Magazine Posts

I was seventeen or in between
My eighteen years. My father
had bought a truck, a 39 Ford,
One and a half ton, with V8 and
A two speed Eaton. Dad had
A contractor install a bed,
That could be elevated to drop
A load of Peas, Corn or Wheat.
I would pick up workers and take
Them home from the Pea Viner's.

When working, hauling Wheat, out
Kittitas way, heading to the
Grain elevator, to dump my load of
Wheat. The State Patrol had a road block.
I was pumping my brakes to make a stop,
But the weight of the Wheat was not
Helping. Needless to say, "No Ticket."
Went to the elevator, dumped the Wheat,
Back to the field for another load.
I would drive alongside the Combine
And the wheat would come down a
Funnel and fill up the bed.
Repeat this task until all the Wheat
Is gone and only straw remains.

What is this life that has been lost?
Was it worth the hateful cost?
Will the life come back on the morrow?
Or will your life go on, in sorrow?

When I write that my mind is unsound
I try not to imply, there is something wrong.
It's just the worry that comes to me,
What I'll do when I no longer can be,
The support, that she needs.
A puzzle? Sure but not one to lose
As there are options that we can choose.

I dislike this part of growing old,
When our friends are dropping
Like flies in the cold.
Another class mate
Has now gone away.
It will soon be my turn,
Just not today.

Late last Summer; some barren ground,
Tempted me to spread or lay down,
A mixture of old Perennial seed.
The seed did grow, without a weed
And flowers with a very strong stalk,
By the edge of our City sidewalk.
Daisies, Bachelor Buttons and mystery flowers
Grew and grew through day light hours.
Blues, Whites, Golds one could see
And a sense of good, was mine to be.
This year, the flowers, some new to me,
With the arrival of a Orange Blackseed Poppy.
I can hardly wait to see the surprise,
When that corner of flowers do arrive.

It's now 4 AM in the morning.
I am starting to fade.
I have been up for hours,
Avoiding sleep, my tirade.
I need to quit writing, and creep
Into my bed and go back to sleep.

Would you still know me
If you saw me again?
For my hair is now white
And whiskers cover my chin.

Was it a dream
Or just an illusion.
I am uncertain,
Without any doubt.
I looked in a mirror;
What did I see?
A small Chimpanzee,
Looking at me.
It smiled,
While scratching it's head
And was wearing a hat,
A bright shade of red.
What do you want?
What can it mean,
When you see a Chimp,
In your mirror scene?
I don't know,
What's in my mind.
It's an animal,
So don't be unkind.
Then, in a hurry,
It was gone,
So don't you worry.
Will it return?
That I don't know,
But if it does,
We'll put on a show.

Out by the sidewalk,
Close to our front door,
I espy a mound of dirt,
Sitting up about an inch or so.
I mutter to myself,
"This Mole just has to go."
I have no desire to dispose
Of this small creature,
But I do want it to be,
Discouraged and just leave.
Stick a hose down into the hole;
Turn on the water and see,
Where it goes, flushing a mole.
There is a powder, I sprinkle
On the remains of his hole,
That shows the work of
A quite active Mole.
It won't harm this little fellow,
But will encourage it to move
Away from this site,
Then I'll sleep better.
Perhaps a whole night

When this crazy weather does appear
With tree and weed pollen, always here.
Rain and wind and sometimes sunny,
When your itchy eyes and nose that's runny.
Others may laugh and think it's bad
But when your eyes weep, for some reason,
Then you will know it is allergy season.
Achoo! Got a Kleenex?

I was in the eighth grade
When my friend and I,
Decided to go from Seattle
To Lynden, to pick strawberries.
We were both Boy Scouts
With back packs and sleeping bags.
We left our homes
On this wonderous journey,
By hitchhiking, up North, on old 99.
We arrived in Lynden, later that day
And were told "no strawberries";
it was the end of the season.
We turned around, noting our plight
And slept in a Bellingham field that night.
Back to our homes, we then went
And noticed that green bean picking
Would be another event.
But that is another story.

The darkness is falling, as we leave the shore.
Going back to our ship, nothing more.
No one is talking but there is nothing to fear,
For we're in the "Whale Boat", the ship is near.
I see the Seaman, as I am looking aft.
Thank God we have a motor; not on a raft.
Pulling up to the ship, on the Port side, with care
(That's the left side for those unaware).
Climb up the ladder on to the deck,
Salute the Flag and Duty Officer, Oh Lord,
Requesting loudly, "Permission to come aboard?"
Down to our quarters, for bed time is near,
We're protecting our Country, Please don't you fear.