I Need A Ticket To Idaho
Just got a surprise from a far
something good but unexpected.
I’ve waited for so long, for it.
Now it’s finally happened for real.
But there’s one small catch
I need a ticket to Idaho
and some to Seattle.
Then it’s on to Portland
I need a ticket to Idaho
I have to leave tomorrow
and be at the bookstore the next day
Then leave for Seattle- would you like
To come along?
A nineteen-year-old boy
from Wallace
Idaho
who had, until this present time
never set foot beyond the city limits
or had a drink,
or kissed a girl;
stood in a sunlit
steamy
Asian field
and plunged his bayonet
deep into the heart
of a fellow human being.
Because he was asked to,
told to,
forced to,
pressured to.
The boy would later
step gently
on to a landmine
eviscerating
the lower half of his body;
and as his intestines
spilled onto the foreign land,
his lingering glazing eyes
stared
questioningly
into the slowly dimming light.
For the very briefest moment in time
two peoples were told to hate
to kill
as others had before
as others will do again.
For fifteen long years Idaho stayed
Like a rich tapestry laid
From Boise Mountains warm glow
To the Treasure Valley below
Memories now ghostly with edges frayed
We're goin' out to Idaho where the potatoes grow
honey we're leavin' quite soon
but if you call it quits then I've had my chips
and like the wolf I'll be a-howlin' at the moon
I'm over this Sunshine State yeah I can hardly wait
baby we're leaving at noon
but if you say 'No way!' and you wanna stay
like the wolf I'll be a-howlin' at the moon
if we don't go to Idaho where the potatoes grow
darlin' don't know what I'll do
I can't stand the strain it's drivin' me insane
and like the wolf I'm a-howlin' at the moon
if we load the luggage in the car
and hit the road it ain't that far
no it ain't so far to go
we'll be there before you know
and I won't be a-howlin' at the moon
please don't let me down don't turn this dream around
'cause you don't need to hear me
howlin' like the wolf a-howlin' at the moon
sweet deer feeding
black bears thieving
blue sky stooping
to bless the forest
canyons yawning
salmon spawning
pine trees reaching
to caress the clouds
wolf packs singing
eagles winging
Clasping talons
in mating dance
Wheat fields stretching
snowy hills
cold mountain streams
spawning fishermen
serpentine Snake
proves its name
winding, turning
through deepest gorges
Always ancient
Always new
Timeless beauty,
view upon view
Heal my heart
I give it now
and I'll sing your beauty,
this I vow
Coeur d'Alene, Heart of the Awl,
gem of the north,
you tamed my hatred of this desert state
and gave me sunlight sparkling on
blue lakes under scented pines.
Don Ho was always in trouble
For blowing a tiny bubble
When Ida was born
His cheeks went unshorn
The egg on his face was stubble
If you ask just about anyone in the know,
they will tell you the best potatoes come from Idaho.
That is a state located in the Pacific Northwest.
Their underground tubers are undoubtedly the best.
Whether you bake them, boil them, or fry,
they have that special flavor nobody can deny.
The state has potatoes that nobody else can grow.
Whether you go to Boise, Meridian, Twin Falls, or Pocatello,
you will find the best potatoes grow in Idaho.
There once lived a singer from Idaho
But her notes were hard to hear and quite low
Tried another approach
By hiring a voice coach
The coach gave her money back and said go
7-15-19
Syllables 10,10,6,6,10
Contest: State Limerick Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Kevin Shaw
I muddle through the day
like an old tire being
dragged out of a muddy pond.
Words and days come and go -
an expression fumbles
out of my mouth.
Just another day of tediousness
and exaggerations.
I would ask you to come
with me but I know
you'd never go back
to Idaho -
days upon days of snow
buckling the power lines
and rooftops.
I muddle through...
A lady once, passed gas in Idaho
To the guy behind her she made a big show
With a bit of wit,
She said, "Hey, stop it"
He said, "Okay, tell me which way did it go?"
My faithful friend from Boise, Idaho
Another so true, where to find one, I dunno
He talks a strange lingo
I think hard and then bingo
The “words” he creates make sense, well sorto
Not Iowa---Idaho
Not Ohio---I-DA-HO
That's a very old joke, you know,
and it's still not funny.
No, I hate skiing
And mountain biking
No, not corn. Potatoes
And Mormons
Yes, it really IS a state. Look it up.
What's there?
Endless desert
What's there?
Nothing
Nothing but me.
Slate sky
streaked with a painter's acid dream
caresses the mountains, bleeding on their peaks.
Cloud curtains
lower, then rise, on an ever-changing
psychedelic happening,
but
fracturing fingers
of darkness pierce the canvas,
draining the colors,
drawing the curtains closed.
07/2015
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