POEM - Havasupai

I.

The morning came early

On the road out of Phoenix

Heading north in groggy darkness

Crammed to full in a 12 passenger van

That was not made for comfort

I had talked Keith and Dave into coming

Though they didn’t need much

We only pulled a spot every few years

Heading down into the canyon

Was an opportunity you took

Whenever you had the chance

As lonely as I-17 was pre-dawn

Interstate 40 was a ghost road

Built on the rubble of Route 66

The old road still popped up

As we turned off  I-40 in Seligman

The sun was still young

When we made the parking lot

Stood on the edge of the canyon

Looked down at the switchbacks

Felt the breeze rush out of the canyon

An easy path down to the floor

That would be the final torture

When we dragged ourselves out

Three days and many memories later

II.

Dad invited me to join the hike

It had been a year since his surgery

He was doing well and felt good

This was his return to real hiking

His last big effort was Picacho Peak

Just a week before he got detained

Stuck in the hospital for a bypass

I took my pack over the night before

I had packed very light

My recent hikes had been educational

I’d taken useless items

            And paid the price each time

I wanted to enjoy this hike

What I paid the price for this time

Was a failure to communicate

Not on my part, but with my father

He was still not 100%

Thought it might be taxing on him

To carry a full pack the whole way

So I carried his excess burdens

Which I discovered at the bottom

After ten miles and two blisters

The size of half-dollars

Chunked out of both heels

III.

