B.A., M.S.) from local universities, married Blanche Karen Eubanks, served in the US Air Force, worked in and managed many City and Los Angeles County Public Libraries, raised two children, socialized, traveled, and learned. Retired as the Regional Administrator, East Region, Los Angeles County Public Library in 1998. We moved to a rural 5 acre property in Red Bluff, in the North Sacramento Valley, CA. Webmaster since 1999. Worked part-time for the Corning School District (Technology and Media Services Manager); and as a yoga, Taijiquan, and fitness club instructor until 2016. Traveled extensively in Northern California, Oregon, and Washington. We both retired, and we moved to Vancouver, WA, in 2017. Currently in 2025: reading, writing, gardening, poetry research, harmonica playing, activities with children and grand-daughters, home chores, yurt camping, exercise, traveling in the Northwest, walking, web publishing, family events, photography, Northwest research, Nature mysticism, and sports events.

25 Steps and Beyond: Collected Works

Cuttings: Haiku and Short Poems
Arranged by the Seasons

Text Art and Concrete Poetry