Fourfold Ways: Quatrains
Quatrain Style Poems
By Mike Garofalo
1.
Stepping Over Epiphanies
Affecting all the molecules in me
the pull of the moon and sea
feeling the call to walk the shore
Smiled, opened the door
Tides and time sent signals to me
to step nimbly over epiphanies
seen flipped over in the turning sands
Surprised, opened my hands
Waiting for nobody but me
a fleck of cold fire
flung out on this fleck of space
Sang out, loved this place
Shore pines paint a background scene
short stubby crooked trees
swaying gently in the salty breeze
Unruffled, I found tranquility
Stunned by the crisp clean colors
savoring the scents of the sea
enchanted by the incessant singing surf
Awakened, calming reveries
Pointing to the ineffable realization of
insights known to me alone
erupted up from our sensory realities
Profound, not foreknown
Such awakenings come and go
sometimes fast or sometimes slow
unpredictable visions playing peekaboo
Pausing, not thinking too
Slogging up and down the dunes
breathing hard on Que
one step up, a half-step back
Stopping, quite a view
A romantic couple passes me
by on the thin path through sea grass;
we nod, mumble "hello", step aside,
Thinking, will love last
What I see is painted by me
created for free in a brain for me
sucked from the tits of reality
Pondering, reality or illusory
I practiced outside today
the Practice of the Outside Way
I figured a a few things out
Understanding, what Place's say
Tip toeing over bull kelp strands
stepping on broken shells
avoiding the driftwood piles ever moving
Listening, a virtual foghorn knells
A friendly dog off-leash comes to me
seeking a gentle pat and pet
desiring a kind human face to see
Laughing, she was wet
My grand daughter and I once walked
beside an Oregon dune
not very long ago it seemed to us
Remembering, gone too soon
2.
Night Camp at Benson Beach
Driftwood crafted forts
hold tarps on woody bones;
blowing sand due north
rattles this hikers home.
Temporary for the night,
they huddled very low;
snug inside zipped tight
sleeping bags in a row.
They started a campfire
to cheer their spirits;
but the wind grew higher
and rain snuffed out the fire.
They were tired from hiking
on soft shifting sands;
yet exhilarated man to man,
a Hiker's High to their liking.
Frank played Bach on his harmonica,
Paul quoted Eliot's Prufrock poem,
Bob sang a Joan Baez ballad;
all talked about sand castle homes.
The rain trickled down
by drips and drops all night;
tarp dancing to windy sounds
Pacific surf roars its might.
Somewhere hidden on the shore
our makeshift hut just sits,
waits for the moon to go on shift,
holding fast with driftwood sticks.
their tired eyes
closed—
memories slowed
dreams flowed
time dozed
3.
Concerned, she cried,
hearing her friend was hospitalized
in critical condition ...
then rapidly dear Norma died.
The doctor's diagnosis
after X Ray, MRI, and blood tests:
brain cancer consuming
all her body and her mind.
Another soul-mate
departs our worn down fates
leaving just old me
to walk alone to that Gate.
She opened
the Gate ...
disappeared
I tipped
a toast—
sipped tears
4.
The Forest People of Highway 101
The Quinault Nation in Taholah Village
or deep in the woods in Qui-nai-elt homes,
created a museum with artifacts shown
how life on the Quinault River stayed.
I gazed respectfully at the beautiful baskets
woven artistically by Taholah artist’s hands
working in ancient Quinault People’s lands
in touch with wild plants chosen to last.
Intricate designs, color, fine craftsmanship lasts
on small tools utilized in daily life:
paddles, hooks, baskets, mats, capes, knife.
Locked in caskets of clear museum glass.
Outside, the rain at War again,
floating trees down the Copalis,
Quinault, and violent deep Queets,
driftwood river roads to surf side lands.
The Queets and Quinault river valleys lie
at the western edge of the Olympic hills
heavily fir forested flat lands cut still
harvested and replanted on all sides.
Few people today live this way:
fishing diminished, the sea losing life,
forest cuts take decades to regrow right
and tourism rained out many days.
When you have reached Kalaloch
hung on a cliff at the edge of the sea,
the wide rushing Queets River at your back,
Olympic National Park is at your knees.
