SpearPoint Publications

On a hell bound runaway train 

Her memory vanishes fast 

We cried, we tired, we reached out 

Doubtful tough love eases pain 

She caught a hell bound runaway train 

So, we agonize through heartache 

The kind that mortifies the soul 

…

Each and every day Dan McIlhenny sat on the porch where the Wilderness Act of 1964 was envisioned. 

“My favorite picture growing up was the one that Ansel Adams took of the Snake River Overlook,” McIlhenny said. “As a little…

A history book peddler 

Must be busy this day 

As 2022 snaps into place ,2021 vanishes 

Except for pen-master notes 

Today our ever-reliable Sun shows brightly with promise 

We make new plans 

While splashing waves roll in …sending hissing foam…

January 7th shown lockingly gray all day 

Clouds, sky and ocean carefully colluded dismissing other colors their comeuppance 

Even Mister Sun himself was sequestered out of view 

Relegated to a support role strictly, backlit duties…behind the scenes 

The descriptive result…

Upon close inspection 

Our natural world amazes us 

Not a given day passes without 

It’s very own one of a kindness displayed 

Yet our humanness misses so much 

We assume a Sun bright day anywhere 

Registers equally to yesterday’s Sunfest 

…

He never asked her to surrender her name 

Oh, what a shame - to carry that blame 

All he remembers in elephant style 

Is the girl wore an argyle smile 

“Trust me… I know what I saw… 

For I am…

Almost robbed at sunset 

A gray cloak hangs unforgivingly 

Overhead and deeply west 

Horizon characters lurk out there 

Where old man sea and dull-draped sky 

Zip their lips together 

Mashing up, in undefined murk 

Days like these…hold sunrays captive 

Waves…

Under a contrailian sky 

Passenger jets exhausting 

Sketch their impressions 

Broad stroke white puffers 

These visible remains 

Linger becoming clouds 

Eventually pushing on 

Under other commands 

Naturally occurring 

High altitude winds 

Seem to silently say . . . 

“You must…

A splashing week 

Left buckets of rain 

Replenishing this soil 

A good long drink 

Was had by all 

The benefit water brings 

Adios to arid ground…’it said!’ 

Until the Sun rolls round 

Free to shine, beaming fine 

While waiting for…

What’ll we do 

With the beached blue whale 

Washed up along the shore 

Seems he’s all about stillness now 

Where he was swimming alive before 

A similar fate befalls us all 

When we’ll be still as he 

Rinehart thought for…

Out in the corner of centerfield 

It’s not really a corner at all 

A kid can run like the dickens fast 

After a well hit ball 

Where sometime a fielder’s the hero 

And a villain at the very same time 

…

My dear friend, Dan McIlhenny, who is a very talented writer, poet and musician, just emailed this poem to me, as I had this painting drying on my painting table. The timing seemed psychic and he says he had me…