He'd been conceived in Flamborough, so his little sister assured him some eleven summers ago, which was a tad hard for Rocky to swallow, she was a whole eighteen months his junior and then some... and at that age, well... what did she know, she was only a kid, "on this very rock" River insisted, kicking her heels in delight, "next to this very rock pool" they were both sitting beside, "one sunny afternoon eleven years ago..." and that was how he came by the name of Rocky... she taunted as the rest of the colourful story unfolded... and that she had it all on the best possible authority... although the more she thought about it, had she meant concealed... she wasn't quite sure now, it was all so very confusing at her tender age but thought it sounded close enough not to matter too much and that she would just wait and see which way the wind blew.
        
     It was conceivably an ill wind that blew no one any good that day, especially if you were a boy and just happened to be sat by a rock pool next to your little sister...  Having just taken a well earned drink from a neighbouring rock pool, Sockeye the floppiest Springer Spaniel this side of the Pecos decided that he was going to dig a hole and that he would be digging it deep, then changed his mind mid-dig and decided to have a more down to earth back scratching wriggle instead... then promptly flopped over and slid into the hole... life was sweet.  Now covered from nose to tail with every species of deceased shore life usually found frequenting the high water mark Sockeye, in a blinding flash of canine inspiration judged it would be in everyone's best interest were he to have a really good shakedown which always appeared to go down well on these occasions... and give everyone a good peppering, just so they could see exactly what they'd been missing all their lives.  

     "A rock of all places, for goodness sakes..." and what's more, it was this rock, "Yuk..." he jumped up and wiped his palms on the back of his jeans in disgust, then onto his tee-shirt, then sat back down again and began exploring his left nostril in quiet contemplation before finally jambing his hands back into his pockets... what in Heaven's name had his parents been thinking of..? what on earth was his little sister talking about..? and more to the point, what in fact did conceived mean..?  these were the questions that were uppermost in Rocky's mind as he poked an exploratory stick into the rock pool...  a baby crab marooned by the tide scampered sideways beneath a large pebble and stuck one beady eye out at him... Rocky's sister, seemingly in a world of her own, much like the baby crab sat on the edge of the noteworthy rock kicking her heels, an innocent smile curled the corners of her mouth as she quietly hummed a little song of tuneful bliss to herself and considered what further mischief she could possibly pass her brother's way.

     Rocky tossed a piece of driftwood over his sisters shoulder at a nearby flock of seagulls, squabbling over what appeared to be a discarded bag of fish and chips... Sockeye, simply knowing that his little master wanted to play a game of fetch gambolled after the stick, his ears flying courageously in the still Summer air and burst, amid a melee of feathers into their midst, only to romp back moments later, the stick all but forgotten in the excitement but now proudly sporting the derelict bag of leftovers and the odd splash of guano, his tail lolloping magnificently from side to side... and for the moment at least, leaving the fratching seagulls wheeling noisily overhead and to go about their daily business without further interruption... as for Sockeye, it had been a no contest situation.

     After fourteen years of valiant endeavour his father... Red, so named for his vivid shock of wiry hair, was still engaged in man's eternal struggle to win his significant other half's approbation with the manful art of deck-chair assembly, beach barbeque and other significant gentlemanly pursuits, all while strutting his manly stuff, sporting top of the range beach wear in accordance with the social etiquette of the previous decade... his masculine paunch slumping gallantly atop his waistband...  

     After the same fourteen terms of domestic servitude and the same thirteen identically overlooked anniversary cards a certain someone had no intention of allowing another certain someone to forget so much as one of them... his better half, so she insisted would ride rough shod, administering her own brand of justice at every given opportunity, in much the same way you'd brandish a royal-flush on poker night... or better still, a loaded revolver... and that she personally carried the burden of every ill-fated card that Lady Luck had dealt strung about her neck like Adam's original sin on Judgement Day.  

