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Cthulu’s Revenge and Other Stories
Two Drops of Ink Publishes Recent Poems
Synchronized Chaos Publishes New Poems
Ink Pantry Publishes Recent Poems
Scarlet Leaf to Publish Recent Poems
Rambling Man, Where is your Home?
Where is my home? Where do I belong?
I really don’t know, always moving on to another place
Moved every other year it seems the last 45 years
Traveled to 49 states, 45 countries, drove across the U.S. six times
Lived in Berkeley, Yakima, Stockton, Seattle, Alexandria, DC, Oregon, Korea, Thailand, India, The Eastern Caribbean, and Spain
Where do I belong? Where is my home?
Neither here nor there, nowhere and everywhere
And so is that my rambling man’s fate
Never to really belong anywhere at all
Dark Dangerous Thoughts
An old man wakes up
Confronting the dark dangerous thoughts
The demons of the night
That haunt his dreams
And his life
He looks out at the dawning sun
And his sleeping wife
And realizes that it will be all right
And dismisses the demons of the night
Back to their caves in his mind
And he gets up
To take the dawning day
In Search of America
Hitchhiking Tales
When I was young and foolish
Broke and stubborn
I hitchhiked across the USA
Started in Salt Lake City
Where my greyhound bus pass
Was stolen
The station manager
Could have helped me
But refused to do so
Threaten to call the cops
When I grabbed my bags
Without the stolen tags
I said
Go ahead
But I am so out of here
Wondered about Salt Lake City
Went to a bar
Found I had to buy my booze
Next door
And they would mix it for me
Had to order food too
After a bloody Mary
And a burger
I walked about town
Saw the Mormon Temple
Finally about 3 pm
It was time to hit the road
Did not look back
Ended up in Cody Wyoming
Got a room shower
Steak beer
Using my rapidly depleted cash
Spent 25 dollars
Money really went far
Back in those days
A band of professional
Communist agitators
Gave me a ride
To Des Moines
Lots of weed, booze
And politics later
Got off the road
Slept outside
Next day
A beautiful woman
Drove me to near Chicago
In a red mustang
Might have been
The girl in the song
Took it easy
Digging her vibe
She invited home
But was not sure
If her estranged husband
Would welcome me
So I being foolish
And inexperienced with women
Did not go to her place
And always regretted
That I had lost
My chance that day
Then on to Chicago
Several rides later
Visited friends
Hit the road again
A series of uneventful rides
With truckers
And others
And a week later
I ended in New York City
Slept along the way
In cars
In truck stops
In highway rest stops
Always moving
Always going
None stop talking
And lots of free weed
And beer
And conversation
One more memorable ride
Occurred outside Albany
On my return to Chicago
A middle age creepy looking man
Picked me up
In a brand new Cadillac
He was he said a dynamite deliverer
For the Mafia
Went to various places
To blow up shit
He hated a lot of people
Particularly hippies from California
And Jewish people
Looking at me to confirm
That I was both
I told him that I lived in New York
And had never been to California
And although I might look Jewish
As I what was called back in the day
A “Jewfro”
I was not Jewish
Many years later I discovered
That I am indeed part Jewish
But then I did not know
And I felt a bit of strategic information
Might keep me alive
Then I realized that he was just jiving with me
And we relaxed
And he pulled out some weed
And beer
And we mellowed out
But I believe that he really was with the mob
Perhaps not a dynamite dealer
A real made Italian made mafia member
By Chicago
I had enough
I called my Dad
Told him what had happened
Wanted a ticket home
And he sent me a ticket
And 500 dollars
And I went home
I told him I would tell him
My tales someday
But never did
I learned so much
About my fellow Americans
And the strange vibe
That was 1975
And now it is too late
But I wanted to finally
Tell the world
Of my hitchhiking tales
In search of America 1975
Bus Rides In America’s Underbelly
I am a bus rider
That makes me unusual
For a white male
From an upper middle class family
Our people are not bus riders
Though some are subway riders
Bus riders are other people
The poor, minorities, immigrants
People who don’t drive
Because they are blind
Or have a DUI
And in my case
I don’t drive
Because I have bad vision
And bad coordination
Just never got the hang
Of the whole driving thing
Fortunately for me
My wife does the driving
But I still take the bus
From time to time
I rode the AC buses in Berkeley
As a child
Line 67, line 51, line 43 F bus
Rode them long before BART came along
And afterwards as well
As an adult seldom rode the bus
But when I did so
I was always impressed
By the sheer diversity
Of the bus riding property
Hundreds of languages
All sorts of sexual orientation
Some were white
Most were not
Most of my fellow passengers
Were nice enough
Some were friendly
And some were lost
In their own thoughts
And a few
Were scary looking dudes
With the look
Of someone who had done time
And were capable of more violence
I also rode the bus
In Seattle as a graduate student
A lot of fellow UW students
And the usual immigrants
Minorities etc
And some white people
Commuting
And in DC
Over the years
I rode a lot of buses
Mostly to and from the metro
But I got to know
And love the DC buses as well
I also took the greyhound bus
Across the country
Several times over the years
All over the U.S.
From Bay Area to Stockton
From Bay Area to Clear Lake
From Bay area to NYC
NYC to DC
All over the USA
Taking the Greyhound
Was always an adventure
Met a lot of interesting people
As people on long distant bus rides
Tend to open up and talk
To pass the time away
Overseas I took the bus
All over
In India, in Barbados
In Spain and in Korea
The Korean buses
For many years
Were difficult for foreign visitors
As the signs were all in Korean
Most have signs
Now in English, Chinese and Korean
And are much more foreigner friendly
Riding the bus
In America
Allows one access
To the underbelly of American society
The poor, the marginalized
The immigrant communities
That many middle-class white people
Just never see
And for that reason
I am glad
That I am a bus rider
Notes from the Author :
Based on my experiences riding the bus all over the world from 1968 to 2018.