Thanksgiving Delay

It seemed a family tradition
When we were growing up
To spend Thanksgiving
Together with the relatives,
But no matter how much work
Went into the preparations,
The coordinative art
Of getting the turkey done
Simultaneously with the rest of dinner
Was never mastered
And every Thanksgiving
We ritually grumbled about
Those hours of starvation
Between the time
Dinner was promised
And when we actually feasted.

Teaching and Eagle to Fly

It is a part
Of being human,
I suppose,
The desire
To be taken care of,
To have all
Our worldly needs fulfilled.
As a parent of a child
We may want to
Be there for them,
To spoil them,
To give them
All the finest things,
Yet as they grow older
We want them to discover
The strengths
They never knew they had,
The ability to succeed,
The tenacity to overcome,
The independence of spirit
That comes with knowing
That they can
Do it on their own.
It is an age old question,
How do we teach
An eagle to fly?
If they never had to stretch
Their wings,
Would they learn to soar?
We can cultivate a chicken
Used to having everything provided,
Or we can set them free
So that they discover
The pleasure of being an eagle.

Survivor

I counted myself a survivor,
Having overcome
A multitude of challenges,
Faced countless foes,
And fought many a battle,
In my struggle to get by.

The trail was windy and torturous
With my very existence
Seemingly in question
At every turn I took,
And I proceed on the dimmest hope
Of some purpose to my toil.

Yet as I look back at the path I took
It becomes apparent to me
That my struggle to survive
Was a figment of my mind,
That I had valiantly overcome
That which was never there.

Selecting a Crew

Imagine if you can
The game
Of choosing a crew
To sail with you
Halfway around the world.
Who would you pick
To share your adventure?
Would you look for people
Who knew how to sail?
Would you look for those
With a passion for the sea?
Would you look for dreamers
Drifting along with the breeze?
The Diamonds had accumulated
A crew of local characters,
None of whom
Had much experience under sail.
The most capable member
Was a guy we called Sugar Baer
Who had spent time in the Navy
On a submarine under the sea
Which qualified him as captain.
Both of the Diamond’s
Teenage daughters
Recruited surfers from Oahu
To keep them company
Throughout the trip.
There was also the Diamond’s
Seven year old son.
The crew also included a lawyer
Trying to make his escape.
My brother, Lee, and I
Picked up the two surfers
Hitchhiking on the Kona coast,
And they told us about the Araner
And the fact that they
Were looking for a crew.
We stopped briefly
At my aunt’s house
On the way to the boat
And she was invited too.
She had dreamed
Of sailing ships
And adventures at sea
For almost all her 69 years,
And this was a dream come true.
The Diamonds had decided
To charge a fee for passage
Although that was
Clearlyly in violation
Of Coast Guard regulations
For a wooden boat
Of that size,
But illegality
Didn’t seem to
Matter to anyone,
Least of all to my aunt.
She was glad to pay
And very excited
About the opportunity.
We rounded out the crew
With a couple of hippie guys
Who happened along
And a girl who
Was recruited as a cook.
There were fifteen of us in all
When we finally set sail.
That wasn’t exactly the mix
My brother and I,
Being teenagagers ourselves
Had hoped for though.
When we were told
More crew members were needed,
We commenced a search
For the two most beautiful
Companions we could find
To accompany us
On the voyage.
We had finally
Narrowed it down
After a couple days
Of extensive searching
To two rather exquisite
Local island girls,
And their parents
Had even agreed
To let them go.
As luck would have it,
The boat was taken
Out for a test sail,
And disappeared
For three days,
And the Coast Guard
Couldn’t even find them,
So the parents backed out,
And wisely, I must admit,
Wouldn’t let
Their teenage daughters
Sail with us.
Sei and I were
Momentarily broken hearted
But only for
A moment or two.
Once we got underway,
We were flat out excited.

