Trona   

 

Big bore twin

Pipes burning red

Steppenwolf adventure

Across black desert bed

Thrusting, youthful searching light

OrionŐs eternal numbing night

 

Tunneling through cut pitch black         

Menacing shadows pushed just back

Darkness swallowing the glaring past

Giving up the dayŐs ghostly cast

Restless rumbling nocturnal mole

Map dot Trona last ditch goal

 

Crystal light oasis lacking host

Valiant vapors for final coast  

Darkness hides lakeŐs ancient bed

Briny sand to pillow head

Chemical cathedral ashen snow

Escape early before shadows grow

 

Trona vanished vanishing point

Dawn hesitates to reveal this joint

Mojave Desert edge of the earth

Desperados only for a berth

Sunlight warms no soul to care

Death Valley looms on glassy air


 

 

San Joaquin Valley

 

Returning from the desert

I passed a big green road sign

It read 74 miles to Bakersfield

and 346 to Sacramento

 

It was like a warning

I watched it in the mirror

as it quickly melted

into the roadside haze

 

The road can be so cruel at times

The Great San Joaquin Valley

God, can I get home

by any other way?

 

 

 


 

 

 

Sidewalk Poet, San Francisco, CA

 

Hey, say yeah you.

You going about your special

San Francisco out and about day.

Say yeah to the sidewalk poetry vendor, a 

zany young poet selling fresh picked poems

at the farmers market to the shoppers and

tourists who have the will to surrender.

 

Why the hell walk

all the way up the hilly hill

to the hallowed pulp catacombs

of the City Lights poetry temple,

unless of course you are a

flappy old radical just jowling

for an old jowly Howl, when                                         

 

you can commission

a custom submission

of freshly blossomed verse

to suit your heart and suit your purse

by the impromptu poetry maestro

right in front of the new Ferry Building

down on the old Embarcadero.

 

Drop your veil and drop a buck or two

let the sidewalk poet pluck some aphorisms

and some rhymy rhymes just plucked for you

from his old Swiss clunky plunky typewriter

that still has the power to make your

day smile just a little bit brighter.

Say yeah to the Sidewalk Poet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

© Edward Ferri, Jr.

 

Biography:

 

Edward Ferri, Jr., grew up on a "non-profit" farm in the remote rolling hills of California where "Bailing wire, gumption, and spit" were the "i-Apps" of the day. He is a graduate of SJSU and his poetry has been published in Eskimo Pie, Lucidity Poetry Journal, Muddy River Poetry Review and Still Crazy Literary Magazine. He first realized the beauty of Denali in the rear view mirror. He was leaving to meet Carol and never returned.