     Red much preferred the shorter, more condensed name of Rock for his son, rather than the longer more protracted Rocky, as he struggled with the wood and canvas lounger badly trapping the mound of his thumb in the process, "Aaargh...!!!" plunging his throbbing hand deep into the cold, soothing rock-pool "aaah...!!!"   Still marooned by the tide, the baby crab stood poised and ready for action as it considered giving this latest intrusion a good offensive nip, then hang on spitefully as it gave Red the final withering once over with the same baleful eye it had successfully used earlier.

     Acknowledging her husbands misfortune with a perfunctory grunt as she rummaged in her beach-bag for the thermos, she refused to be drawn in where thumbs were concerned right now, after all with his DNA sequencing she was convinced he could probably grow a new one within the month... whilst Tina, well... she was just plain worn-out... but still rejoiced in telling anyone who cared to lend a sympathetic ear in her direction... and who in turn was more than happy to listen to the woes of others and went somewhere along the lines of... 'and had she heard any more of poor Mrs Dorey's lingering martyrdom recently..? you know, the downtrodden lady who lives in the next street but one... and how they would all miss her when she was gone... and how she couldn't wait...' and as rumour had it, neither could her husband...

      Feigning to be otherwise engaged, Tina... as her husband, now blowing frantically on his mangled thumb, stumbled backwards over the half erected lounger and with a spine jarring "Ooomph...!!!" landed squarely in Sockeye's subsiding earthworks... professed total disassociation with the entire fiasco as she plunged her nose even deeper into the overdue library book she'd purposely brought on holiday for just such an occasion, making it perfectly clear that she was a tourist and furthermore, planned to stick with the same itinerary once they returned home... and that while she was here, she did not under any circumstances wish to be disturbed, the notice was clearly displayed hanging from the door handle... but if anyone should, then whoever it was did so at their own peril... and she was keeping score... although a mangled thumb she luxuriated, with the same roguish smile curling the corners of her mouth as the one normally found playing around her daughter's... was equally as heart warming.

      All Tina wanted was one week of uninterrupted peace and quiet in Flamborough, preferably with a certain someone out from under her feet then spend what might pass for several undisturbed hours sitting quietly by the rock pool comparing notes on eye makeup and the feminine merits of pedicure with the little crab who, still marooned by the tide was now sat busily knitting four pairs of matching leg warmers in the cool, still water but that was only if that certain someone... a shrill  "AAaargh...!!!" somewhat more desperate than the first, ****** itself upon the as yet unaggressive afternoon as it gyrated across the warm Jurrasic rock and recoiled out to sea... "now where was I", twisting her book uppermost "oh yes..! someone was going to pay..." only now it was going to be sooner rather than later, but only if that certain someone didn't finish the seating arrangements before the Sun disappeared and drift into some backstreet tea-room before all the lemon cheesecake sold out, or was that she reflected, simply too much to ask.

     It was his Surname that Rock found so objectionable, or it had been right up until his little sister's enlightening disclosure, now it was both names Rocky disliked, it would have been far kinder had Rock Salmon been sandwiched between sliced bread and given to Sockeye... who's solemn duty, from the first mouthful to the very last, was to gaze up beseechingly from beneath the kitchen table  and devour anything that passed his way, even the postman had to be quick about his business or have his arm follow the mail through the letter box... then Sockeye would just smack his lips and help himself to seconds.  

     All Rocky's mum had thought about for the last fourteen years was seconds... every last solitary one of them since she'd suffered with an infection of matrimonial neurosis which had deprived her of common sense and her maiden name, from Chovey to that of Salmon and how with hindsight she should have taken an Aspirin instead, wedlock she asserted was everything the name claimed to be and was without doubt the worst move she'd ever made... and what's more was seen as a bad move in whoever's wedding album you just happened to be paying your condolences to.

     Rocky would never be so fortunate on that score, unlike his sister he was stuck with Salmon for good, his grandma-Ann by all accounts had been dead set against the union from word Go and saw his father as someone who would always be out of his depth in whatever rock pool he found himself in, swimming against the tide as it were, rather than going with the flow... and it appeared that Rocky, almost eleven years into a life sentence, was about to flounder in the same murky undertow as the rest of the Salmon family... only he couldn't swim.