Highway 101 from Aberdeen to Kalaloch
a managed farmland of firs for 75 miles
flat and unpeopled, wet and unwild,
loaded logging trucks to Aberdeen fly.
Aberdeen’s mottoes on a huge bridge sign:
“Gateway to the Olympics” or once
“The Lumber Capital of the World” in 1889.
a bit overestimated, ballsy, reminds
me of booster club meeting cheers.
beauty and poverty
simple lives---
just raincoats thrive
[Ocean Shores and Seabrook,
exceptions to the rule,
rich folks in upscale
new houses and condos Rule.]
5.
In old Chico’ downtown looking around
shopping and dining with students now
from Chico State University not much endowed
but, thankfully, the best learning place in town.
Young faces filled with very bright minds
books and laptops strapped to their sides
cautious of competitors often at times
with youthful energy stamped with pride.
I was the oldest in all the classes
often the only man on a team
this affected by outlook fast
so I strove to be Mr. Cool at last.
A few
are teachers now
replacing us Baby Boomers
who have taken our bows.
6.
Time is the instant of nothing
stretching somewhere between
a past not existing now and
a future not existing yet as Being
An instant as sharp as a steel saw
slicing the wood of temporal trees
cutting up faces of clicking clocks
counting the years and our destinies
Halfway counted as part of today
caught on the hangman's noose
the Past jerked, broke its neck,
red tongues hung from Time's lips,
dead to the past, the futures unfit
The now-present suddenly flashed
disappeared as quietly
as two fingers snapped
appeared as quickly
as a handshake's grasp
lost in milliseconds to
the Infinite Past.
7.
Basketball begins with a Jump Ball,
Players, hands up, ready all;
Slapped, tipped, bouncing ball.
Begins again: cheering, shouts, Ritual.
8.
Harbingers of Winter's doom:
red tulips ready to bloom
yellow narcissus bouquet of love,
fewer blankets in warmer rooms.
Heralds of Springtime cheer:
Easter eggs, white lilies pure,
rebirth of laughter, foaming beer
Fat Tuesday, not demure.
Last day of Winter
leafless maple trees
form is emptiness.
First day of Spring
white almond trees
emptiness is form
formed of nothing.
Ahh ...
The wide almond groves in full white flower
Stunning in the morning sun.
Old naked Winter in his garb
of grays and browns has run.
Forsythia blooms come and go
in the blink of a yellow eye;
Then, suddenly, mysteriously,
Green erupts; and we sigh.
9.
Out of Touch
There were no books
in his dirty old home;
a radio and TV only
provided some pleasures
when he was alone.
There was one thick Bible
King James on his bed
which he honestly claimed
was everyday reverently read.
A typical American mind underfed
not hungry for wisdom or knowledge
content with cheap radio scraps
conditioned sadly to useless TV laughs
rereading only Jewish tall tales past.
"Ignorance is Bliss"
a wealthy Lord said,
easier to manipulate
the serfs underfoot,
easier to control
these ignorant fools.
Keep them stupid,
feed them dreams
of heavenly rewards
for obedient underlings.
"Knowledge is Power" held fast
by those in power, rich, gentry,
upper class,
owners of many books
held only before
by priests in the Dark Ages past
Therefore, not surprised,
American lazy Minds will survive
content with replicating inside
a world as tiny as one closed eye.
10.
25 Steps and Beyond: Collected Works
At the Edges of the West, Volume 1
Highway 101 and Hwy 1: Pacific Coast
At the Edges of the West, Volume 2
Highway 99 and Interstate 5
Poetry Research by Mike Garofalo
Quatrains
Notes, Research, Bibliography,
Links, Sources, Favorites
Coming in the Summer of 2025
Mike Garofalo lives in Vancouver, Washington.
He worked for 50 years in city and county
public
libraries, and in elementary
schools.
He graduated with
degrees in
philosophy,
library science, and education. He has been
a web publisher since 1998.
25 Steps and Beyond: Collected Works
This document was last edited, revised,
reformatted, added to, relinked,
changed, improved, or modified
by Mike Garofalo
on March 20, 2025.