Long Oregon Poems
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April 6 Wagontire, Oregon
1973
In 1973, I went on a road trip
With my father
We left Berkeley to go to Yakima
Where my father had a summer cabin
He was a college professor
And had July and August off
And we spent the summers
Every summer from 1968 to 1978
Our whole dysfunctional family
Our annual road trip to hell and back
As we did not get along at all
We decided to drive through Eastern Oregon
Just my father and me
Just for the hell of it
The rest of the family was already there
My father and I shared a travel lust
One of the few things we shared
This was one of our best trips
We got along
Which was unusual
Normally our relationship
Was fraught
As we were so different
We left Klamath Falls
A real nothing burg in those days
And headed east along highway 395
As we entered the desert of eastern Oregon
We entered a different world
High mountain dessert
Almost no one on the road
Then we saw the sign
Wagontire Oregon
100 miles ahead
99 miles ahead
98 miles ahead
We counted down the signs
Miles after miles
As we drove into the gathering dusk
We speculated that Wagontire
Must be a giant truck stop
In the middle of no where
We pulled into the town
Nothing there but a gas station
Motel and café
We decided to stop
Last gas for 100 miles
According to the highway signs
In the morning
We chatted with the owner
He was the sheriff, the fire chief
The owner of the motel, gas station
The only business in town
And the only place open
For one hundred miles
I noticed a highway sign outside
Welcome to Wagontire, Oregon
Population 2 ½ humans 10 dogs, 50.000 sheep
I asked the Sherriff
Say who is the ½ human?
My idiot son!
And we left.
200 miles later
We finally left Eastern Oregon
2016
In 2016 my wife and I drove through Eastern Oregon
As part of our epic cross country trip
10,000 miles
31 states in three months
On the way from Medford to Yellowstone
We drove along highway 395
The signs for Wagontire was gone
And we drove through the town
The motel was abandoned
Nothing there at all
And that sign was gone too
I said I suppose the idiot son
Never took over the business
And we speculated about Wagontire
And all other nothing burgs
We drove through that summer
Heart of Trump’s America
True fly over country
Suicidal Ideation March 30th, 2022 linkedin...
to mein kampf insync with mine body dysmorphia
After reading articles
published within April 4/11 2022
of The Nation
I challenged the efficacy
taking prescription medication
categorized as SSRIs
and/or SNRIs.
Unpleasant side effects
such as earth shaking dreams
and/or especially hefty weight gain
linkedin with former
comprising my daily cocktail
of approved prescription medication
courtesy nurse practitioner.
Deliberation about courting death rooted
throughout mine psyche
fueling sinister chortle
at least since bout with anorexia nervosa,
but... maybe ginned blood,
sans umbilical cord transfused in utero aortal,
though long since recovered, the intractable,
haunting specter, sans grim reaper
intertwining within every fiber of this mortal
rooted, grounded deep, and branched out
into each nook and cranny portal.
Said notion provoked,
when made painfully aware
youngest daughter (aged twenty three)
plagued with similar thoughts,
damn genetics did maliciously engineer
clutching telephone while
seated at edge of chair
did apologetically, despairingly,
grievously... did air
pestilential, penitential, plenipotential... scare
re: distraction and understandable fear,
she might unwittingly plunge
into hopeless abysmal despair
falling prey into irrevocable
deathly hallows lair,
though kudos for her
from me, this sole Harris heir
to communicate, (albeit
hesitantly) into mine ear
suddenly wishing thy
Shayna Punim to be near,
but residing (about three hour drive
southeast of Portland, Oregon)
with my kid sister, attentive to welfare,
a sibling whose persona
doth show tender loving care
and concern, this papa
felt reassured there
would be every action taken
with sixth sense to beware
lest progeny exhibits
pointedly obvious lurching career
dramatic slide in tandem
with Old Rotten Gotham
into behavioral sink
emergency measures sibling
immediately would commandeer,
hence somewhat relieved thee dear
beloved progeny receptive to hear,
this dada expressed his unconditional love,
and grateful psychological intervention
offspring boldly did declare
indicative professional help volunteer
really asserted necessary to stave off
how dice throw of fate unfair
to said lass, whose demise,
would abruptly kill this sonneteer!