     "There"! her husband exclaimed "all finished... better late than never eh', who fancies trying it"? his wife luxuriated over the words 'better late' and wondered whether her new earrings, her latest acquisition would complement formal mourning attire.  Red dusted off the palms of his hands with the certain knowledge of a job well done and cautiously took one step back, looking with justifiable pride at the outcome of his manly exertions of the last two hours, this was what holidays were all about he declared, one man pitted against insurmountable odds...  His wife meanwhile was getting to grips with more odds of her own than you could safely expect to shake a stick at... her husband being one of them.  

     Having gathered her offspring with the promise of verbal earache if they didn't... and finished packing the beach-bag, Tina finally located Sockeye peering out from the shade of an adjacent rock, wisps of feathers poked tellingly from the corners of his mouth, his tail beating mischievously on the shingle decided in one further blaze of canine brainstorming, as Tina attempted to slip his collar on that a game of tag would just about round the day off nicely... Tina then devoted the next ten minutes chasing him amid unrestrained salvo's of cheering from the rest of the family... then bid goodbye to the little crab who, still marooned by the tide waved a friendly pincer in return... and trusted that she wouldn't have too long to wait for the next rising tide back home, then she slid off the rock with a corrosive... "the deck-chair attendant would have shown you" she snapped "and don't forget the deposit when you take them back" then double checking that she landed squarely on his foot she marched past, her floral sun hat jammed resolutely on her head at what she considered a jaunty angle with her equally jaunty, angular children scrambling in hot pursuit, back in the direction of their lodgings.  

     "Woof "..? said a bewildered Sockeye, bringing everyone to an abrupt halt... and with paws the size of place-mats, he wasn't going anywhere he didn't want to... he hunkered down with a look of hurtful accusation on his face, "oh yes you are my lad"! said his mistress "I've met your sort before" and knew exactly where to place the toe of her dainty size-5 as Sockeye, digging his heals in even further created swathes of canine furrows up the beach, leaving her husband the unwitting holder and in sole possession of the overlooked guest-house keys... and somewhat resigned to clean up his own masculinity and dismantle the recently assembled, now redundant deck-chairs by himself... as for Tina, well... she'd had quite enough excitement for one day thank you very much.

     Morning register was always the worst he thought, as they trooped back along the shingle beach, Rocky making surprisingly good furrows of his own... but the rest of the class loved it and saw it as the highlight of each day... Rocky's form teacher, despite showing a brave face was always hard pressed to avoid bursting into hysterics every time she worked her way down the register to the letter 'S' and would attempt to bypass it altogether, jumping from 'R' to 'T' and just prayed that no one else had noticed, but it hadn't taken the class very long to point out her oversight and... "please Miss" they'd all chant "we haven't had Salmon all week" and while the rest of the class were having convulsive fits, Rocky would elbow the lad sat at the next desk in the ribs... and promptly get one hundred lines for his trouble... thank goodness it was school holidays.  Why couldn't they have been given respectable names like Seymour Legge, Rock wondered, who sat over by the window or perhaps the teachers pet, Anna Prentice or even, Robyn Banks at a pinch, but definitely not what they'd been given and certainly not Salmon, they were the most hilarious names he could imagine and if someone was looking down on them right now he thought... then they had a very unique sense of humour indeed and Rock said so... "why" his little sister asked sweetly, "what's wrong with River Salmon".

                                                      ­                         ...   ...   ...*

a work in progress*                                                        ­                                                              240­6

I woke up in a Spaghetti Western
Not sure how this happened to me
Standing on the dusty streets of Laredo
With six desperado's down the street

I gazed off to my left
As a tumbleweed went tumbling by
There was a dog howling in the distance
With an odd sheen to the western sky

Can't say I wasn't trigger happy
With my hand inching towards my gun
Still wondering how it is I appeared here
In this B-movie western

Women and children were running for cover
They knew what was soon to go down
Truth is you can expect nothing less
When you live in a Spaghetti Western town

Pecos Bill was the first to draw
As I shot him between the eyes
Want you to know I took no pleasure in
Watching the other five men die

As I rode off into the sunset
The credits behind me scrolled
How I woke up inside of this movie
Is a mystery I will never know

