A Road Poem
Elko to Salt Lake City
Neon Casino, stockman under big brims,
Carpet stains, the reek of nicotine.
Hookers propped up by slot machines. Whiskies
Clink. Drunken slurs
And curses. Turn tail and head back
Across the great basin. Fossil
Sage tracks, gray and blue black
Then bone white
Salt flats where
Persistent winds grind
The sharp edges of your soul
Smooth and clean.
I just returned from a weekend in Elko Nevada where I experienced the Cowboy Poetry Festival with a long time dear friend, Jim, and some new friends, Sue, Josef, and Lorna. I had some reservations as to what the festival would entail since I have some issues with all things trite, and cliche; but they were unwarranted. It was amazing. The people, poetry, music all fantastic. The tribe of cowboy poets ( their term) I met, and saw perform have a deep respect for the land, and their way of life, yet they are fierce and fearless when it comes to making their art. And they wear really beautiful cowboy hats. Thanks, Jim.
Another dear friend, John, has a long standing tradition of writing road poems when he is driving cross country, which he then shares in real time via text message to a large group of people. I am now honored to be on his list. I have decided to completely steal his idea and take up his call to infect people with poetry. Here's to hoping he doesn't mind.
The poems tend to be be short and quickly written (at least mine are, I'm new at this texting thing). I wrote this one on the drive from Elko to Salt Lake, headed to the airport. The drive was raucous, and distracting as Jim, Sue Josef and I listened to C.D.'s from the festival, while we talked and enjoyed the stark beauty of that landscape.
Thanks, John, for the poems and the idea.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011 at 11:09PM
Reader Comments (4)
love the poetry tributary.
Let the infection spread and lets hope there is no vaccine!
Elko will be calling you back Ned...
I just read
Who says you aren't a poet? I just read "Dormant" and would have to disagree with you.
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