Atumanal Poem #4 - November Night Rain

Cool evening walks in the autumn rains bring a washing away of the year before. All growth is ceased but only to begin again after slumber and contemplation of the winter.  The smells of a rain in the fall are different than those in the spring or summer. Not unpleasant, but more earthy and basic.

Another bad poem for Autumn.

November Night Rain

Promising puddles, only teasing snow

Dark night autumnal rain,
An artist
Creating a collage show.

Of wet leaves, layers of sycamore leaf

Across concrete walks and roads
And grass
Silent sighs, a final dying grief.

Street lights are a sun streak
From a different world
Where dark
Is light and warmth bleak.

Hidden earth smells arise, surround me

In still air that moves like
Miasmic
Phantoms of lost moments, I can no longer see.

Shedding the old and embracing true

The new wonders that
Still slumber
Awakened only when I see you.

Autumnal Poem #3 - The Coming Sleep

Autumn is a time of introspection and of transition. All that has happened before is drawn close and allowed to rest to be renewed with Spring. Ideas, feelings and activity are germinated and brought forth again, perhaps changed but always welcomed anew.

I repeat myself often when I say it is my favorite of seasons. It is never a dark night of the soul, but the long night of dreams and true appreciation for what is and the building of what will be.

After a long walk with a blind dog, I watched children running through leaves, carefully raked by fathers and mothers as they laughed at the spreading colors and groaned when called in well before dinner was ready.  The trees seemed to talk as the wind blew the soon-to-be naked branches. There is a smell to the season that is quite pleasing. It smells like change.

It made me smile and be grateful for the autumns that have been and the seasons to come.

The Coming Sleep
Trees chatter to another
Among laughter beneath limbs
Baring their hidden reach.

Children, tall in their long shadows,

Run to spray orange, red and gray
Leaves gathered to reveal dying grass yellow.

Faces glistening in cloudless sky

Playing in coats, too warm for the sun
Too cold to shed.

Night comes before the last bird call

As the world remembers the coming
Of deep cold and deep sleep.

And in the growing silence

There is the faith and trust
That this is but a fleeting time.

Warm embraces from without

And within are but a season away
When long shadows give way to Spring.

Autumnal Poem #2 - Magma Borne Woman

A poem for my friend, Lauren.

She is a woman of letters. She is a woman of science. She is a woman of the wild places.  All of these things and all at once.

I promised her an Autumnal poem, and here it is.  As always, poorly composed, written in earnest.

Magma Borne Woman

She sees the rock and hears magma and ancient seas

She sees the rock and feels the challenge to scale its heights

She sees the mountain and watches plates collide, fold and move

She sees the mountain and hears the pine-scented wind

She sees the tree and calls it by name

She sees the tree and embraces under its shade

She sees the dying flower and knows when it will return

She sees the dying flower and breathes in the lingering scent

She sees the wild places and their place in the cycle of all things

She sees the wild places and feels their rhythm and beauty

She sees all this and at times

Weeps with joy
Smiles with gratitude
And holds fast the mysteries
Of the things
She cannot see.

2018 Autumnal Poem 1

Percolating for a while, the first of a handful of bad Autumnal poems for 2018. Some are written for a specific person or event, others written as a result of speculative reverie, wishes, dreams or pure fiction. Inspiration arrives at odd times and from odd places.



I have a cold. It is Thanksgiving and this poem came to me after what was no doubt a megadose of tryptophan and cranberry sauce.  Like all of my poems, it's not very good, but written in heartfelt earnest.

A few more to go before the poetry muse takes a rest for a few months.

Happy Thanksgiving!


2018 Autumnal Poem 1

The wind and your laughter, moving leaves and hearts in the quiet afternoon.

Sunsets and smiles, soul piercing an exquisite pain when seen alone and the moon

Rises while viewed miles apart, 

my hands grasp to impart

a claim as my own but shared not between we, 

but belonging to all who can see.

Autumn, with its promise to change, transform and harken the new,

As Winter's promise to come and go in months but a few

And the hopes of dreams and wishes made comes to pass

And the wind blows new leaves and 

hands held in a shared sunset, moonrise 

and lips kiss forever at last.

Not Broken - A poem

In honor of the fallen miners who died in our nation's mines in 2017. Shared and presented at two recent mine safety conferences. Candles were illuminated throughout the room, one for each of the men who died while just trying to make a living, feed their families and work until retirement.

While I am honored to be asked to do this, I look forward to the day when there are no candles lit and any words of reflection are recited to remember the dead of long ago, not the previous year.

Mining, surprisingly enough, is one of the safest industries in the U.S. Incredible strides have been made, but there is so much more to do. Too many unnecessary deaths.

Not Broken
~ By Tery L. Tyson 

I can feel the cracks, but I’m not broken
Heart aches each time your face comes to me

And your memory is more than a token

Of what I truly want to see,
 

You were a brother, father, son, and friend

One in a million, they say, “like no other.”

But its our spirit we wish to mend

As we hear “there was another.”
 

Mechanic, driller, laborer, miner and boss

Makes no difference, you are now gone

While we grieve, and cry at our loss

As we honor your work and life, we are drawn
 

Together in somber solace to remember

Your work, your life, your life and your LIFE

Means more than a candle as we seek the answer

To end the death, to end the pain; cutting like a knife
 

So that no more, a family will need to feel

The emptiness in each one of us today

Shared with them knowing in our appeal

There is more to do, more to learn, more to say.
 

Our purpose is true, right, unwavering and resolute

You will be the last of the remembered but never lost.

This is our charge, our duty, job ONE, no substitute

To keep you, me and others safe, no matter the cost.

Death of a Miner

Presented at a 2017 mine safety conference in honor of American miners who lost their lives working in our nation's mines the previous year.