Pueblo

Stand still great adobe home stretch higher stacked high and long oh cliff dwelling ancient ones you
Passed as shadows you practiced the arts and religions of your people the Anasazi in my mind of all

Peoples you saw true visions of heaven and your building in the sides of cliffs are evidence of this nothing
Else that I know of captures the imagination and gives the look and feeling of heaven the only place that

Outweighs the southwest for mystery is the Sahara with the Southwest and its Mesas canyons plateaus
Then to have a people carve out homes and live in cliffs at night talk about a city of light built on a hill

Some are eight thousand feet straight up what a night spectacle reaching for miles the one in New
Mexico is in close proximity to the Cimarron and the Pecos rivers you can feel the sand stone on your

Hands and fingers feel it under your feet feel the baskets they made the pottery black and gray or white
These are small treasures even today their culture is amazing spellbinding at election they trot out the

Map part is red part is blue well the red of native Americans still reaches from coast to coast just
Reduced to pockets and sadly those are stories of overriding sadness that’s because we pigeon hole them if

they are given honor and recognition for their feats and exploits everyone would be better off
There isn’t any person that can’t teach others fine and grand things about life unless you are desert

People that have sold out your soul bought into garbage that a few are trying to enslave you by their
Twisting truth only to their advantage while you must lie at their feet and be their dogs that kind of

Thinking is best saved for fertilizer let your mind follow the eagle across the desert sky push beyond
Limitations turn defeat and obstacles that block you into new paths of opportunity the Anasazi survived

In a hostile environment of hot temperature low amounts of rainfall what did they do wisely they
Changed the course of small streams that were manageable for irrigation they didn’t defeat them selves

By trying it with rivers that were too big and they used their greatest available asset the winter snow
Some was natural run off that gathered into springs in other cases they manipulated nature for the

Benefit of everyone if you’re in harsh conditions and things are bleak he makes ways where there are no
Ways if you keep getting a beating instead of being loved and receiving a blessing there is an ancient

Cure that goes back farther than the Anasazi his name holds every need you will ever have for now and
always God bless you friend

