Magazine Posts

From whence came I, she said?
I know not of my Mother;
Never have seen, Father mine.
Told he was a wanderer,
Who as a World traveler,
Roamed far and near
Away from me, so you can
Understand of the fear I bear,
For reaching out for another.
Are you sure your not my brother?

It's 5 in the morning
My head is a buzz,
With rambling thoughts,
But more like a fuzz.
I can't get my mind
To go back to sleep,
So I'm writing now,
Thoughts that aren't deep.
What is my problem?
I wish I knew,
Then I'd get more sleep,
Not do like I do.

I have discovered and am now aware
Of a pesky Wabbit or perhaps a Hare.
A shade of mixed tans and brown,
He presents a nice sight, quite renown,
By the young children, that see him play,
As he nibbles on my plants, every day.
I suppose that this daily eating habit,
Is very good for the pesky Wabbit.

Once again, I am in a rut.
Can't get passed, the and but.
I may be trying too hard this time.
To make the end of the sentence rhyme.
Not wishing to bore you with this mélange,
I hope that soon you will read the prose,
That I try to bring to a close,
As you, of all readers, might have chose.

Seattle Central Library is big. Because there are so many stories. Get it? Library joke. 4/25/19.

We lived in Moscow, Idaho, for a short while
And I liked to go fishing, when I had time.
Not too far East, was a stream, just for me.
On this particular day, I did go,
To wet my line and catch some fish.
I'd fished for awhile, was up on a log,
With my fishing pole, in my hand, when
I spied a movement, a little down stream.
A Black Bear, Mother, with her cub
Was approaching my perch.
The moment was quiet, and very serene.
She hadn't noticed me as I was upwind.
I'm not sure, what went through my head,
But without thinking, I made a "Woof" sound.
The Bear stood up looking around for the noise
And my reaction was to look like a tree.
I didn't move or make a sound,
For a long while and the Bear and cub
Disappeared into the thicket.
I finally realized, what a fool I had been.
I moved slowly. Made my way to
The car and thanked God
That I had dodged trouble that I had created.

Dociwallips, is a very nice place,
We would visit every year, on the first of May.
Staying at the campgrounds or in Brinnon.
Party at night, the next day Oysters and Clams.
Gather the Oysters, shuck and leave the shells, please.
Go down in the morning, to get a limit
Of Oysters and then look for Gooey Duck.
If you got one, proud you would be.
Once time I saw the right "sign"
And then with a planned design,
I started to dig, as casual as I could,
For I didn't want the "Duck" think he should,
Dig deeper, or pull in its neck.
As I dug closer, down on my knees,
I grabbed the shell, if you please.
Holding and wiggling, my grip kind of thin,
When I realized that the tide was coming in.
I grasped tighter and then came a fear,
The water was now up to my ear.
I wriggled some more, my wife said, "Let go".
And I told her that, I won't. NO!
Finally the big clam broke free.
I could now say, look at me.

I remember you, from many years before.
You were so beautiful and I did adore,
That look that you had,
The sounds that you made,
As we rode all the byways and more.
The sleek running chassis, I saw before,
With a smooth shifting, four on the floor.
Your engine, a V-8, a 283,
That always had enough power for me.
Dual pipes, with "Smitty's", making the sound,
That would send out echo's all over town.
Driving down the street, every night, alas
The pipes echo's would rattle the glass
Of the storefronts, there were quite a few,
As we circled again, down the Avenue.

I'm sorry. I just lost control,
Of my emotions, starting thick.
I've got something in my eye,
A tear rolls down, this old cheek.
I have not the strength that you seek.
Foolish man, with many issues,
Where is that darn box of tissues?

Many years ago, my friend, Ed and I
Decided to run the Moss Bay, 10K or try.
We thought we were in good shape and more,
So we ran the Pt Defiance, 10 K the day before.
The next day, Sunday morn, as I recall,
Ed said, "Let's get to the front of all."
You don't do that, as you go by the pace,
That you will be able to run the whole race.
We did get in the front, cool as ice.
The gun went off and we ran for our life.
It wasn't our best run as you see,
But on the front page of the paper, was Ed and me.

Why would a sane man, that was alive
Run marathons, at the age of fifty-five?
A glutton for punishment, in a relapse,
For training run after run of many laps.
The first run was Vancouver, Canada, in early May
Second, the Seattle Goodwill Game, July, I say.
The heat was oppressive, on this long run,
As there was little shade but lots of Sun.
Next was Portland, a most lovely event,
With a lot of people and music in a tent.
We finished in Portland, at a good pace,
And relaxed and unwound after the race.
My last race was the Seattle Marathon.
Starting at Marymoor Park, up the
Burke-Gilman trail.
It was cold and rainy, but I did prevail,
As we finished at Gasworks Park.
It was quite a run, not a lark.
As a note to all who have read this funk,
It was the same day the floating bridge sunk.

Black oystercatcher trying to claim his rock, Camano Island, Rocky Point