Death of a Miner
By Terry L. Tyson

We shall never forget, you remain with us everyday
In your passing
And in our grief
You mattered; yes, this is what we must say.

You lived, loved, laughed and toiled
From your life
And from your light
Our memory remains unspoiled.

From you we look and indeed reflect
How to work
And how to share
As death fails to earn our respect


If was from you, and you alone
That we learn
Life’s hard lessons
Is more than just flesh and bone.

In this quiet, we hear your soft voice
"Guide sister, guide brother
Always away from harm
To always make the wiser choice.

We comfort your family, daughter, son
And hold them
Close, knowing
Our work here is not done.

May your death be one of the last
Tomorrow’s tears
Be shed only
For miners long passed

Love and Flying Saucers

Love and Flying Saucers

I'm apparently on a love story jag right now. Below is a scene from a story that is not fully fleshed out but I liked the analogy one of characters makes about first sights and so forth. How is it that one special person can affect you so much that it can shake you to your core? It is outright interesting, exhilarating and a bit scary all at once. Such an event does remind us that we are humans, I suppose.

Maybe next week I'll write something less gushy, but for the last few months, romance has dominated my thoughts. Imagine, a man my age engaging in such frivolous mental pursuits!
Oh well, I do hope to finish this story someday.

Love and Flying Saucers

“I remember the first time I ever saw her,” I explained, “and without knowing it, that day changed everything.”

We had been sitting in the darkened tavern for the better part of an afternoon. Outside, rain continued to cause customers to run ducking in, let out a sigh and give a silly grin to everyone in the room as if to say, “hey, I made it!!” It doesn’t rain much in my neck of the woods, the southern California weather is as predictable as the phases of the moon – small gradual changes with the occasional surprise storm happening as often as a lunar eclipse. But here in San Francisco, especially at Pompeii’s Grotto at the Wharf, if you didn’t like the weather just wait 20 minutes, it’ll change.

My friend sitting across from me had known me for years. Unlike other male buddies, I shared a great deal of my inner thoughts and feelings with him and he likewise with me. It was a bonding without fear of being judged. We saw ourselves as nothing less than more fully evolved male type humans. Obviously.

A few stiff drinks didn’t hurt to loosen the tongue either, and both of us were definitely in the reveal-inner-secrets-mode. But this time was different. I was doing most of the talking and by observing the look on my face, he knew I had never been so sincere. This conversation was the back story of all back stories. If ever a straight man could reveal his heartfelt emotions to another, this was the time and place.

“How so?” he asked.

I knew the answer but didn’t know if I could explain it well enough with two martinis in me. But he asked so I tried. “Imagine that your entire life had been spent on an island. You were born there, raised there and everything you knew about the world was contained within that island. For all you knew, this island was the entire world. You’d be happy because you didn’t know anything else and thought that life would follow a particular pattern since that is what you were always told and lead to believe the world existed a certain way,” I began. “You think you understand everything…you’ve got the entire view of the entire world as you know it to be.”

“Where is this going, Tyson?” he groaned.

“Hang with my analogy for a bit, just drink your drink and listen,” I replied. Shifting in my seat and looking at the half-submerged olive in my glass, I continued. “Okay, so one day a sailing ship lands at the beach…NO, a space ship lands on the beach and out walks people that look like us but begin telling you things that make no real sense and pretty much impossible to understand at first.”

“They say that you’re living on an island and that the world doesn’t begin and end here and that there are many different places to see, things to do and people to meet. And they tell you that all of your ideas about the world are wrong and then they prove it to you by showing you pictures and movies and let you experience the world as it really is with some weird device that downloads all of this information to you in an instant.” I took a gulp of the cool gin and finished my point.

“Then after they take the machine off of your head, they stand back and say, ‘Well, whattaya think NOW, smart guy?’ What are you going to think, what are you going to do and how are you going to feel?”

He looked away and then turned to me and said, “Well, I probably wouldn’t believe them at first. Then I might be depressed that everything I thought was right, was in fact wrong.”

I smiled, “Exactly my point, my wise friend. Your comfortable niche and view of life and the world has been shown to be flawed at best because it was based on limited information. Eventually you’d be pissed either at your world for deceiving you or the space people for bursting your bubble and proving you were wrong all of your measly life. That’s what happened when I first saw her.”

“The moment I saw her, everything changed. The real world, a world of other possibilities came into focus and it scared the bejezus outta me. In fact, it still shakes me up now and again.” I said.


"So what are you going to do about it?" he asked.


"I don't know. I'll probably tell her about my feelings and how she's turned my world upside-down and then let it go. There are things you can control and things you can't..." I continued.


"But maybe me knowing that finally, I have met someone that fits the dream or whatever it was that the space bros showed me, exists, is enough."


I paused for a moment, chewed on the last, half-submerged olive, feeling the satisfying saltiness and tang wash over my tongue. "John, there's a million reasons why we can't be together and being a close friend is the only option I've got. It's the only option and it's better than nothing."


John nodded, "Yeah. Sometimes you aren't given all the choices you want, so you pick the best one on the list. Yeah, better than nothing. But, is it enough?"


"It's gotta be, John. Nothing does not include her beautiful smile, laugh, insightful words, thoughtful questions, deep listening, blue eyes that melt my brain and her powerful, confident grace. It's the whole package and if there was nothing, I would have none of that."


John slapped me on the back and smiled, "There ya go. You got that. That's more than most of us slugs get."


With that, I finished the last of the warming clear liquid and counted my good fortune. He was right, I was a lucky man, after all. The space aliens had given me a gift, a gift that dreams can be true.

Dreams can indeed be real, but sometimes you don't get to walk in them.