Alaska's Four Seasons

[Pathfinder1]

Hi...


After reading the post about Cowboy Poetry (who knew?), with your permission, I'd like to post this poem I wrote about Alaska's four (some say two) seasons.


Spring is in the air
The geese are overhead
The sun shines for nineteen hours
Mostly while I'm in bed.

Then summer finally arrives
With daylight from noon 'til noon
Seems like the days will last forever
But this season ends all too soon.

The trees soon shed their finery
And a snowflake is seen here and there
The daylight is shorter, there's wood to be cut
Turn around - autumn's everywhere.

Soon it is winter again
The cold, the dark, the snow
Body and soul seem to slow down a bit
When outside it's fifty below.

[Pathfinder1]

Hi...


Perhaps another time I'll post another poem I wrote, about my other vehicle...AMTRAK.

[Pathfinder1]

Hi...


You mean, among all of our posters, that I'm the only would-be poet?

And I thought I could enjoy some of the poetic musings of others...!!




I live to eat, and I eat very well. Igor, another moose carcass, if you please.

[ppine]

From my partner Cindy's book "Present in the Sage"-

Powwow

I swallow hard
to beat of pounding drums
while costumes dance the circle-
feathers, bells, leather, bone, cloth

I close my burning eyes,
to hold back tears of generations,
still dodging shadows from the past.
Wounded Knee, Sand Creek, Trail of Tears.

[Pathfinder1]

Hi...


Was great to hear something from a different perspective.

[ppine]

I am thrilled to able to share poetry with people on the forum that I have never met. It is not corny or a cliche, it means something to people who are willing to invest some emotion in it. The western classics at Elko make people cry, and sometimes fall off of their chairs with laughter.

Pathfinder, I liked your poem.

[catspa]

Oh boy. You're gonna be sorry you brought this up.

One Saturday morning I slept in late,
and rolled out of bed at half past eight,
and stumbled to the kitchen just yawnin’ and stretching my legs.

An omelette was what I hungered for
but when I opened the old fridge door,
just my blasted luck - I was out of eggs.

There was leftover pizza and milk going bad,
and dried out cheese I could have had,
‘cause I was so darn hungry I could eat a horse.

But I pulled on my boots and drove right down
to P-pine's place just east of town,
to get me some farm fresh eggs right from the source.

Ppine was there when I drove in
and his face broke into a big old grin,
and I told him, “I need eggs, and I need ‘em fast

Now friend, you might’ve seen hungrier men,
but I bet you can’t recall just when -
Why, if I don’t eat, no tellin’ how long I’ll last!”

But he just laughed and opened my door,
said, “I got a lot done since ya came before,
and I wanna show ya ever’thing that’s new.

Last week I finished up two new pens,
and ordered twenty-five Barred Rock hens,
an’ the chicks that hatched in June are layin’ now, too!”

So he led the way and I followed along,
hopin’ this wouldn’t take too long
‘cause my stomach was starting to think that my throat was cut

See my last meal’d been Friday noon
and I knew I was gonna gobble something soon,
and the scary thing was, it wasn’t gonna matter what.

His barn was big and cool inside,
and as we walked in I was tryin’ to decide
how I would prepare those eggs to suit my taste.

I pictured three of ‘em sunnyside up
and a couple more poached in a little white cup,
or boiled or scrambled, but it better be post haste.

He showed me the bin he had built for his grain
‘cause the bags got broken and damp in the rain,
and he’d lined it with metal to keep out the bugs and the mice.

My hunger was driving me plumb berserk,
but I didn’t want to make light of his work,
so I gritted my teeth and smiled and said, “That’s real nice.”

A look of pure joy swept over his face,
and he said he’d show me the rest of the place,
and my stomach growled, This charade has gone long enough.

If you don’t swallow some quick nutrition
you’ll see a decline in your condition -
me and the other organs are about to get tough!

I knew deep down my stomach was right
that failing to eat wasn’t any too bright,
and besides, I was getting a little bit dizzy and weak.

So I cut Ppine off in the middle of a word,
and leaned in close to make sure he heard,
and said, “Pal, my hunger is about to reach it’s peak!”

He blinked a bit, and he said, “Okay,
well I’m sure glad you came by today -
hey, before you go, let me show you just one thing more.”

I stared at him like he was insane
and I held my belly and squinted in pain,
but he had already turned and walked to the door.

My breath got short and my face turned pale,
and I had to lean on the manger rail,
but I shook my head and followed him on out back.

The sun beat down on a dusty pen
that held at least a hundred hens,
and one old Leghorn rooster by the name of Jack.

Ppine looked around and waved his hand,
with a beaming smile he said, “Ain’t this grand?”
and I opened my mouth to insist that I could not linger.

Just about then old Jack got mad
and flapping his wings with all he had,
he fluttered across the pen and bit Ppine’s finger.

