Bobcat 1d

It's 12am and I'm 20 feet up its 32 degrees am I brave enough?
The misty water from the falls sprinkle my face
Not a soul around just my skateboard and I to fill this space

One light illuminating the rocks below as the water dances upon them
I'm getting butterflies just thinking about cutting in
A man walks by does he know my intent?
I begin to panic, this consuming paranoia is it just in my head?

I can see my breath, is it getting colder?
I bet the water is freezing, what if I just break my shoulder?
All the scenarios are depleting my course of action and I can feel my feet back off the ledge
Maybe tonight's not the night, maybe I should sleep it off instead

I grab my skateboard and turn around
What I didn't notice was the ice on the ground
My knee buckles from under me and the concrete meets my head
I start bleeding, panicing and pleading

It's 12:07am and it's my turn to dance
In 1.6 seconds I made my way to the dance floor
I thought this is what I wanted but no, not anymore

Warm blood covers my face while the ice water fills my lungs
I should stop fighting it I should accept this is where I belong
I close my eyes and see your face
I put on a smile and meet my fate

The mileage added up to just a grand
Not a lot for 20 days,
No crossing of a dateline
Or a continent’s divide.

But still that world seemed somewhat foreign
and I saw streams of amazing things,
That were echoes of my teenage self,
As different now as I was then.

A hazy forest, dark and damp
Where the mist turned into fairy snow
And we walked on in muddy shoes
To learn the mysteries of falling water.

A midas treasure of wave-borne findings
Spilling from a cavernous hall
Pieces of so many lives found
Floating on the morning tide.

Stories of a Nippon sailor’s life
From things that got thrown overboard
Images of fishing boats
In round glass balls and floats of cork.

Carve the circle with a line
That led to a reunion of
The ones that I grew up beside
But never quite was welcomed in.

A rounding up of recollections
Shared at tables set for eight
Where those left out still don’t fit in
And bonhomie was the music played.

To the ocean of my childhood days
Waves that tell me who I am
And fill up all the empty spaces
City life drained out of me.

A shining tower with ninety steps
That wound around like pizza slices
And tripped me up to taste my blood
As balsa airplanes spiraled to the ground.

No time for wounding on the schedule
Shedding blood but never tears
The leader of the band played on
Admiring a Tsunami boat

Come all the way from far Japan
With cargo of the local fish
Still swimming in the unspilled sea.
A miracle born from true disaster.

Another beach, not like my own
A warmer, calmer span of sand
With jutting rocks in shallow surf
That dare you out to climb them.

Drawn once more to city lights
And the grassy slope where mother lies
There were other gardens to enjoy and
And contrivances with just two wheels.

How quickly we grew shuttered in-
Just two days in big city life,
The restaurants and funny shows
Still told us it was time to go.

Longing for the beauty of the Gorge
We were met by smoke and blackened stumps
And exits blocked to waterfalls, ravaged
By the fires of hell, and ugly now for 50 years.

A teenage boy with fireworks and no sense
Destroyed the loveliest drive on earth
And bragged to all his awestruck friends
That all the news stories were about him.

With fingers crossed at Mount Rainier,
The sunny weather turned to slush and
Fell two inches in an hour.  I ate fresh snow
Off branches as we hiked, and froze my tongue.

We wore the heavy coats we almost didn’t bring
And cheered when sunshine took the snow away
And we could walk in forests once again
On trails we never knew were there.

A wonderland of cast off parts and metal bits
Became giraffes, seahorses and other marvels
In the hands of a roadside welding artist
Who sold a giant piece to my home town.

A visit with a sister who shared my youth but not my soul
Who grew one way and I another
Leaving not a thing in common for us
Except the love that comes from blood.

No way to avoid the final city
Hellish place of one way streets
Endless detours and construction
Pay all you own to park two hours.

Yet there was the comedy and
Segways once again to ride.
A troll under a hulking bridge and
Poor Rapunzel in the tower.

Passing up the tourist musts,
Visited in journeys past, we saw
The small and quirky things
That make a foreign city yours.

