Dylan Break
Published January 19, 2011 | 
Not Dark Yet
Shadows are falling and I’ve been here all day
It’s too hot to sleep, time is running away
Feel like my soul has turned into steel
I’ve still got the scars that the sun didn’t heal
There’s not even room enough to be anywhere
It’s not dark yet, but it’s getting there
Well, my sense of humanity has gone down the drain
Behind every beautiful thing there’s been some kind of pain
She wrote me a letter and she wrote it so kind
She put down in writing what was in her mind
I just don’t see why I should even care
It’s not dark yet, but it’s getting there
Well, I’ve been to London and I’ve been to gay Paree
I’ve followed the river and I got to the sea
I’ve been down on the bottom of a world full of lies
I ain’t looking for nothing in anyone’s eyes
Sometimes my burden seems more than I can bear
It’s not dark yet, but it’s getting there
I was born here and I’ll die here against my will
I know it looks like I’m moving, but I’m standing still
Every nerve in my body is so vacant and numb
I can’t even remember what it was I came here to get away from
Don’t even hear a murmur of a prayer
It’s not dark yet, but it’s getting there
- Bob Dylan
write a red poem
Published June 18, 2010 | 
Here I write a red poem,
Sophie Tucker red,
‘The last of the red hot mama’s red’
It is a hard Tap Dancing Red,
St. Valentine’s red…
Cinnamon Apple scented red…
Georgio sweet smelling red,
Victoria Secret Red,
Morning sunrise red,
Red Hot lipstick red,
The blush on your cheeks red,
Happy Go Lucky Red,
Written with my flaming Pink Craylo Pen,
On this October day…
Oh you kid!
- Dorthy (Alves) Holmes
Chased by cloud
Published June 3, 2010 | 
Fair weather paddlers are chased by clouds
back to the shelter of Subarus and coffee shops
leaving
the world silent
apart from the sound
of dipping paddles and distant thunder.
Open Road
Published September 14, 2009 | 
I can’t speak for others, but I can speak for myself when I say the coming of autumn fills me with the desire to hit the open road…
A Sea Dirge by Lewis Carroll
Published July 15, 2009 | 
A Sea Dirge by Lewis Carroll
There are certain things as, a spider, a ghost,
The income-tax, gout, an umbrella for three…
That I hate, but the thing that I hate the most
Is a thing they call the Sea.
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Saturday Morning Dylan
Published December 20, 2008 | 
Paddling & poetry often go together, at least in my crazy head. In paddling poetry is everywhere; In those moments you look up over a break wall to see dark clouds coming from beyond. When you hear a the whistle of a sudden wind against your ear that forces your eyes to scan all directions of the horizon. When a first drop of rain taps on your hull with the sound of a muted snare. When the surf captures you and you realize that you are suddenly without any control. When you find yourself upside down in a dark, airless, cold silence. When the VHF blurts unintelligible static into a moment of thick humid nothing. When the sun sets over a snow covered shore. These are just a few of the sensual moments of paddling that sometimes sing like poetry.
Here’s hoping that war will cease and that famine and poverty
will go away.
Here’s to no one being too rich at the expense of someone
being too poor.
Here’s to hoping everyone will have clean water to drink.
Here’s hoping that everyone will have a home.
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