The town was quiet when the Poet rode in
Not a soul was to be seen
A dog barked somewhere and a door banged noisily in the wind,
He wore a long grey coat flecked with dirt and mud
Two buttons had been left undone and there through the opening could be seen, his gun!
His eyes they had a tired look as if looking out wearily on the world
As he moved up the street, curtains parted and nervous little eyes peeped out
Suddenly a door opened and a woman rushed out across the street
Behind a barrel outside the hardware store, a small boy... hiding!
She began to scold him. "Ah Ma! he protested, I just wanted to get a good look at him, see him up close"
"Quiet!" she commanded, then turning toward the Poet while shielding the boy
She said defiantly "Their bad! Their wicked evil men!
But the Poet just kept on going, riding on as if she wasn't there
His eyes fixed straight ahead,
Finally he stopped outside the saloon, dismounted, tied his horse to the hitching Post
Went inside, the spurs of his boots clanking on the floor as he walked
"What'll it be Stranger ?" offered the Bartender
"Gimme a whiskey", said the Poet,"an Irish whiskey"
At a table playing cards, some heads turned
Then there were some excited whispers
"Look! it's the Bardo Kid, the Bardo Kid!!!"
"What has you around these parts Stranger ?" asked the Barkeep inquisitively
"I'm looking for someone", answered the Poet, "goes by the name of... Zardo!"
Another man drinking at the bar suddenly began to splutter
As if his drink had gone down the wrong way
Bardo eyed him suspiciously
"Don't look at me Bardo, I'm not Zardo, Me! I'm Vargo"
"Well Vargo", said Bardo, "you seen Zardo around ?"
"I ain't seen Zardo Bardo" said Vargo
Then he quickly drained his glass and hurriedly left
Bardo watched him go.
"Whose looking for Zardo ?" came a voice suddenly from the stairs and the shadows
It was a woman's voice. It was Miss Lilly, the Saloon Madam, a mature lady, still pretty but who'd seen better days
She came down the stairs out of the shadows
Walked right up to the Poet
But then almost losing her breath in surprise
Almost as if she'd just seen a ghost
She said with a strange note of familiarity "Bardo!!!"
The Poet too, seemed taken aback
"Lilly!" he said a bit shyly and took off his hat,
They both stood there looking at each other for a moment
"You've gotten older Bardo... more worn, I'd hardly know you"
"Been a long time... I guess" replied the Poet awkwardly,
"Where... what...whatever happened to you... Bardo ?.... I often wondered".
It was a very disarming question, for a moment the Poet seemed lost for words
"I...I've been away... far faraway"
Then gathering himself he said with a tinge of bitterness
"What happened. Life happened I guess, dealt me a bad hand, I suppose I was never gonna measure up. It was inevitable wasn't it... me and this world
I could only have turned to a Life of...a Life of Rhyme"
Bardo looked at Lilly standing there in her tawdrily ostentatious red Saloon dress
Showing a bit of cleavage
Grown slightly plump now, with some grey strands through her hair
And crowsfeet starting to appear around her eyes, he asked sadly
"What happened to you... Lilly ?
For a moment she looked like she was going to cry.
"O! I do a bit of singin' ..dancin'... deal cards, serve drinks, and do a whole lot of listenin' to lonely men and their troubles, try to cheer them up and get them to buy some more drink, keep the party going.  That's the game anyway" she admitted almost ashamedly. Then she continued. "We seen some good times though, didn't we, you and I, once when we were younger, for awhile there we ran young and wild and free, didn't we ?"
"Yea, young and wild...and... and stupid" answered Bardo with regret.
"What's this... what's this about Zardo ? asked Lilly smiling, "remember you always used to like that name".
"He's been saying things about me, running me down... damaging my reputation
Says he's faster than I am, that he could take me anytime, says I'm nothing but trouble, that I'm a no good lowdown critter, said he's gonna bring me in one day soon.
I was curious about him, thought I'd maybe like to meet this person".
"But he's only young" replied Lilly defending him, " he was just shooting off at the mouth, you know young people, their full of arrogance and foolish pride. You know how Life twists people and makes them into something their not".
Bardo looked at her closely "Do you know him ?"
Lilly hesitated a moment, then said almost tearfully " He's my son Bardo".
"I never knew you had a kid" said Bardo very surprised.
Lilly looked Bardo right in the eyes and then confided "He's our kid Bardo... you remember that time, that Summer we had together, that brief moment in time when we found each other and we thought this world was ours" .
"Why didn't you tell me, why didn't you send word, you could have reached me, I would have come", said Bardo.
"O! You'd be so proud of him Bardo, he grew up to be strong and straight and true
He has a job here as a young Deputy now".
Suddenly they heard a commotion outside and then the batwing doors of the Saloon swung open
And in strode a lean figure wearing a Tin Star
It was...it was Zardo!!!
A big crowd had formed behind him, they were egging him on
"So!" he said looking straight at Bardo,"we meet at last, if it isn't the Great, The Bardo Kid
The Fastest Pen in the West
The Fastest Rhyming Couplets this side of the Pecos
I'm taking you in...Old-timer
Heh! You don't look so tough,
I bet I could take you easy".
Lilly tried to intervene "No son, you've got it all wrong !
"Stay out of this Mom !" he warned coldly, a bit embarrassed seeing her there
Then almost as if he'd just realized something very important he said angrily to Bardo
"What are you doing talking to my Mom ?
Why you ***** rotten varmint".
Lilly screamed "Nooo!!! "
Zardo drew first but Bardo was quicker
Before Zardo had got his gun out, Bardo's had already cleared his holster
Lilly cried "Please Bardo don't hurt my boy!!"
Bardo let off a whole barrage of shots
Zardo only got off one solitary shot
But strangely... strangely it was Bardo who dropped to the floor
Zardo stood there shaken and dazed
"How can I still be alive?" he said,"he was way faster than I was. And he fired so many shots, he couldn't have missed them all'.
Suddenly the Bartender let out a shout and pointed his finger
"Look!" he said in amazement, Look!  Look at the wall behind you"
They all turned and there on the wall behind Zardo, drawn in bullets... the outline of a little heart.

