Monday, July 23, 2012

Garvey's Truck Stop, Stockton

Families came for biscuits and gravy,
Truckers pulled in to spend the night…
Parking their semi’s row after row
Discreetly out of the diner’s sight.

An oasis for weary travelers,
Showers, burgers and French fries…
The truckers after ten P.M.,
Sought out whatever pure lust buys.

Stockton locals, guys and gals,
Both cruised the parking lot…
Watching for flashing dome lights,
Shirtless truckers, and nights…so hot.

The brazen waved, “Come hither”
Posing unzipped on their running boards…
Setting sights on Jimmy’s Cadillac,
Pickup trucks and the rusted Fords.

The families with their napkins,
Dabbed their lips and paid their tab…
Unaware of the sexual Olympics,
In almost every trucker’s cab.

Saturday, July 21, 2012

The Best Days

Dan Warsinger Photography

 I spent many youthful nights with friends
Setting up camp in Yosemite…
Usually on the grass behind the chapel,
Far from any public proximity.

Those were the days of real freedom
Federal parks were owned by the people…
No twelve month wait, credit card reservations;
Just our bags, unrolled 'neath the steeple.

Each passing generation laments,
“We lived in the best of times”…
Perhaps my generation’s the last,
To remember less boundary lines.

Sunday, July 15, 2012

Ant Farm

Today we finally saw the sun,
The air was comfortably warm…
I drove to town to buy some ice
On this day without a storm.

Every home along the way,
Had tenants venturing outside…
Some pulling weeds or painting sheds,
Others polishing their mossy ride.

I saw repairs to a windblown fence,
Children and dogs walk to the shore,
Hedges pruned and grasses mowed,
Impossible deeds the months before.

Whidbey Island was an ant hill,
The weather, its demanding queen…
All ants were called to serve her
Under the sun that’s seldom seen.

Ribbon Dancer

The onion skin did a ribbon dance;
Perfectly swirling down the drain…
Unlike the Olympic Asian girl
Who trained years to dance the same.

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Mirror Writing

If I stood inside my living room
Writing backwards on the window,
All the neighbor’s walking by,
Would read the words and know…

The very thing that makes my day
Revealed in words I drew…
Weiv lufrednow eht yojne I
I enjoy the wonderful view.

If I bared my deepest thoughts and dreams,
I’ve written inside my heart…
Nary a single passerby
Could decipher my window art.

Sunday, July 1, 2012


There is a thief so silent
Who in time steals everything…
Holding nothing safe or sacred;
Also known as the aging gene.

DNA is the combination,
Padlocking the secrets of our fate…
Genetic traits like eye color
And our expiration date.