ON DAY 1 of Noel my sweetie gave to me a Bluejay in a Fir Tree!
ON DAY 2 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 2 Mourning Doves
And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree
ON DAY 3 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 3 Prairie Hens
2 Mourning Doves And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree
ON DAY 4 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 4 Red Rock Crabs
3 Prairie Hens 2 Mourning Doves And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree
ON DAY 5 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 5 NEW CRAB RINGS! 4 Red
Rock Crabs 3 Prairie Hens 2 Mourning Doves And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree
ON DAY 6 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 6 Brent Geese
5 NEW CRAB RINGS! 4 Red Rock Crabs 3 Prairie Hens 2 Mourning Doves
And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree
ON DAY 7 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 7 Tundra Swans
6 Brent Geese 5 NEW CRAB RINGS! 4 Red Rock Crabs 3 Prairie Hens
2 Mourning Doves And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree
ON DAY 8 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 8 Dairies Milking
7 Tundra Swans 6 Brent Geese 5 NEW CRAB RINGS! 4 Red Rock Crabs
3 Prairie Hens 2 Mourning Doves And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree
ON DAY 9 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 9 Bull Elk Dancing
8 Dairies Milking 7 Tundra Swans 6 Brent Geese 5 NEW CRAB RINGS!
4 Red Rock Crabs 3Prairie Hens 2 Mourning Doves And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree
ON DAY 10 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 10 Lambs a Leaping
9 Bull Elk Dancing 8 Dairies Milking 7 Tundra Swans 6 Brent Geese
5 NEW CRAB RINGS! 4 Red Rock Crabs 3 Prairie Hens
2 Mourning Doves And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree
ON DAY 11 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 11 Pipets Peeping 10 Leaping
Lambs 9 Bull Elk Dancing 8 Dairies Milking 7 Tundra Swans
6 Brent Geese 5 NEW CRAB RINGS! 4 Red Rock Crabs 3 Prairie Hens
2 Mourning Doves And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree
ON DAY 12 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 12 Canadian Lynx linking
11 Pipets Peeping 10 Leaping Lambs 9 Bull Elk Dancing 8 Dairies Milking
7 Tundra Swans 6 Brent Geese 5 NEW CRAB RINGS!
4 Red Rock Crabs 3 Prairie Hens 2 Mourning Doves
And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree!
(Continued from Part 1)
Transparent figures walk at a flirtatious pace
On world-class runways, with no expression on their face
Parading styles you can't afford in your possession
They are the ghostly models of the latest, greatest FASHION.
A millisecond blink, a click, some weird noise,
A virtual reality for all the girls and boys, and men and women,
From X-Box to the Web, from Lasik to Radiology -
At work, at school, at home,
Invade the blinks of the mind-boggling TECHNOLOGY.
Hard sharpened teeth are clutching at my feet
"You won't go far! You have deadlines to meet!
Go back to work, we hunger for your check.
Oh no, we don't really care that you broke your back."
The swollen lips repeat "You have a chance!
And all you need is years of education,
The right color of skin, and perfect credit-pay-back evidence.
We'll hire you if you're that certain kind,
Then close the firm and move so far you'll never find."
More faulty words are slipping from the tongues
"Don't worry, our brand won't hurt your lungs.
Enjoy yourself! (*at your own cost)"
You think you're cool, when sadly you are lost.
The "sharpened, swollen, slipping" are after you and me
They are the widely-opened mouth of the ECONOMY
Enormous brains stroll through historic halls
Preparing campaigns, false promises, ready for the brawls.
Deciding wars, neglecting harsh critiques
They are the brains of brainless POLITICS
A large behind sits comfy in its chair
It "covers" all, at all times, everywhere.