The canyon was beyond gorgeous

My busted up feet and weary back

Disappeared in the clear turquoise waters

The peace of languishing in nature

For two full days of exploring

By the night of the 2nd day

Some of the kids were done

They wanted to hike out at night

Sleep in the car instead of on dirt

Keith and I went along

Volunteered to prevent a tragedy

Ended up only getting lost once

Made it nearly all the way out

Before the night and exhaustion won

Gave up and slept on a huge flat rock

Six body bags in a row

Zipped up over our heads

To thwart the incessant mosquitos

That whispered discouragement

In ceaseless mocking buzzes

POEM - Eureka! We’re Stuck

Over the river and through the woods

Almost to grandmothers house we go

But the storm closed the road

So we got to crash on the floor

Overnight in the YMCA

It's the chance you take

Driving from Portland to LA

In the end of December

We were lucky it wasn't worse

When we did finally get out

We saw other cars buried in snow banks

But that night we were warm and safe

Unable to find or afford a hotel

Hanging out with a few hundred others

All us have-nots waylaid  together

For us it was already a last ditch trip

We were close to broke

Like we usually were back then

In the student days

I may have been very young

But I knew that we didn't have much

Still, we seemed to make it

Either on charity or pity

And we were able to see family

A couple times a year

Even if half the time it was a debate

Whether our car ran on gas

Or the tank was filled with prayers

I'm not sure Ford got the miles we did

Running on fumes at the test track

But we would get there somehow

To the promise of food and shelter

Some good talk and entertainment

A couple of bucks for the drive home

And a bag full of snacks when we left

As the morning came at the Y

So did word the roads would open

We drove around Eureka

To try and breathe fresh air

Shake off the claustrophobia

Then went out to the highway

To get in line and wait

It was still another couple hours

So we got out and played on the highway

The snow not so bad here

Though we would soon see the pass

Crowded with snow

With barely a lane or two open

As we drove under clouds dark as night

I watched the endless mounds of snow

Saw evidence of less fortunate travelers

Those abandoned cars half hid

Stuck in my head and wrapped up my mind

As a ghost dance beat

Chased us out of the mountains

Snow-blind and chilled to the soul

We found refuge in the City of Angels

From those frozen ghost of Christmas

Stuck back up in the mountains

And lost on the streets of Eureka

POEM - The Peugeot Diaries

When we built our home in Tucson

The whole project was a family affair

Uncle Kim came down to design it

A two story structure

Based on the Roman Cross style

Uncle Ron then took over as contractor

I spent hours of my free time

Cleaning up construction clutter

By summer I was ready for a break

We were in the finishing stages

Not everyone could get away

So my sister and I were sent

To be representatives for the Masons

At the Steadman family reunion

This year it was Flaming Gorge

At the cabin great grandpa had built

Uncle Kim had started driving the Peugeot

That grandpa had bought on a whim

Actually a better fit for my uncle

He spoke French like a native

I think the car knew it too

We drove off feeling a little older

Trusted to run off by ourselves

Have a little more freedom

Than the rest of our cousins

The first leg landed us in Flagstaff

To dine at Little America

Sitting in the corner booth

I tried to get the mustard out of the bottle

Forgot to tighten the lid

Cassie ended up covered in yellow

Kim started to question volunteering

Cleaned up and fed we headed north

Made it to the Utah border

Crashed at the first motel we could find

The morning light revealed too much

The melted ice from the night before

Left a nasty gray film in the ice bucket

We survived, but just barely

The rest of the trip was less eventful

We made our way through tons of music

Listened to Suzanne Vega a few times

Got to Flaming Gorge

Arrived in the middle of the night

Stunned by the brightness of the Milky Way

So thick you could barely find a space

That didn’t have a star flickering away

Enjoyed the tubing and the cousins

Grandparents, aunts and uncles

Games around the table

Talking away the night

And everything else a family reunion is

Went a different way home to avoid the motel

Rode shotgun nearly the whole way

Made it almost all the way back to Tucson

Before I argued once too often

Said something mean

Got banished to the back seat

Kim might not have known it

But that was a record for us

Normally we didn’t make it out of town

Before Cassie and I got yelled at

POEM - A Little Traveling Music

What’s your favorite song to sing?

To belt out loud while traveling

The tune you play inside your car

When driving around both near and far

I must take a stand

There are certain things that must be

Driving is nothing

If there are no tunes

There has got to be music

When we were younger it was hard

Sometimes on the open road

The radio just doesn’t work

And we weren’t fancy enough for 8-track

So we would sing

Whatever we could remember

For as long as we could stand it

Tons of Peter, Paul and Mary

            And the obligatory camp songs

That pore old cowboy

            Sure got stomped on the head a lot

I even made up new lines

New awful ways for him to die

When the tape player came

Things got better

I spent hours recording albums

Mixing the songs

Creating the mix tapes

A little Simon and Garfunkel here

Some Blood, Sweat and Tears over there

Carol King, Sgt. Peppers, and The Beach Boys

All added to the sounds of traveling

Then I went to scout camp

With kids much more knowledgeable

In the ways of Rock and Roll

I discovered the Mighty Led Zepplin

Learned what a guitar was capable of

Why drums are the heartbeat of rock

Understood how a few notes

Could inspire a road trip

As “Ramble On” reached my ears

Got into my subconscious

It made “because it’s there”

A good enough reason

And still I have my music

Wherever I go the radio is a must

So I can catch a good song

Feel the rhythm in my soul

Sing along at the top of my lungs

Breath deep and let the chorus fly

POEM - Look! Venusian Star Ships! They’re Everywhere!

In those days we drove at night

It was the easiest way

Made the trip feel shorter

At least for some of us

Dad would come home from work

Throw some stuff in the car

Then disappear into the bedroom

While we played ourselves to sleep

Somewhere in the middle of the night

We did an assisted sleep walk

From our beds to our assigned seats

Packed into a Pinto station wagon

With a variety of pillows and blankets

Allowing each of us to sleep

In a nearly upright position

It was exciting

Like we were sneaking out

Escaping under the cover of darkness

I would settle into my spot

Nod in and out as we freed ourselves

From the familiar streets of town

Leaving the city lights behind

Once the headlights were alone

With the dark of the highway closing in

I would slowly awake

Just one eye, and then the other

Watch my mom as she gazed ahead

Or made conversation with dad

And then messed with the AM radio

Looking for a station they could stand

I would then take up my favorite spot

Kneeling forward between the front seats

Selfishly enjoying our time together

While my younger siblings slept on behind us

One night the radio picked up a call-in show

With a wide open format

Any crazy idea was fine

Just as long as someone called in

Filled the airwaves with something fantastic

The woman’s voice we heard was sincere

She spoke of  the coming alien invasion

Even warned us where to look

You know when you see a big cloud

            With a very dark bottom

                        Just sort of hanging out by itself?

Those are Venusian Star Ships

                        They’re here planning out an invasion!

