101 Places Kelsey Gray Has Been - Pt. 3

65. Feeding the Wildlife

My fare I have shared with a grizzly bear,
A collossal insatiable gent;
He came and he saw, and he took all he wanted -
Behind us, you see, as we went!

My dining room I have shared with a 'coon,
Who tossed us a glance in mid-stride,
Then reached his wee hand in a garbage can,
And off with a pizza he flied.

My baggage has hid many kinds of 'rachnids,
From "BIG GIANT HAIRY" to "small,"
And some folks would say with a little dismay,
It's a shame that I hain't crushed 'em all.

I have witnessed a girl sharing food with a squirrel -
Unwillingly though, off her plate;
So I lent her the back of a hand with a smack
That sent the beast flying away.

My pack has been looted by things I'd have shooted,
If only I'd known they were there.
It's not that I hate them, it's just that they break in
And rip-mangle-shred-bite and tear!

Never far from my mind are the beasts that I find
In conjunction with walls that I climb:
There's been scorpions, centipedes, rattlesnakes, bats,
Even monkeys, both evil and kind.

It would seem in the shade alongside forest glade,
That I shared the serenity there.
It's a presence, you see, keeping me company,
Though my vision sees naught but a hare.

In the future I hope to meet more of these folks
In a manner I haven't seen yet:
For the int'resting chances and strange circumstances
Make mem'ries I'll never forget!

66. Lost in the Fog

It's raining today and I'm somewhere inside
Where a false life attempts to equate to the true;
In a room engineered so it feels just right
And yet somehow I'm still a bit blue.

A knob on the wall sets the temp'rature here
Keeping things just the same, never cold, never hot.
Humidity too is controlled through the year
So I'm cozy - except that I'm not.

The music around me is stuff that I like,
Dynamically chosen by networks of peers.
Though carefully screened and selected I find
Some distinctly unsatisfied ears.

A microwave fixes my meal in minutes,
My coffee's exactly two hundred degrees.
The shower is hot just as soon as I'm in it,
And somehow I can't be at ease.

I'm always in touch with my closest of friends
Getting updates by phone, via text, and online.
There's dozens of invites for things to attend.
For the moment, at least, I'll decline.

It's true that the weather is lousy out there,
And the climate and atmosphere's certainly wrong,
But the longer I sit here the more I'm aware
That outside is where I belong.

67. Wandering the Dunes

It's empty.
Empty and quiet and still;
And the ocean of sand reaches out on the land to the bottom
of far distant hills,
Under brightness of light shining radiant, bright,
overwhelming with whiteness the powers of sight!
Occasional blowing will keep the dunes going with
shifting and growing and ripples unknowing.

Who knows but the sand will inhabit the land even
after the absence of man,
And be empty and quiet, still?
Maybe it will.

75. Building A Battering Ram

Where once was one a-wandering, a story there began;
Or rather just continued-on a tale as long as time:
One chanced upon another one, and one the two became,
Their happiness and love together greatly multiplied.

Through time and trial they forged ahead, and two-in-one made three,
And blessings never ceasing quickly brought them four and five.
The one who started out with nothing built a family,
And raised them up in certainty that each of them would thrive.

Now fate has bared her fickle fangs: the world is minus one,
But hardly should the story end because that he is gone;
It only grows and takes three roads diverging from the one,
And with these three, forever-long, the tale continues on.

79. In A Sopping Desert

I am a collector and I travel all the earth,
Measuring and taking things I feel are of some worth.
And bringing them to fill my halls with what I love to see;
It's not for wealth or science, it's a drive inside of me.

I am a collector taking samples here and there,
And each is valuable to me, though others mightn't care.
I have a vast display to show the world what I find,
But also, in a hidden place, a few are only mine.

I am a collector, but I only take my share,
And when I do, there's more for you, if only you were there.
You can come as well and it would not be impolite,
And you can take a lot, you see, it's literally light.

I am a collector and I hope to leave the scene
A better place with my collection living after me.
With all that I've accumulated when my time is up,
I hope that others looking on will, too, be lifted up.

82. Blowing in the Wind

We met him on a tower over fifty stories high,
A pleasant desert morning with the sunlight peeking out;
He passed us on the trail and we groaned as he went by:
The first one to the base would be the first to climb the route.

