Magazine Posts

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.

If you encourage me to write,
It will bring new energy to me
And I will provide better writing for thee.
I'm not asking for you to like
But any comment, will help me
Write, more (or less) of what you see.
Is it my Ego, that asks you, of this
Or just one old person you might miss.
Comments will work just fine
I'll read them with a glass of wine.

Many years ago, I was a hunter.
Into the woods we would saunter,
Looking for Elk, on this particular date,
Which was opening season, in Washington State.
Walking quietly, through forest and glen,
This tested our manhood, way back then.
Moving along, I came to a dense thicket,
So heavy with trees, brush, thick like a wicket.
Moving along, as quietly as you please
Sometimes I had to get down on my knees.
Head down and moving quite slow,
I looked up, into the eyes of a Doe.
We were both surprised to see another
And we stopped to stare at each other.
Slowly, quite slowly, the Doe moved away.
She was the only animal I saw on that day.
Another day of not getting any meat
But a memory of encounter, was a treat.

Cascading water, a most peaceful sound.
No crowds of people, hanging around.
Colored blanket, laid on the ground,
A picnic lunch with meat, cheese and thine
Along with a few bottles of wine.
What more could I ask on this day
But to enjoy the moment, in this way.

Did I tell you or just suppose,
That I have my grandfather's nose?
What does that mean, you ask of me?
It just another part of our heredity.
To borrow the looks, face or hair
From others of which I'm not aware.
Truly a marvel, in this day and age,
When as we get older, we become a Sage.

I am fascinated by an old car.
A Model S2000, from Honda you see,
Get's the blood pressure up, for me.
Not too practical for me, to be at
But reminds me when I had my Fiat.
A Fiat Spyder, Model one twenty four,
French Blue in color, four on the floor.
A convertible top with two latches to click.
I could drop the top, sitting in traffic.
A great toy, that I did really enjoy.
The S2000's I see, makes be feel like a boy.

Every time I look
Into a mirror,
I ask myself, what
Are you doing here?
You're blonde hair,
Is white as snow.
You're all dressed up
But no place to go.

I waited long to buy shoes at this price.
Cordovan in color, leather soles were nice.
I wore them to work and admired my style,
So I walked downtown, about 4 blocks,
Wearing my new shoes and great socks.
It had started to rain and yet
I realized that my socks were getting wet.
In Seattle I worked, I now must expunge
Leather soles; not good as their like a sponge.
Soaking up the water doing their trick,
Making the soles, very, very slick.
Walking on tile with wet soled shoes
Was a proposition, that I would lose.
A simple slip that turns into a fall.
Do you suppose that I could sue the Mall?

I liked to cook, when quite young.
Recalling a time, I thought I'd try
To make a most delicious apple pie.
Making the pie crust, water and flour,
Little time, less than an hour.
It was quite easy and not very hard
As I neglected to add any lard.
The apples were peeled, sliced but not cored,
Covered with Cinnamon, Nutmeg and Oh Lord,
Sugar was added, for this great treat.
Put in the oven, cooked and ready to eat.
My Grandmother served, cutting up the pie,
While I was complimented for my first try.
My bite was quite chewy, my word please take
As not adding lard, was a great big mistake.
I realized that a can of Nutmeg, was a bust
But they all ate some pie, with rock hard crust.
I've learned from this long ago year
Sometimes when cooking I'll have a beer.
I still cook and always will try
But seldom will I bake an apple pie.

Give me strength; give me might,
That I don't start writing trite
Observations of what I see,
Especially if it involves you and me.

Sometimes my head is in the cloud.
The noise, that I often hear,
Is me talking to myself, out loud.
Not yours to ponder about what is near,
Just be thankful, your not like me.