As the sun began to rise to our left

A large solitary cloud came into view

We warily watched its ominous hovering

Now understanding its true nature

The lonesome Venusian sentinel

Sent back a stream of reconnaissance

Reported a single brown vehicle below

            Five human occupants: living

                        147 insect passengers: deceased

Heading in a south by southwest direction

Average speed  of 65 miles per hour

            No threat detected

                        Abduction not requested at present

POEM - Short Trip, Long Journey

It was the second call in a month

To wake us early in the morning

To tell us it was too late

Or it would be soon

This was a trip I didn’t want

Driving the twenty or so miles

Knowing the end was near

Listening to the radio

Only to hear the demo version

Of “Bridge Over Troubled Water”

The simple notes lifting the lyrics

Hefting them into the air

To pierce me to my core

It was good the freeway was empty

That I didn’t have to obey the rules

I was distracted

Caught up in the song

In the thoughts from the day before

I had been up to the hospital

Had just seen dad sitting there

The surgery would be in the morning

His second open heart in five years

There was concern

But he was young and strong

At least that’s what we thought

He told me we only had a few minutes

His brother was on his way

But we should talk why we had the time

Uncle Ron never showed up

We talked for over an hour

Then it was time to go

Not that I had to be anywhere

It was just time

Someone else needed their moment

Needed that time with dad

The time they would need

For comfort in the coming days

It was his last gift to me

As I was leaving we prayed together

He offered the words

Simple and pure

A comfort for me, not for himself

Not for his need but mine

I made the trip home

All the while pleading to the heavens

Against something I already understood

That’s not enough! That’s not enough . . .

Someone else knew better

Had let me know the truth

Even if I didn’t want to hear it

It turned out he did leave

It was all just too much

The diabetes was too advanced

His heart was too weak

He went under and never came out

I held my mother later that day

As the woman who never cried

Sob uncontrollably into my shoulder

I thought back to my last trip

To be with dad

As he held my hand at his bedside

He was leading me

Like he had my whole life

Holding the hand of his child

On a treacherous path

Making me steady

So I could carry on

POEM - Delivering the Sabbath

Another Sunday morning

Overcast like it always is

I awake to the sounds of stirring

I am not the first one up

He is cooking breakfast

Like he does on a Sunday

Mother is sleeping in

She enjoys the days when he cooks

Enjoys the sounds he makes

Humming to himself

A bit of a hymn

A stanza of the latest hit

Something from a musical

Maybe “The Impossible Dream”

Daydreaming for a moment

He has become his hero

A modern Don Quixote

Brandishing his spatula

Against pancake and egg alike

When he catches site of me he stops

He has a smile for me

We are going somewhere today, son

            Just you and me for a little drive.

Would you like to go to the mountains?

What? No church? Why?