His limbs and face were thin and gaunt, his skin was darkly tanned,
Atop his head a frizzled mop that looked electrified;
His gear was draped across his back, he was a climbing man,
Its wear and tear declared his dirtbag status, bonafide.

We prob'ly looked defeated when he beat us to the climb,
But soon his generosity had brightened things a bit.
We'd barely introduced, and like his friends as old as time,
He welcomed us to join him, and a giant team was knit.

He spoke with gusto, gesturing, a ranting wild speech,
And told of things extravagant he'd done, and where he'd been;
We quickly found the likelihood of truth was out of reach,
His stories broke the limits of a life the likes of him.

His voice was sort of raspy with a lazy hippie drawl,
And rambled on without a lot of silence anywhere;
He talked of places, faces, things, events he could recall,
And somehow our adventures couldn't seem to quite compare.

He spoke the names of legends never met and seldom seen,
And more than that he dropped them like they were the best of friends;
Celebrities, and sev'ral, so we knew it couldn't be,
Impossible, we thought, that they'd be tied to this loose end.

He had a house in Thailand, and a couple more around,
Established first ascents at secret crags in Cali's south;
He never mentioned work, and yet he travelled much, we found,
And every pitch he'd pack a bong and suck it to his mouth.

The only name he gave us at the time was of a myth,
A monster wearing hair of snakes, and somehow it was right.
His hair stood on its own, it's true, and so the handle fit,
And probing didn't strike us necessary or polite.

The day was sweet, the climb was awesome, quickly came the night,
And we, in parting, chuckled some at what the day had brought.
The man was unbelievable, preposterous outright,
His life was just impossible. It couldn't be, we thought.

But in the days that followed, doubt would slowly trickle in,
As things he said became supported, evidence accrued;
We couldn't really say for certain, but it seemed within
That maybe - just perhaps - it all could possibly be true.

The man was nothing, clearly just a dirtbag on the road,
We knew the type, we'd seen a thousand in our traveled past,
But things were coming up that proved the truth of what he told;
Could such a life belong to this societal outcast?

We saw him only once again before we hit the road -
The ratty tank and shorts he wore depicted where he'd been.
It happened in the lobby of an elegant abode,
The rooms were sev'ral hundred bucks - the bum was checking in!

We left him as we traveled on to places we were not,
But brought along a question of the possibilities;
Could this decrepit king be all he ranted on about?
Is there a chance that such a life could ever really be?

83. Standing Out Above the Rest

Gazing down from higher peaks
I see the world, my heart it leaps.
Overcome by potent passions
Joyous thrills within me seep.

Emerald carpet, on it runs,
The constant motion never done.
Swaying branches, lofty foliage
Glowing green in golden sun.

Torrents pass beneath the bridge
Far distant now, a bent knife edge.
Green it twists and sparkles too,
A silent surge below my ledge.

Amber, blue, a suave maroon,
The sky shows off its awesome hues.
A puff of cloud, an eagle high,
And on the air a scent of dew.

Coffee brews, I sip and sigh,
The stress and worry I defy.
Were there never times like these,
I could not live, I'd surely die.

Squirrels chatter from the trees
And Mother Nature is at ease.
Sheep like specks on distant hills,
The scent of pine upon the breeze.

Wilderness around instills
A plethora of stunning thrills.
Moments seem to last for weeks,
For nothing else this need fulfills.

84. Establishing New Routes

To everything a purpose and a reason to exist,
If it be small or big and tall, there's nothing to be missed.
Just take a look at anything, it's sure that you will see
The purposes for things to live, and move, and breathe,
and be.

These feet are made to wander, and it's true they've done
their share;
Through desert sands and mountain streams they've been
from here to there.
Across the oceans, round the world, in far off continents,
They've walked the roads and wilds there, and left their
tiny print.

These hands are made for heavy use in every kind of way,
And true they show it in their skin, the scars of prior days.
They've been employed to build, destroy, to help, and
even hurt,
And when I'm gone, fore'er anon will live their handiwork.

These eyes were made to help record a million memories,
Of sights and places, things created, stories they have seen;
They're made to take the world in, both everything and all,
So voice can tell and hands can pen the stories to enthral.