From Maine, to Oregon, to most southern tip of Texas
Sit one-half IRS and the other TAXES.
A sagging belly and a double chin,
A pair of dark circles and a droopy skin,
Decide to make a move and Go For It!
It's time to freshen up and tighten up a bit.
As they arrive at their first appointment
They're quickly greeted by awaiting disappointment
"You want to look younger? feel better? No, No, No!
Read through your policy, you fools, we are the HMO!"
*
On this, my friends, I'll go to sleep
I'm tired, time for counting sheep.
Just one more thing I'd like to add,
Last words just pondered in my head
The moral of the story is,
That if you want to live with ease,
Through all commotions, bring your sense of HUMOR
Just so that you, yourself, don't turn into an ugly tumor.
1999
© Copyright
enjoy the reed
now displayed as a satisfactory deed.
* * * * * *
A Senior Moment - written months ago commemorating
the graduation from a vaunted charter school
in Bend, Oregon of thy lovely youngest,
this papa could not attend -
geographical distance constituting the primary determinant.
* * * * * *
Valedictorian treads across makeshift platform
i.e. most likely auditorium stage marked
by hushed audience inhaling, notating,
and regaling gleeful lightness of buoyant feat
(but me Yeats heavy of heart) feted for 2017 Redmond
Enrichment Academy graduates, who attained,
a milestone vis a vis earning their
high school diploma, and ready to launch
bountiful daunting challenges, yet sure
footed each young gal and/or guy
will exude joy and sorrow upon grasping their
high school diploma aware a sound education
sent each on their own future path
while pomp and circumstances issues forth
by adroit musically talented underclass
* * * * * *
man, which emotional celebrated achievement
evoked by keynote student speaker,
but also underscored via that well worn mortar
board, linkedin, kickstarter, Joyus
tune (composed by Sir Edward Elgar –
subtitled March Number 1) acknowledging
cheers, eliciting grownups immense Kleenex
moistening overpowering quintessentially
simmering ululating wrenching yowling
as tassels flipped (maybe in conjunction with
a non twittering uber bird) to the left side
of the caparisoned newly anointed future
Dharma Bums, professionals and/or trades
persons momentarily stung with sadness
to depart favorite classmates and teachers
who voluntarily cosseted, ferried, and
* * * * * *
capitalone did flickr imperceptibly, kneaded
and leavened LivingSocial, and massaged MineCraft
outlook plenti full confidence, faith, and inherent
lettered oblations serve as snap chatting,
Canon Beach Oregon
Present Day
Silver rain wrapped her following fingers around Douglas Firs.
Ocean was the ballerina dancing.
Flash after flash she took pictures of nightfall landscapes while hanging upside down on her third story deck.
Suddenly to her haunted horror liquid landscapes froze.
Full moon traced Death's skull while his eyes floated as clouds and his ebony cloak saturated night.
Oh the sight!
Oh the sight!
Nightmare night!
She slipped into her home and hoped to be unseen for she knew what would transpire...
Death strutted towards her in his skeleton stride.
"Pinstripe mouse, my beloved Cassaro I have a mission for you. You are..."
Cassaro drank hot whiskey from her hidden flask.
"You drink too much cheese!"
"You need to polish your bones."
Death now reiterated, "Again, I have a..."
Cassaro ignored him and drank more. She placed the empty bottle on the counter.
"Now I desire steel cheese." She whipped her jade covered stiletto and climbed upon him with eye to eye contact.
"Go right ahead and de-claw me,"
"Oh Skeleton Cat..." she sighed.
She threw her knife down as if it was a dirty rag.
Death firmly stated, "Cassaro, you need your plethora of pills"
She languishing released herself from his bony frame. Then clasped the bottle and shards slid down the wall.
She screamed, "Let my mortality melt into mush! Let my skull sink into the afterlife sands!"
Death slammed his scythe into the carpet ground slashing everything in sight like an earthquake. He throws his ebony cape onto the wall. It became a screen television. Seething with fury he threatened her, "There are 20 children that will perish if you die!"
