Monday, July 23, 2012
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
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
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.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
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.