This poem would have been way cooler posted on August 18th when it meant more. I drafted it near midnight, and couldn’t bring myself to polish it, find a photo, etc, until today.
Second to last or final voyage out?
Penultimate: bridesmaid celebrated faintly. Always announcing never announced. John the Baptist to Jesus the Messiah. Loved by writers For its erudition. Why this focus on opening act before The Headliner? Who decided this needed a word? Why mark the race's last mile?
Today we trot you out to perform yet again your ultimate function: forty-ninth of fifty, thus almost halfway. Thank you, you're done.
I feel bad because I’m breaking the chain for real today. I had planned to write a poem as we flew eastward, but I chose to finish Hamnet instead… and sleep. Then I thought, “I’ll dash it off at home.” We walked into a house without air-conditioning! 😲😰 It was 60 degF as we walked to the Seattle airport. We dropped into 85 degrees with over 70% humidity here in Raleigh, NC… And the house was the same.
I love the East especially the southeast of North Carolina where we landed, but I was raised in Eastern Washington where hot days didn’t carry that humidity and were balanced by cool nights. This was reinforced by our recent visit there. (Of course all the smoke from fires and the dry, dessicated grasses reminded me why I like the East. )
A bit trite and a bit short, but this will have to do today. An Irish stout has designs on my mind!
August 2026
Adrift, but found my course plotted without my ken, without approval. Yet when my course pointed me to where I'm now, I found this port, suited me just fine.
In another poem I’ll try to convey this weird feeling I have that a pretty decent vacation isn’t going that well. This moodiness infects me on quite a few vacations, and I joyfully welcome all the times I just seem to go with the flow and have a great time, despite inevitable setbacks. It seems enjoying yourself takes precedent to enjoying the vacation. Today, I’m just trying to capture today.
Gray whale tail off Yaquina Head, north of Newport, OR. August 2026.
Another paradisiacal day
surrounded by memories, good, bad, indifferent. golf, tantalizing money suck; couldn't do it now anyway. constant gray weather wearing her down, then wearing me down. whales! no, just rocks. but birds: familiar, strange, tiny, grand. trip's end trips up more often than not. "What do you want to do?" "I dunno. What do you?" Bumper-to-bumper others live out their dream while we duck into breweries. No dinner plans almost equals no dinner. "What should we do tomorrow?"
It’s…a poem. Conceived while driving 35mph around turns, barely speeding up on a short straightaway, then braking for the next set of chicanery.
Rumble Strip
Rumble, grumble, rumble strip. Tell me I've transgressed. Painted lines define my limits but frankly, I protest. Sometimes you hide between those lines, sometimes you sit right on them. We won't discuss your shoulder twin who keeps me on all roads. On this mountain highway, full of twists, of turns, it's not too likely I'll nod off, bored, but still you're stern. Worse than my car's lane-keeping notes, which shrilly scold just me, you warn each transgressing car so non-discriminately. I'll mention briefly how you blind when rain sits in your grooves: when puddles bounce bright sunshine into my eyes--so rude. In short, your presence seems quite useless on this twisting mountain road. Why don't you haunt our cities, and quit this useless scold.
colors add nothing to dim lighting dark wood panels evoking creepy scenes of disciplinary sessions. Spa-like ambiance collides with strict Catholic teachings. "how many days will you be staying with us?" Bars (plural)? Sure, tolerated then, now. Amoral 'cosmic travelers'? More problematic. Why wonder about your nightly bill when surrounded by such groovy wonderfulness?
This one’s a definite work in progress and likely an opening act for something much larger, perhaps joined to another couple I’ve written lately.
Looking SW at Vantage, WA. Look closely and maybe you can see the Columbia River. Perhaps you can see the bridge for I-90 across the bridge? Surely you can see it! It’s a half-mile long, right there in the middle of the photo. How about the ridges on the opposite side of the river? Photo unretouched. August 2026.
"Smoke 'em if you've got them," and baby, do we. Fires ravage more than brush, trees, meadows. Fires ravage lives, plans, communities. Where smoke lies, fires burn: why don't I see smoke in my mirror each morning? Where's smoke as I gaze on my love? Doesn't smoke envelop me when when I read or hear headlines? How can I see out of my car, encountering those who lack driving skills? How can we see our dawn when fires surround us? Our world's on fire, yet we bemoan smoke.
Nearing a week together, our band of 15 travelers, one guide (Jacky), and one bus driver (Janos), drove country lanes wide enough (maybe) for our medium-sized bus. Unfortunately, these were two-way lanes which couldn’t accommodate on oncoming car plus our bus. A lot of jockeying around occurred, leading many of us to marvel at the driving prowess of our driver. Guide Jacky asked us all to participate in a limerick contest. I did not win, a travesty I’m still wounded o’er, but I console myself that the judging was lax. (The winner claimed the top prize because he totally ignored the rhyme scheme of a limerick!)
R.O.C.K. in the ol’ U.K.
The Beatles had nothing on us Nor The Who with its Magic Bus. Led on by guide Jacky, We’ve grown rather wacky, As we’re driven by the good kind Janos!
A friend from the blogosphere is publishing 100 poems in 100 days. I’ve decided to at least try to do that, and I’m going to try to catch up with her by publishing multiple poems per day for a week or so. While in Scotland just about 30 days ago, riding along in a tour bus, I marveled at the ubiquitous sheep and the beautiful landscape out the window.
In Southern Scotland
Sheep dot grassy fields, Their sides shagging wool. Clouds scud through skies, Like inverted sheep, woolly sides down. Dark ones Sprinkle naturally holy water: Priests of nature, they Remind all—sheep, cows, Tourists in buses—of our Divine brotherhood.
A funny thing happened on the way to this post a week ago: all three monitors started blinking on and off rapidly for 20 seconds and then my video driver software said it had crashed. Since I thought I had installed it only two months previously, I swore and deleted said software… Not a good idea. After rebooting I had only one monitor functioning and it displayed smaller fonts/icons and a fuzzier image. Turns out I had only updated the driver a couple months before. Two days later I’m humming along with three glorious monitors again, but not enough time in each day to complete this post. Wherewith…
After experiencing Edinburgh, Scotland, and England’s Lake District on our recent tour of the United Kingdom, we headed toward Llandudno Bay, Wales. Just before we arrived, though, we took in the Bodnant Garden, a National Trust property near Conwy and Llandudno Bay. The five generations of one family developed it, and Henry McClaren donated it. I got that from Wikipedia mostly, and would recommend a quick tour over to that page because the photos capture it very well. It’s 80 acres present all sorts of habitat from well-manicured English garden to “nearly wild” and has exotic species like the American sequoia. (Hey, it’s exotic there.) We started walking in a summery rain shower but the sun soon overcame it; we regretted layering for rain as we sweated our way into a steep gully and back out.
The McClaren mansion. The family still lives there…on occasion. Bodnant Garden, Wales. June 2026.
Seemed to be a lot of locals enjoying a Sunday afternoon in the garden. Bodnant Garden, Wales. June 2026.
The couple above were gazing into the gully (when not gazing into each other’s eyes, I presume). If they had turned around they would have seen…
Bodnant Garden, Wales. June 2026.
The light varied. As we descended into the gully, cut by a fast-moving stream, it grew dark—not because the clouds had obscured the sun, but because the foliage had. As we walked along the stream, it got lighter. We found some old stone buildings, repurposed into a refreshment center. We however needed to head back to our bus and Llandudno.
all the voices in my head 