For everything a purpose, and I feel a part of mine
Is bringing back adventure to the ones who've been declined
The chance to have it for themselves, whate'er the reason be,
I live a life adventuresome, so all can live through me.

86. Above His Last Piece

Call me a traveler, rambler, vagabond,
Homeless, and maybe I'm lazy, somewhat.
With all due attention to these that I've mentioned,
Remember, there's also some things that I'm not:

I'm no kind of criminal low-life, and women
I'll never be found to have beat or abused.
I'll not tell a lie, and the things that I buy
Are not symbols, but things that are meant to be used.

I am not on the list of the people who wish
They had traveled an alternate path in their life,
I am not broken down, I'm not always a clown,
And I'm not one who lives by a gun or a knife.

Perhaps not the best, but I'm not unsuccessful,
I'm not something small to be pushed to the side;
I'm not insignificant, yet I'll admit that
It's doubtful my name will be known worldwide.

So call me the things that I am and you're right,
And some of the hurtful ones even are true.
But in calling me names, do keep something in mind:
Remember the things a man's NOT matter too.

87. Taking A Moment

O Time, stand still, I'll linger here,
You needn't travel fast.
A moment thus should take all year
To slowly wander past.

I'll drift away from terra firm,
A single body's span,
And if you'll let me tarry there,
You'll make a happy man.

There's many things should pass in blinks,
But here I'd like to stay,
To breath in all the sights and sounds,
If it takes me all day.

But if you must, leave me behind,
Release me from your cuffs:
O Time, just let me linger here,
Until I've had enough.

88. Sleeping In

A tale is kept in the places we've slept;
Each night is another few lines,
I've pen in my hand, so I've taken the chance
To tell you some tales of mine -
Where I've reclined:

We bedded down once at the set of the sun,
Under skies of a glittering black,
We stretched out on the sand, (in the desert, you can)
With a few hundred miles at our backs.
In the stillness unbroken we slept until woken
By soft pitter-pattering feet,
And just as we glanced at each other by chance,
A coyote passed inbetween
With eyes a-gleam.

Was a time we slept proud where it wasn't allowed
Looking up at the mightiest rock;
Recalling, it seemed we were living a dream,
And a happy one: never got caught -
Although we ought!

Another long day and a country away
We were stretched on a crystalline beach,
Where the crabs skittered round and the incessant sound
Of the waves gently lulled us to sleep.
Before daylight had come we were watching the sun
As it brightened the tips of the crests,
And the pelicans squawked as our shutters took shot
After shot, and the morning impressed.
For sure, we're blessed.

Oh - a note, just in case you've a wanderer's taste,
And you ever wind up in the dark,
At the end of the day as you're searching a way
To a place where your body can park -
Listen well to experience, though you be weary and
Just want to crash in the sack:
Consider the TRAIN, 'cause the noise is insane,
And avoid pitching right by the tracks!
And that's a fact.

89. Pulling On Gear

Take a seat, listen well, for the story I tell
Is of purpose to you who would hear it,
It's a story of boldness, but carefully told,
Lest the telling run off those who fear it!

I was there when unstoppable reached an impasse,
And I watched the ensuing results;
The unstoppable force was a climber of sorts,
And a reticent rock the insult.

He had conquered them all, from the small to the tall,
And the difficult, chossy, and mank,
Man alive, he had drive! Didn't strive to survive,
Simply pushed to the front, like a tank.

He was built like one too: just a look and you knew
Not to get in his way as he went;
A mahogany hide covered muscles the size
To make paltry the toughest ascent.

I was there when he carried his rack to the rock,
And he tied himself in to the rope,
Just formalities these, for he never would need
The protection the gear would bestow.

He set out with a leap and the first hundred feet
Never fazed him, not even a bit,
And it looked like he'd walk right on up to the top,
Just as easy as lickety-split.

Then he came to a roof sticking out overhead
With a series of cracks running through,
So he shoved in a mitt to pull over the lip,
And to bid the small problem adieu.

And he rounded the lip, but he struggled a bit
As he looked for a hold to be found,
But the hold wasn't there, and he paused as the air
Drifted ominous, heavy around.

