Greeted by cloud and rain,

a sense of overwhelming loneliness

I gaze to the mountains, for even they are not alone.

One stone of many I see in the road

One stone of many run over



Embodiment of the American Dream,

chasing until the Last Frontier

Grasp of English poor, grasp of kindness all the more.

Had not the heart to ask for whom he chased

Said farewells and let me be on my way



Steps with no soil between, balance

Trail ends, rock face begins

Scramble, creation of riprap

Turn back to help chinawoman,

We perch atop the city, we perch within the clouds


Peter and Jane

A couple from rocky Colarado

Mountain home they leave, to discover mountain air to breath

I sit in the back, peer across road

Speaking of God and of poetry,

We reach the Great One’s home


Misty Morning

Awoken early by condensation,

dripping from my measly tarp

Throw back my covers, the clouds soon envelop

Not only me,

but ’round the mountains they start


Tiresome Night

Ghostly wolf, or loon,

laments through the night.

I am too far to care.

The moose or caribou which roams my tarp

reveals my fears bare



Foolishly decline a ride to stay another night

An actor from Chicago who suffers in the L.A. lights

A kind man, kinder than I, took me see a glacier

not a few days later.

Spoke of aches and pains but continued to solider on



An old mining area where park employees stay,

huddled in a room to watch guitarists strum and play.

With nothing to drink and weariness settling,

I retire early.

Tired of the rain, I plead to stay

in the back of a minivan.



Stand with thumb out for over three hours,

no rides to help me return to the city.

The very same man who let me doze in his van,

stops and picks me up.

I entertain grandchildren whilst the rain fails to give up



Meth-heads hug the trees

The homeless try to sleep

Tourists hop from bar to bar,

yelling and shouting through the streets



A true traveler like few I have seen before.

With country he is disillusioned but its nature he adores.

Dreams of visiting all 50 states as he hops from freight to freight,

As we walk the coastal trail and speak of philosophy and musical taste,

carries with him a six-string but carries with him no case,

picking old country songs to discover more along the way.


A New Light

Roaming the beaches with Emoore, we turn back to see the city we left behind

The city we spoke of with spite we now saw in a new light.

The sun makes an appearance, reflecting gold off few glass buildings,

and in the distance the horizon stretches as dawn bends her rosy fingers

‘cross the vast waters



A Texas-man who flew not south but north

agreed to drive me the miles to the port.

A holy man, we exchange contrasting ideas,

not once but twice,

for he would help me return to the city once more



Weather prophetic, the sun lifts my spirits greatly,

wander past the docks of small boats

to reach the tip of Lowell Point.

Return through town, dream of sailing Atlantic



Sun turns against, walk six miles without water trying for a ride

Stumble into a storage lot seeking help, but instead it was my own turn to deliver

Fix his printer, whilst he speaks of past and present,

Rewards with beer and tea, and a ride back

to the temporary home


Nauti Otter

Earn a bed by making them

for a lady soon to be wed.

Others do the same, a man younger than I,

traveling before army

A woman wishing to travel further.



We spoke few words until my last night,

where he offered kindly cigarettes as we drank beer.

Speaking of politics and cultral affairs,

of differences in the cold night air.

I wish him well for future


Exit Glacier

Beauty that is quickly receding,

beauty that is undermined, by the many tourists including I,

it was time to make leave.


Hugues and Heloise 

A couple from Belgium who wished to travel onwards but were unsure of where to stay

I direct to a farm where I shall work, and to Homer they offer me a way

Reminisce of meeting Klaus and Lena, who offered salmon, a joint, and more


Seaside Farm

A vast property on which I stay, see right across the water

till the glacier which flees from the bay.

Handed bolt cutters I toil to remove weeds in the field,

I end my work by stacking wood too heavy for the farmer to wield.



Ride the bike for 17 miles to reach the Homer Spit,

run-down but welcoming, I enjoy a coffee and a burger

Almost finishing book I read, almost finishing my travels


Northern Lights

Finish eating dinner as the Belgian couple retire,

before bursting back inside to inform the sky is alight like fire.

We stand outside and silently gaze,

at colours of white and green,

the horses awaken and silently graze, for many times they have seen



A man who has travelled far and wide with both army and his shadow.

Rides his bike through the night, cuts through like water with a paddle.

Sit and stoke the fire for a few hours, before saying farewell,

as we head for opposite ends of the land.



Speaking of technology,

he draws be back to life at home.

I return to the city



Last night,

excess of man caused panic.

No breath for two minutes, no calm for more.

Walk for 7 miles to airport with my pack, stopping along the way to spare my back

Rain dampens my as I smoke the last of my cigarettes,

Alas, Alaska


A series of simple poetry I wrote about my times in Alaska – inspired by Snyder, Han-Shan, Tu-Fu, Thoreau