Twenty days, almost no rain
Unheard of in that rainy clime
A lot of sun, some cloudy skies
A bit of snow to frost the cake.

Twenty days to drive a circle
On the map of who I am
And where I came from
To bring it all back here with me.

To this place so vastly different
I wonder how I found a way
To fit inside this giant tumbler
And plant a seed that actually grew

A would-artist long ago
I wonder how I mixed the paint
To make a life so changed, in colors
Blended from Seattle’s soils.

Painted on a Portland canvas
With a brush of Longview bristles
Wetted with Pacific water
To present my image to the world.

Should anyone be curious about our route, here it is:  Fly to Seattle, pick up car, Ferry to Kingston on Olympic Peninsula, drive to Hurricane Ridge and Sol Duk.  To Forks (No interewst in Twilight locations) to Beachcomber museum, and Hoh Rainforest.  Aberdeen (skipped Curt Cobin park) and Longview.  Class reunion.  To Long Beach  (the only REAL beach on the west coast), To astoria to climb the tower (and fall).  Maritime museum and that tsunami boat.  Seaside, Canon and Red beach.  Tillamook and the cheese factory.  Portland.  Mom's grave.  The poor mutilated Columbia Gorge, to Umatilla.  Then through Yakima and Ruchland to Mt. Rainer Nat. Park.
To Puyallup (properly pronounced pew-al'-up) to see sister and on to Seattle for the last 3 days, then home.
OMG - I've just done a boring vacation letter.  Be glad you aren't on my Christmas newsletter list !!

More okay things?
No anger?
I need more laughter.

An acid trip disaster,
left him mentally shattered
for a few hours.

Everything is dirty.
Take a shower!
I can't go in that giant sink.
Then go to sleep!

More okay things?
We could move planets with this.
No anger.
More okay things!?

Daniel Magner 2017

Some time ago one went on a little trip
To check out the internet poetry landscape
What one saw remained in the mind's tape
A movie reel which had a compelling grip
Poet's comments were of such cliquish old rock
Like being an exclusive remarking club
Outsider verses left out of their hub
The scenery verily stunned one with much shock
One so wishes one had not gone away
A dream of venturing did disenchant
The roads lead to (an in house favouring)
After sighting the terrain's mode of sway
Taking a journey one may well recant
These vistas weren't enjoyable savouring

Lets go to psychobabble
just like they do, on the boob
talking in circles, on the circumference
just like, we're gaming noobs

Spiraling down the staircase
I swear, it's not a happy trip
slipping on the oily steps
mayhap ending up, a crip

It's ok, and quite alright
my necktie, way to loose
broken for these many years
with head stuck into
the frayed, defective noose

Sometimes when tripping, ya hope your neck gets broke, just as you realize, that it's a really bad idea ;D

When President Donald Trump praised Nambia,
I decided that I HAD TO go there.
I had always wanted to visit Africa
And this was my chance,
But when my flight touched down
At Namby Pamby International Airport,
Nothing was as it seems.
The whole experience seemed like a big Acid Trip.
The first clerk I encountered was  only about 5 feet tall,
But her Afro Hairstyle was about 4 feet in circumference.
I asked her, "M'am, could you please direct me"
"To the areas where Foreigners come for Sexual Tourism?"
"I came to Africa to have a good time."
She directed me to another kiosk,
"You'll have to speak with that Russian Lady over there."
So, I walked over to the Blonde Russian Lady.
"My name is Svetlana."
"How can I help you, sir?" she asked.
"I would like to experience Sex here in Nambia " I said.
"Well," Svetlana responded.
"You'll have to take the bus to Mar-a-Lago."
"Mar-a-Lago?" I thought that was in Florida....not Africa,
I asked Svetlana, feeling bewildered.
"Mar-a-Lago is just the name for Trump's Franchise, dear," Svetlana told me.
"Mar-a-Lago resorts are all over the world,"
"And they all offer sexual services!" she beamed enthusiastically.
"Oh, I see," I said.
"Okay, I'll take the bus over there."
So, I paid Svetlana for the Bus Ticket to Mar-A-Lago.
The Scenery out the Window was AMAZING.
It was just like  the Strawberry Fields in the Beatles song.
There was so much diversity of Wildlife!
There were lots of moles
As well as jackals, vultures and hyenas.
I even saw a carnivorous baboon
Attack a genetically modified moose!
You never see things like that on Animal Planet!
That's for sure!
However, when I arrived at the Mar-a-Lago Brothel,
I felt so disappointed
Their services had become so popular that people
Were flocking like Pilgrims on a Haj
To Nambia for sex.
You had to take a NUMBER
And wait for your NUMBER  to be called
Just like those stupid Government Offices back in Denver!
I didn't like it!
I felt too impatient.
I wanted to experience  sex in Nambia,
But I didn't have the time for these sorts of shenanigans!
I boarded an airplane back to Colorado
And went back Home.