Then the clock seemed to stop and he hung from the block
With the sweat dripping down from his skin,
As the minutes went passed, he was still buggered fast,
And he realized the fix he was in.

Like a monster he bulged from his tips to his toes,
And beneath me I felt the earth shake,
Then it jumped with the shock when a piece of the rock
Broke away in his hand like a flake.

Here he strained with a shout, and you'll probably doubt,
But the sky started turning to black,
And the wildlife flew, and the rocks tumbled too
As the Chimera Crux held him back!

Black as night, dark as sin, and a thundering din;
The apocalypse weighted my back,
And then just as I knew my existence was through,
He relinquished his holds and relaxed.

What a thing happened then as the light trickled in
And my future began to form hope;
All the dust cleared away and I saw his dismay
As he hung at end of his rope!

He had failed! He was stopped! The impassible rock
Loomed above him all quiet and mute,
As he panted and thought o'er the moves that had
blocked him,
And yet he was still resolute.

And this is my story of overthrown glory:
The weakness and strength of a man;
His pride had been swallowed, but he never wallowed
And whimpered: he formed a new plan.

Climbing back up the rock to the place he'd been stopped,
He resolved to continue on farther.
The summit was there looming high in the air,
And he'd gain it one way or another.

This would not be the day he relinquished the way,
And returned to the firma defeated,
So he pushed the attack, and without turning back...
He pulled on his gear, and he cheated!

90. Cranking Really Hard

I'm solid as a rock, and crushing;
Limber as a deer, and fleet;
Tender as a whisper hushing;
Steady as a drum that beats.

I'm happy as a clam, and smiling;
Find me, stake a claim; I'm gold.
Bedded in the rock: a piling,
Charming as a prince, I'm told.

I'm trusting as a dove, and cooing,
Speedy as a snake, I strike!
Quiet as an owl, and watching,
Deeper than the darkest night.

I'm hopeful as a dream, and happ'ning;
Fleeting as a thought, I'm gone;
Growing as a slender sapling;
Music, line, and verse: I'm song.

94. Walking The Line

I walk the line.
And forces try to put me down,
To send me falling to the ground,
They never do let up, I've found.
But still I walk the line.

The very air around resists,
It shakes me with its fluid fists,
With every step the wind persists.
And yet I walk the line.

My footing wobbles, shakes and dips,
A heaving, jerking, stretchy whip,
That lives to toss me from my grip;
It fails! I walk the line!

My mind and body don't agree
That where I am, I ought to be;
My heart says "yes!" My mind cries "FLEE!"
And still I walk the line!

The end is only steps away,
And reaching it is all it takes
To end this frantic, mad ballet.
Today, I walk the line!

97. Completely Defying the Elements

There's nothing like the sound of silence
ringing in your ears;
The hum that fills the emptiness when
there's no sound to hear.
It's rare to have a moment thus without a
single sound,
To find it one must be alone, with nothing
else around.

Today the motion never stops, and
everything's a roar,
Where productivity's the game, and money
is the score,
And silence is a seldom thing to reach
the ears of men;
Now let another hundred years go by us...
Oh, what then?

By then will we have lost that simple peace
for all of time?
Will anywhere be left a tiny fraction
so sublime,
That man can simply sit and be all quiet,
still, and small?
Will there be any place on earth where
nothing sounds at all?

101. Facing the Future

I could ride bikes, I could sing songs, I could be off at school.
I could become a criminal; I'm good at breaking rules.
I could become a millionaire with money as my goal,
It's not so hard to trade and save, it just takes time, is all.

They tell me that I'm gifted, maybe I can really think,
Invent things that will help the world, or use a pen and ink,
Become a fashion model or a famous movie star,
Or get involved in politics and really take it far.

I could become a sailor and be out upon the seas,
Or fashion landscape masterpieces, work with grass and trees.
It wouldn't be too hard for me to get into the war,
And head on out to fight and kill, regardless what it's for.

I could enjoy the mountains, living life for all it's worth.
Or I could take off and hit the road and travel all the earth.
Consider all the treasures and the knowledge to be shown!
But now I'm finding lately that I can't have fun alone.

There's lots of things that I can be; and think, and find, and do.
I could be out enjoying any one of them, it's true.
But even with so many different options, big and small,
I find I'd rather be with you, than anything at all.