Wide Open Land

wide open land, poetry

Wide open land

light brown weeds

drifting sand

rolling hills

barb wired posts

along side

single road

high voltage polls

crows flying landing on

the crackling wires

sturdy oaks swaying

no men walking

no man praying

blue is the sky

no clouds in sight

yellow is the raging sun

breeze blowing


the sweat on your face

there’s no houses

and no big city

no hustle and bustle

nothing but miles of

windy pretty pastures

of many late

suns going down

early with no pity

moon rising

clouds puffing and billowing

coyote howling

full moon over

mountains tall

sleeping bag rolled out


bonfire lit


wild animal call

burning orange

embers popping and rising

middle of the peaceful night

long and cold


the cracking sun

in the morn

warm and bold

rays paint clouds red

chipmunks turn their heads and chirp

bluebirds land on limbs

while single

cars pass fast

one at a time

every half hour or so

right past

plane flying pulling

his advertisement banner

saying something you’re supposed to read


it really doesn’t matter

as the

black and white

spots you

you hear his radio’s chatter


pulls over

boots stepping out

sees you’re an oldster

shiny badge

gun in holster

stern voice speaks

‘Sign posted No Camping here Sir’

heart skips a beat

I jump to my feet

‘Sure Officer I’ll be going’

‘Any ID?’


I repeat

he looks at it and then at me and gives it back

he walked away

didn’t write a ticket

got in his car

drove off

with red and blue lights flashing

shooting rooster tails of dirt

and pebbles crashing

and I’m thinkin’

in the midst of all this rough and ready


‘boy I could sure use a hot cup of coffee to warm my old aching bones

while I’m still kicking it.

Funny how when ya’ start thinkin’ you’re

some kind of special

that’s when

everything around you starts showing you you’re


yet somehow even though you only hear them at night

around the campfire

you know you are surrounded by all those friendly

but noisy crickets

and then you think sitting up on your bedroll

near the side of the road

still stretching, yawning and waking up


‘there are seven billion other people

pretty much like me roving around on this planet earth

doing whatever it is they do all day’

and all they want to be is


and free

like me

and then you realize

this big ole’ world would go on spinning just fine without you

that’s why it’s such a grand idea to go camping

all alone

because you know all too well that

 the enforcer

is never there to serve your sinning


is always in the background to

remind you to abide

by the rules

(and he’s not grinning)

being very careful not to mouth off

when he comes your way

no kidding

or he’s goanna whop you a couple times with his baton

on your rear side

when no one’s looking

(to help convince you to cooperate)

and say he’s goanna

slap a pair of those matching bracelets on

a bit too tightly

so it makes your forehead sweat


as he threatens to put you in a cage

as long as he damned well feels like

keeping you penned up

in the next population 20 town


where he’s the judge,

the jury and the mayor

all in one

that all twenty of them hail

as you find yourself

holding on to those cold bars of steel

shaking them

gritting your teeth

(trying to figure out a way to make that million dollar bail)

looking out the window

to the same moon

last night

wishing you were still

in your warm rolled out sleeping bag

laying on top

of all that

wide open land

keeping to yourself





(as you most often choose to do to avoid getting into any trouble with the law)


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