Church isn’t always in a building

            God’s creations testify of Him

A cryptic fortune forgotten

In syrup drenched breakfast

But I got the gist of the rest

We were going to the mountains

Going there instead of church

Just dad and I on an errand

On the way I learned the mission

We were going to services

With the girls at camp

We were to bring a message

Break bread and pour water

Impart of the holy sacrament

It was an important task

Disguised in playing hooky

As we drove up the mountain

The car hugged the road

The clouds sunk below us

We slowly ascended with the just rising sun

Greeted by its sultry morning glow

We were joined in this moment

By a graceful local denizen

A deer sprung from the woods

Raced along beside the car

For a moment

Then a little longer

Tension and wonder balanced

On the tensing knuckles at the wheel

Then just as suddenly it turned

Back to the forest

We both would live another day

To see the sun from above the clouds

To sit beside a babbling brook

To hear the whispers of sacred nature

And offer a silent amen to their prayers

POEM - Nuclear Reaction

A light rain fell over Portland

Overcast with spots of light

What Oregonians call a nice day

You could almost dry out

On a day as nice as this

I was only six or seven

But I knew today was special

A group of teenagers from church

Were under my dad’s direction

Heading out of Gresham

To the remote town of Rainier

On the shores of the Columbia River

Our route hug the river as we headed north

A meandering route through hills and valleys

Every twisting turn exhilarating

I knew where we were going

But I didn’t really know what it meant

Dad called it the Trojan Nuclear Power Plant

It was the big thing at the time

We even learned about it in school

Safe, clean, efficient nuclear power

Was the tag line we were taught

The plant had a tour

Full of interesting facts

And smiling happy faces

Bathed in glorious nuclear powered light

What I remember most were big displays

And tacky red and orange everything

From the carpet to the walls to the tour guides

We looked around until our eyes hurt

Got our recommended dose of radiation

Got back in the cars

Let our eyes adjust

To colors actually found in nature

Then headed back in the direction of home

On the way home I was rewarded

With riding in the other car

So I could talk to my dad

On the cool CB radio

The radio was fun for a few minutes

But being allowed a solo run

Left a bigger impression

A couple years later I would have a poster

That my dad brought home from work

Of a black and white skull

With nuclear cooling towers for eyes

A left field memento of the trip

Fueling my mushrooming cynicism

POEM - Along for the Ride

Away from home can be many things

Sometimes it is a vacation

Ours is more often the journey

Vacations are fine

But getting there is what’s fun

That’s when things can really happen

When plans can explode

Rearrange and settle

Into something wonderfully unexpected

Even if it is bad it is memorable

Vacations are put in storage

Journeys create us

When I was young we drove

Everywhere we went was driving

When it was just my sister and I

My parents would drive just to drive

Or to see something just because

I would tag along where dad went

Be it campouts or youth trips

Church duties or wanderlust

He would make excuses to bring me

Instead of reasons I shouldn’t

It is an enduring idea

I still drive just to drive

Remember reasons to bring company

Make excuses why someone should come

Instead of reasons why they shouldn’t

Forget my worries on the road behind

Enjoy the adventure of the road ahead

On Saturday we went to lunch

All seven of us

Passed at least a hundred places

Never stopped once

Finally made it to the place

35 miles away in Columbia

Every mile a revelation

Good feelings coursed just by being out

During lunch Claire got sick

We didn’t get to go to the movies

Just went back home

A trip some would call a waste

That thought never crossed our minds

It was fun and it was deserved

The morning chores had been done willingly

The afternoon would be better

Because we had spent time traveling

Seeing the world over again

Catching a glimpse in a different light

Loving what happens along the way

When you have no particular place to go

POEM - Call of the Taco Salad

The presence of the woven wood bowl

Meant one of two things

We were popping popcorn

Or it was taco salad for dinner

More often it was taco salad

A dish filled with satisfaction

A dish known to trigger a chain reaction

A theoretical impossibility

That occurred with eerie regularity

It was a given in my family

That once this dish was prepared

A psychic link was activated

Between us and my uncle’s family

And without ever a word of invitation

They would miraculously appear

I have tried to recreate the phenomenon

Hoping that it would generate visitors

That the right combination

Would draw the unsuspecting

On a journey to our door

To share hospitality and sociality

My experiments have born no fruit

For years I thought something was missing

I had become expert at picking ingredients

The nice, crisp head of lettuce

Expertly seasoned ground beef

Sliced olives and dark red kidney beans

Perfectly ripe avocados

A healthy accent of grated cheddar

And I even would include the tomatoes

Of course I would never forget

Everyone’s favorite ingredient

Doritos corn chips

Nacho flavored these days

Which I thought might be the key

Part of the mystery of what was wrong

But then one day hope was restored

The retro fad had come to my aid

The Doritos Taco flavor returned

It made a big difference

Completed the taste

Utterly failed to generate visitors

I still love this meal

Even able to get my fill

Now that I am older

Now that I can make all that I want

Now that last minute visitors

Have ceased invading

Effectively consuming the food

That should have been my thirds

In the end I’m glad it doesn't work

I’m pretty sure I know why

I even called my mom the other day

Told her to take my name off the old wood bowl

Give it to one of my siblings

Who doesn't like taco salad

As much as I do!

POEM - Possum Magic

There are several ways to explain

Many stories that are tied

To a simple word

Possum

Picture a car full of kids

For clarity, five children

Two adults and luggage

In a Pinto station wagon

Driving down the coast

From Portland to SoCal

Well into day two

Of a journey best left to airplanes

In the middle of a summer swelter

Nothing to cool but the old 6/60 method

Or if luck had chanced by

A cool cup of water with ice

Or the shade of a sibling

None of these permanent or cooling

Just a state of less hot

Tempers rise in such conditions

Eruptions fester and burst

With slightest provocation

A bead of sweat

An awkward glance

And the screaming doth commence

It is at such times magic is invoked

As the mystical incantation is spoke

1-2-3 . . . POSSUM!

With abrupt wonder

All the raging cacophony stops

The screams and fists rest

The spines of all snap straight

Lips button shut

And eyes and ears lock into surveillance mode

As one and all join in the game

A game that should not work

But somehow it does

Somehow everyone plays along

At least for a moment

At least long enough to calm down

And let the possum work its magic