Happy laughter with smiling faces were the moat around her island heart. Tears rushed as a roaring waterfall down her face.
Death with his ruby halo recognized that she finally understood.
His skeleton frame filled with human flesh, climbing bone after bone.
A crew cut of bronze brown hair framed his forceful face.
He reached out his human hand to her.
She glanced into his amber eyes and immediately glaspsed it. The harmony between the two of them was in full regal reconciliation.
They both turned into steam and disappeared.
December 27th 2015
If you ever drive through our small Oregon Town
You won't help but notice the house that's run down
A man called Bill Disney lived there for ten years
When we learnt of his story it brought many tears.
He was covered in burn scars and walked with a limp
As kids we knew no better and called him the gimp
He rarely went out, sometimes stood at his front door
The only one that spoke to him was a girl at the store.
When folks in town died we'd always show respect
What happened at Bills service we didn't expect
Ten Vietnamese women stood by a general’s side
When the general told his story many of them cried.
"It happened in Vietnam in the year sixty five
These women standing here are lucky to be alive
An orphanage was on fire when Bills platoon arrived
Thanks to Bills heroic action everyone in it survived.
He rushed towards the entrance kicking down the door
And he kept going back in and bringing out more
Went back in one last time to check all was clear
So full of determination and he showed no fear.
The heat was so intense and the building ablaze
You could just see the outline through smoky haze
He finally came out and collapsed on the ground
With third degree burns that's what the medics found.
An honourable discharge and then he came here
And a medal of honour for the man with no fear
That rescue changed Bill he was never the same
People avoided him they should bow down in shame.
He was born in New York city but didn't go back
And settled down here to get his life back on track
He'd been missing for a week so the police called around
And got in touch with us when his medal they found ".
The general then added" Bill was one of the best"
And asked for volunteers to carry him to his rest
I looked around the church at all the hands in the air
Felt sad that when he needed help it just wasn't there.
Never judge a book by its cover my mother told me
I wish I had listened to her and helped Bill Disney
At his graveside seven soldiers fired shots in the air
A great shame it took his death for people to care.
Written 12 August 2019.
For bring a character to life poetry contest
Sponsored by Richard Lamoureux.
Every weekend,
for months we did work,
Never failing to have fun,
And taking our "beer break"
Months went by,
And as it got close,
We could see quite clearly,
Though better than most...
Playing 12 hours would
be a daunting task...
Is it possible,
That long we could last?
The closer we got,
The less likely it seemed,
I realised I had to act,
Called up some friends,
Did they want to add to
What we lacked?
Many musicians came to
play with us,
To check this out,
A success was a must...
But as we got right
before this big gig,
They all suddenly decided,
This wasn't gona go over big...
They hauled butt, and we were
Staring at each other,
Wondering what to do!
I called more musicians,
I'd played with quite a few...
Had another crew,
With but a week or two...
Of course they got cold feet,
We were flabberghasted,
Now what do we do?
At this juncture,
Cousin Charlie did seem,
More interested in PB&J sandwiches,
And watching TV by himself,
I lost my cool,
And said he was fired...
We'd play this damn gig,
Even but Billy and Me...
Now i was also,
at this time,
In another Band,
Grateful Dead kind...
Musicians were great,
But at this late date,
Joining us,
Would be a risky fate...
Yet some agreed to come,
We went full steam ahead...
The Show Must Go On!!
Just a few days,
before the big day...
A change in the plans...
Our sponsor did say...
They switched this to,
An all-day Battle Of The Bands!!!
Oh great, just what could one say,
They were gona have it,
Their own way...
It was promoted on local radio,
Handbills they did make,
We were the main attraction...
Of us fools they did seem to make....
A popular radio DJ
was hired as host...
Our new drummer suberb,
But knew not our material,
And was eager to retire
To some vegetable commune
In Oregon, on the West Coast...
Not what we wanted,
Not what we would plan,
But locked in by faith..
We'd do the best we can...