Dan Sep 17

On a Sunday afternoon he sits with doubt
about the girl with long brown hair.
A couple months ago, when it all began, it seemed so potent.
The messages they would send to each other were endless.
He saw her last before leaving on his trip for two weeks,
it all seemed perfect, but, upon his return she’d lost interest.
She won’t agree to see him or return his messages with witty replies
as she once did.
Two weeks is too long to go without seeing someone at the very beginning
of the kindling. The fire was not yet ready to stand alone, it’s since gone out.
Perhaps someone else was there as he traveled the country,
an escape to see the world, something he’d only heard of in books.
At some point in your life you have to go for it, buckle up,
drink a coffee at 4AM,
see the sunrise through your windshield -
no matter how the world is going to look when you get back.

five of them rode in the car,
the boyfriend, the girlfriend
the friend of the boyfriend,
the friend of the girlfriend
and the friend of the girlfriend's friend

the car pulled over to the side of road
in front of the high school's school yard
across the street from an apartment complex

the friend of the girlfriend's friend got out of the car,
crossed the street
and knocked on the door of one of the apartments
she might have rang the doorbell,

either way, the door was answered
by the sixth person,
gay, teenage, and racist
wore a lot of make-up and had referred to the girlfriend
as little brown girl everytime he had talked to the girlfriend's friend
on the phone, at school, after school
"little brown girl"
he kept on calling her that
said he could never be friends with "little brown girl"

"too brown"
he said

if he didn't already have his make-up on
when he answered the door
then he was putting it on
while the girlfriend waited in the car
with the boyfriend, the boyfriend's friend
and the girlfriend's friend

when the boyfriend, the girlfriend,
and the boyfriend's friend got out of the car
and hid behind the bushes on the sides of the highschool
the friend of the girlfriend's friend walked him out
to the front of the highschool
and the boyfriend, girlfriend, and boyfriend's friend
all ran out from behind the bushes

he certainly had all his make-up on then,

the friend of the girlfriend's friend ran
and the girlfriend's friend waited in the car
lying down in the backseat

there were some screams as she put her fingers to her ears
screams she happily forgot about later

Peter Balkus Sep 12

It's like discovering a virgin island,
inhabited by people who you thought never exist.
It's like finding a city buried by time,
hidden away from present tense.

A busker in front of the Abbey sings
"There must be some way outta here",
and every step I take along the glorious church,
every breath of a air I taste standing on Pulteney Bridge,
every second of the peaceful silence my soul fills up with
tells me
that there's no way out of here.


Mars Aug 30

A destination has been pinned.
I've been thrown
To the wind.
My body is my ship.
My sail catches time.
Ahead at a steady clip,
This is what they call my prime.
My new year starts in September.
For all I've learned,
I do remember.
But caution has been thrown.
And where it lands, Ill be missing.
There are seeds to be sown.
The stars Ill soon be kissing.
My thoughts, I forgot to pack.
An absent mind, my ticket to ride.
A new pulse.
A new tack.
A new love for life
Sits cozy at my side.
Im in the wind.
My fate, safely stowed
So I sit back and grin
Behind the wheel, on the road
On my trip around the sun

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