Ppine howled like to raise the dead,
and I can’t repeat the words he said,
but a sailor would have blushed like a child confessin’.

He turned to me and said, “Hold my coat -
that rooster’s long been gettin’ my goat,
and today’s the day I teach that bird a lesson.”

I took his jacket and leaned on the fence,
and watched a horrible fight commence,
like nothing I’ve ever seen before or since.

The view was obscured by a cloud of dust
as the rooster skwaacked and Ppine cussed,
and the thrashing around would have made George Foreman wince.

I could tell at a glance those hens were frightened,
and I was too, with the kickin’ and the bitin’,
and the shriekin’ and clawin’ and the scratchin’ goin’ on as well.

They were goin’ at it hammer and tong,
I figured they’d both be dead before long,
but their ghosts’d keep fighting in the smoke and the flames of Hell.

Then suddenly the fracas stilled,
an eerie hush the barnyard filled,
I felt my trembling pulse begin to quicken.

Side by side, their feathers heavin’,
they’d fought to a draw and come out even,
collapsed in the dust together, man and chicken.

What happened next, I’m ashamed to say,
‘cause I turned coward that fateful day,
I cut and run as they lay there on the ground.

I headed for my truck on rubbery legs,
scooped up on the run a dozen eggs,
as they were gatherin’ their strength for the next go-‘round.

To a starvin’ man it was plumb absurd,
what I’d just seen and what I heard,
and I’ll be darned if I’d stick around for one more minute.

I’d had enough and that was that,
and my pickup in the driveway sat,
and I just staggered over and jumped right in it.

I wheeled around and punched the gas,
and took the corner way too fast,
laid a solid streak of rubber right back to town.

The eggs sat on that vinyl seat,
and right then my hunger became complete,
and shells and all, I wolfed that dozen down.

I never did go back to see
If Ppine cooked up a fricassee,
or chicken nuggets or baked Jack whole with stuffin’.

But I’ll tell you, friend, it ain’t no lie,
‘cause I’d cross my heart and hope to die,
To this very day I'd choke on an Egg McMuffin.

Parker

[ppine]

Catspa my Washington brother,

A thousand thanks and a hundred beers for that one. You have made my day. This is the thing about poetry, not that many people get it but the one's that do really have lots of fun. I would love to hear you in person some day recite that poem around a campfire.

Chickens are a reoccurring theme this winter. I am playing the villian (typecast everyone says) in the local melodrama as Jack Rustle. My character is accused of stealing cattle, sheep, and chickens, and any occasional rancher's wife. At the trial I am in handcuffs with a rubber chicken hanging from my belt.

[Pathfinder1]

Originally Posted by ppine

I am thrilled to able to share poetry with people on the forum that I have never met. It is not corny or a cliche, it means something to people who are willing to invest some emotion in it. The western classics at Elko make people cry, and sometimes fall off of their chairs with laughter.

Pathfinder, I liked your poem.

Thank you very much...!!

[catspa]

Originally Posted by ppine

Catspa my Washington brother,

You have made my day...

No problem bud, glad you liked it. Here's another, a little more subtle in it's humor.

I can’t believe that they’d do this to me,
my parents are ever so cruel,
to send me right off to my grandparents’ farm
the day that I get out of school.
“Have lots of fun”, they said - I’m like, “Oh, sure!”
‘cause out here there’s just nothing to do.
Today we went up to the lake and caught fish,
and we bailed out the boat with my shoe.

I can’t believe how bizarre grandpa looks
in his red flannel shirt and his beard,
when he sits after supper and takes out his teeth
and makes funny noises - how weird!
The old John Deere tractor is parked in the barn
and grandpa says I get to drive,
“Turn left at the fencepost and go check the mail,
but keep ‘er below fifty five.”

I can’t believe all the ice cream I ate,
at the Checkerboard “three-scoop” Cafe,
Gail, the waitress, served extra french fries
and I met an old cowboy named Ray.
Delton P. Hubbard lives down ‘cross the creek
on a ten acre parcel of land.
His milk cow, old Bossy, has just had a calf
and she licked up some corn from my hand.

I can’t believe that the cat chased the dog
‘round the yard until he chases her,
but at night they’re together curled up by the fire,
in a warm-whiskered bundle of fur.
Grandma makes cookies each Monday at noon
and when we get home around four,
there’s a tall glass of milk and a plate piled high,
“If you eat those, I’ll have to make more.”

I can’t believe that it’s been three whole weeks,
but tomorrow I’m headed for home -
back to TV and my poster-filled room,
my friends and my cellular phone.
Just as I thought, I’ve had no fun at all,
been miserable day after day,
and the worst thing about it, from my point of view?
I was hopin’ they’d ask me to stay.

Parker