Before the gig,
A day or two,
I called many musicians,
And invited them
to this zoo...
Ads on the radio,
Could be our big night...
This nightmare of events..
Would give anyone stagefright...
continued...
Did Turn and Toss Like An Albatross
Last Sunday was first Sunday
for our new priest. Saw his
name on program which was
creased. Heard his sermon
and were pleasantly pleased.
During our dreams we did turn and toss;
What if new priest had been an albatross;
Great sermon gave;
Now is latest rave;
Are fortunate that him we came across.
Priest possessed a potent potential;
His sermons to hear were essential;
Further pried;
Never lied;
Practiced philosophy of existential.
By God new priest was properly wired;
Way up high, he really had been fired;
Temptation fought,
And we got caught;
Now know why we became so inspired.
When a new priest to our church came,
He and I would always think the same;
Is running rabbit,
Creature of habit;
Go ahead and give Trump all the blame.
That is what he kind of was saying in
his sermon without mentioning Trump's
name and claim to fame which was
such a shame.
Priest said that when we had talent
we were supposed to spread it all
around like I am doing. Why would
I want to be called a sinner for not
doing it. So am I sinning to be
sinning from the beginning or
out have they started thinning;
When God saved me from them
I will be winning.
How about this one
Once knew a benevolent Bedouin
Only drank water and ate gelatin;
Skinny did seam;
No ice cream;
So started looking like a skeleton.
For now know this should be enough;
Were well aware had been a big bluff,
Ideas did form;
Another storm;
Had naked thoughts when in the buff.
New priest came after his predecessor,
He sure did seem to be a sin stresser;
When pleased;
Sins squeezed;
Went out and bought a big compressor.
New vocal priest would play a violin;
Did so he could free himself from sin;
Saw new dawn;
Sins all gone;
Finished and said give me some skin.
Great Scott and then guten morgan;
From all around world and Oregon;
Keys did tickle,
While in pickle,
When we heard Marg play the organ.
Things have really become the pits,
So guess quietly should call it quits;
Hard to explain;
Brain did drain;
Horrible poems are everyone admits.
Jim Horn
Jim Horn
Pull back the covers and experience,
Just how fresh and crisp it is inside,
Discover a poet who once lived among us,
And built community,
Out of encouragement, fun and wondering
Like you, he pondered the mysteries of foreign flagged ships,
That leaked rust out of every orifice.
Listened intently to “The Ship Report” on KMUN Radio
Wondered about the crew stuck on these smoking hulks.
Who are they? Where did they come from and where will they go?
Between the covers, you will also find a poet so shy and self-effacing,
That he always wrote in long hand
And never jumped aboard the electronic train
Yet he wrote year after year,
Because he wanted to share himself with you.
There is always our river and the whole wide watershed.
All the creatures that live in her and in her shadows:
There are Woolly bears and the sun shining on a Jay,
Turning his wings and tail iridescent.
There are salmon, sea lions and pelicans all there between the covers.
Some of the covers are decades old,
But once inside, you are dazzled by the freshness of the voices.
Voices both familiar and strange,
Of people that couldn’t stop writing
Until their work gained the sheen of mastery.
Just as you might expect,
There are love poems of all sorts,
Hiding under the covers
Did you know that the Astoria Megler Bridge
Was once a grand conduit to a waiting heart?
There are many who appear only once,
Yet their work is still intimate and bold,
Deserving a pride of place,
Among the prolific and the stalwart
Because they found courage to claim a space
Poets praise elderberries of all colors
Among light, death, bees, and Rene Descartes
Wicked storms, flora, fauna, requiems, and musings.
But keep their distance from the poet doctor who used razor sharp knives.
Their contributions will be scanned and archived and available just the same.
Rain is hiding in plain sight in the collective bookshelves,
Of our homes and gathering places in all the communities
Of the Lower Columbia Pacific and the North Coast Oregon
Southwest Washington State
To be rediscovered in perpetuity.
Pull back the covers, dive in
And experience the Rain!