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The Whistle-Stop Girl of Montana
The gentle swaying of the coach of the train was lulling me to sleep. I had spent the night at Union Station in Chicago waiting for the early morning departure of the Great Northern, bound for Seattle. It was a long lay-over and I was tired. After watching the western suburbs of the Windy City…
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Disconnected
The late afternoon was growing warmer and more humid with each passing hour. But it was the nature of late July in Saratoga Springs. The south winds blew and with it came the heat and the dampness from the far off ocean. The summer was waning but not giving up yet to the crisp autumn…
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Epitaphs: Part III
What Think You? Well, here’s another epitaph for you to ponder. This particular one is very special to me. It is located in Evergreen Cemetery, Owego, NY. This is the town where I grew up. The cemetery was designed (like many in the 19th century) to be a place to wander, reflect or just admire…
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The Girls of the Corn
The scene was something like the photographs of Dust Bowl Oklahoma. But there was so much current reality around me, it made a jarring juxtaposition. Fifty feet behind me the SUVs, the pick-ups and the Greyhound size RVs roared past on the paved road. A few feet in front of me was a nearly extinct…
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I Am Ice
I was one of the uncountable snow flakes that fell that day. Time was the same, it snowed, it rained, drizzle fell, fog burned off and the sunshine broke through the clouds. Before I fell to earth I had my last glimpse of the sun. Then all darkened with clouds and more snow. The sun…
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Now Arriving…
[“Oh, yes, I remember it well.” -Maurice Chevalier] I do remember it. How often does a boy get his first kiss (and not from Mom) on an afternoon, after a remedial math class taught by a nun? My guess is that it’s not that often. However, that ‘kiss’ has to happen somewhere, sometime in a…
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What Will Be Written About You?
“My Childhood days bring back sad reflections Of happy days so long ago. My boyhood friends and my own relations. Have all passed on like the melting snow.” (Traditional.) As recorded by Van Morrison. I have a gift for you. It isn’t wrapped in gilded paper and it does not have a magenta ribbon tied…
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18. Drunken Steps
I’m sharing this poem because I think it says a zillion things in only a few words..like a true poem should.
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patrickjegan 