He was baptized in whiskey
and gunsmoke aroma
Took up with a Cherokee woman
Quite friskey
Down in the Territory of Oklahoma
Tired of one too many killings
He took his side iron off
Wrapped it in its holster folded
Inside a gun oiled rag
Replaced it with his Mother's Bible
From within his saddle bag
Listened to that smart Indian woman
Who said he'd hung around the Territory
Too long
And if we don't skeedaddle
You'll be hangin' longer than you want
Smartest woman he'd ever known
She'd heard there's no law or religion
West of the Pecos and beyond
So they headed out to Texas
To preach the gospel to outlaws
****** and poor Mexican Catholics
Wrote off the Oklahoma Territory Baptists
Whose thick hides hide drunken sinners
Ridin' hard and fast her buckskin skirt
Above her thighs
Ridin' with a winner
Dark hair flowing behind
Ridin' hard to in his sight keep her
Such beauty that could stir the
***** and mind
Of even an old saddle preacher

r

A wicked road winds across lawless lands
West of the Pecos.
Where Texas turns to hell; a lone GTO
Scourges smug asphalt with a big block
Renegade ethos.

She’s runnin’ low on gas,
She’s been runnin’ way too fast--
And she’s burnin’ rich--

But that’s good.

Because in that combustive concoction,
Is reflected the nuts and bolts,
Ball peens, and crescent wrenches
Of a provocative, evocative, tool chest lending to
Precision tuned angst riddled verse.

She’s a flat black bad-*** *****,
An epic among American cars--
A ‘69 Judge--the 400 cubic inch
Ram-Air rhythms riffing redline stuff
From bookstores to bars.

I work a service station on this
Lonely road, in this inferno west of the Pecos.
In the distance, I hear a distinct sound,
The Judge’s 400 big block, roaring with that
Bruisin’ outlaw ethos.

Down this wicked road of the accepted norm
This Judge is soundin’ mighty good,
I know to have the coffee ready,
As I listen to the poetry chanting under the hood.

George told me,
"ain't how long you live,
but how you live that counts"
strange he had clung to this
rock for double eights

and that he swore he'd jump
from a plane when he hit ninety, without
a parachute if he chose

those long linoleum journeys
when I wheeled him from his room to the dining hall
were the best part of my day

a minimum wage slave,
ending my graveyard shift
watching one after another leave
a thousand different ways

he called me "brown sugar"
I took no offense, for colored girls get deaf to such
jabs before we get bras

I knew, from him,
it was a term of endearment
since his red blood had earned
him ****** names like "Charlie Chief"
and "Drunk ***** Joe"
long ago

he told me grabbing melons
along the Pecos beat cotton picking
on the prison farm, and I never asked
how he came to know either

he said his squaw
was dead some forty years
his own trail of tears since
would never dry

no children had lived
to become great warriors
or proud princesses, though
he never said why

when I would leave George
at his table, the end of our daily stroll
he would bless his eggs with words
I didn't know

those who shared the table
sat mute and chewed their cud
as I walked away, I would never fail
to wonder, if I could find
a plane and pilot

The desert moon looked down on us
From a sparkling starlit sky
Two lonely weary travelers
Just my Naomi and I

The empty Pecos Valley now
Down from the" Great Divide"
Time and again I would have quit
But for Naomi at my side

We looked in vain for natures' gifts
From the cruel and stubborn soil
Many fortunes made out there
Of gold of silver,of oil!

We worked all through the daylight hours
Beneath the blazin' sun
We loaded wagons,tired as hell
And always on the run

I noticed somethin' yesterday
Out the corner of my eye
Naomi staggers once or twice
And gave a sort of sigh

I realize this cannot go on
To do so would be cruel
I know it's kind of heartless but
I'll need another mule

The river at night
The river beside the cottonwoods
The river beneath the moon
The early spring night
The cold wet stones
The distant owl calling
Through ribbed branches;
All our dreams floating
Further down stream
All our dreams driftin away.

It's a retreat of raw meat when I'm quick on my feet like Pecos Pete
whose staph stang shells struck in sails shorn by sheep as they bleat