December 31, 2018 – I ran up Counsil Crest to put last year’s worry to rest; up an old amusement park, Portland, Oregon was home to the “Dreamland of the Northwest.” Freezing in my Nike gear, yet warm and lightly dressed. Running in not the best trail running shoes, they got me up to see our amazing Portland views….

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Council Crest was “Portland’s roof garden on the mountaintop.” It was an unproven belief that the park site had been a traditional council ground for Native American Indians; therefore, the name “Council Crest.”

January 2, 2019


These stories, although told on runs up a hilltop of glory, untouchable be the reason—an inspiring and thoughtful journey.

In the glory of one story, so cold I had a worry.

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My fingers frozen feeling untouchable like a star lit—ran numb with my body all stiff.

From the bottom I envisioned Counsil Crest,

Knowing I had a treacherous run up, with ease, yes, I stretched…

From Terwilliger BLVD, I ran four miles up a rocky trail, ignorant of the elevation nausea from hell.

Jumping over mud puddles, twas’ an animal avoiding territorial gator.

But who art thou in the wild?

You don’t exactly have the following to see your smile.

ZERO eyes on you for a while.

Can you run hard without that, alone in the wild?

For the people I crossed on the narrow trail’s path, artifacts as I just needed to slip passed.

Because I’m running up until Counsil Crest.

They’ll think I’ve done this before—I run with my body at ease and a sword on my chest.

Avoiding rocky and slippery terrain, thrice causing my foot to twist, and twice nearly sprained…

But who art thou face in the wild?

Wet, cold, and no one to carry you assuming you pass out for a ‘Hwhile’…

Once in pain due to my calves and thighs cramping.

It was like I’d been here before, in a tropical jungle running to safe shore.

Face covered, only looking up to the hill, you bet there was more.

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But for vanity sake, my face ain’t the fate.

For all I know people witnessed an animal in its space.

Running under trees, muddy leaves, narrow paths, and million-dollar homes in between views of trees.

Unlike the ones I’m on this run with,

Elevation couldn’t distill this…

I’ve never even trained to run up trail-hills—even smoked a number to ensure the bliss.

Very dangerous, but that’s him in the wild courageous.

The beast within who needs a daily training kick…

And made it despite running up rocky trails never being on his bucket list.

This wordplay thing, I get carried away listening to rap music and R&B Queens.

I often switch it up, listening to ambient violinists, film score music and Rasta’ tings.

In 2018, I coined me a poet.

In 2017, I never would’ve known it.

First I thought it, then wrote it, soon spoke it while getting fit.

I dunno’ I just show up, it speaks like a preacher shouting, “grow up…”

Never ending until he sees the people getting sick of applauding my trust.

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Anyways, who art thou in the wild?

An animal tamed and running upright style?

Writes without pop, or style?

Just words of truth for a simple smile?

What’s rest in the wyld?

On an exhausting uphill run, and downhill with half the battle done,

I got lost and an extra three miles is what that cost.

Those trails are confusing; but loosing was not of my choosing.

The animal kept running, ignoring the exhaustion and confusion.

Trouble amongst me—tired, lost, and miles from my nice BMW.

A black man’s wish.

2018 made me a black man writing this shit.

It wasn’t my plan, I just showed up and began making words connect again.

But with trouble in the wild, luckily my iPhone charged to play Juvenile.

By then an aching foot and two cramping legs, so I turned up the dial.

The people saw me stretching it out and waiting, for a quick break needed inhaling.

Uber came to mind, damn.

But I ran it off after the people saw me, as if they’re of the other clan.

“Wait a minute, who are you…?” They command.

…an awkward black mysterious, but maybe writing man?

Telling stories in his head while he’s an animal running wild-like man?

…so, who art thou in the wild?

Mine speaks like I’m the child, telling me, “keep running lil’ nigga, they’ll think you’ve been doing this for a while…”

But I run and seek soft terrain for my landing feet, more importantly, I breathe.

Often no ease to the land, muddy rocks, and almost slipped down the way into the ridge’s drop.

Woulda’ been done then…

In the wild, the animal runs until sheltered in.

And when night falls, the people up Yonder will witness the light running free in the dark, like a shooting star.

Yet standing strong like an untouchable Christmas star.

I couldn’t believe I’d made it up and down this far.

Pain and agony, I finished running light but hard.

The people stared at me, not sure if to say, “hi,” to me.

But I was in pain and agony—an ignorant running negro who speaks creatively.

What an animal inside of me… 🙂

Last it said to me, “keep running lil’ nigga, I am the voice you seek…”

-Budd

Born and raised in Portland, Oregon, Budd writes to encourage readers to explore the depths of their inner ocean, an unexplored self, because it's fun once you get through the emotional part... "The words we speak become our vehicle; what you read is how I digest them.” -Budd

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