Round Two

We had put in a hard day’s work
On a construction project
And it was time to call it a day.
After each of us had showered
The four of us headed off to eat.
We had spent the day
Building an appetite
And were ready for a meal.
There just happened to be
A little Mexican seafood place
Not to far away
That caught our fancy.
Each of us decided to order
The special of the house
And were treated to the most incredible
Jumbo shrimp dinner
Any of us had ever had.
Cooked in garlic butter,
Those shrimp were better
Than any lobster I ever tasted
And they were almost as big.
It was probably a combination
Of us being hungry,
The camaraderie of a group of friends,
The ambience of the place
And the succulent taste of the shrimp,
But we looked at each other
And decided to order again
Against our better judgement.
We savored the first round
But we really had to work
To finish that second round
And it somehow didn’t taste
Nearly as good as the first.
No matter how good the meal
I’ll never to do that again.

Road Rage Transformed

He arrived at work each day
Tense and irritable,
Consumed by the loathing
Of the traffic he encountered
And the multitudes of people
Who were in his way.

Traffic jams
And roadway congestion
Were enough to drive him crazy,
Filling him with rage
At all the roadway strangers
Who hogged his lane.

How dare those others
Impede his progress
And interfere with
Where he wanted to go?
What right have they
To slow him down?

It always seemed
That no matter
Which lane he chose,
The other lanes
Moved faster,
Frustrating him completely.

Invariably there was someone,
Irritatingly slow
At responding
Once the traffic light
Turned green,
Leaving him seething.

Often he would arrive
Muttering under his breath
Cursing some highway person
Who probably
Didn’t even know
The he existed.

Then one day
He decided to relax
And take his time,
To observe the others on the road
And noticed how tense
They all seemed to be.

He realized that
He was seeing himself
In the faces of the others,
And gained awareness
Of just how ridiculous
He had been acting.

Suddenly there were
Millions of people
He no longer had to hate,
And he actually
Began to enjoy
Drive back and forth to work.

Look at all the
Free entertainment he had,
Why there was a road show
Every morning,
And every night
A human comedy played out.

Relationship on the Rocks

It is a modern day tragedy
Two people,
Once so much in love,
Now committed enemies.

Why when such a short time ago
The flames of passion roared
And they looked so perfect together,
Do they hate each other now?

Each one having given up
On the other,
Seeks solace where they can,
But not with each other.

With tens of thousands spent,
Her attorney against him
And his attorney against her,
No one wins.

They fight over everything
And they fight over nothing,
With each becoming
A prisoner of war.

Can the love that was
Ever be found again
After each has declared it dead,
When hope is all but gone?

Does anyone know how
To sound a truce,
To stop the war
And to mend the wounds?

Are these two belligerents
The same two who vowed
To love, honor and trust
Until death do us part?

A sense of futility reins
That nothing can be done,
That no one cares,
That it was doomed from the start.

No matter how intransigent
Either may be,
No matter how wide the rift created,
Miracles may happen!

The sense of powerlessness felt
Does not at all reflect
Their ability to metamorphose
Their relationship to each other.

No matter their history,
No matter how horrific their past,
No matter what has been said or done,
A new relationship can be created.

The gift of being human
Is that once great enemies
Can learn to love one another again
And not be haunted by their past.

Any relationship on the rocks
Can miraculously be transformed
So that once bitter rivals
Can again be lovers and friends.

After all is said and done
Perhaps the sweetest victory of their war
Will be the moment they both
Decide to fire their divorce attorneys!

Pumpkin Heads

It is a Halloween ritual,
Carving ghoulish faces
In round headed pumpkins.
It is actually
A competitive sport,
And there seems
No end to the creativity
Of those proficient
With a knife.
Every year they get
More radical than the last.
Those pumpkin heads
Make quite a show
Late at night
With a candle burning inside,
But if grotesque is your thing,
Then let them sit a week or so
As the faces slowly distort
And take on an aged glare.
That is when the faces
Really become hideous!

Productivity

I noticed that I am
Super effective some days
And on other days
It seems that
I might as well have stayed in bed
For all that I accomplish.

I always felt better
When I got more done
Than when I didn’t,
So I was naturally curious
Why one day should be
So radically different than another.

I observed that some people
Consistently produce results
No matter the circumstances
Day in and day out,
And I wanted to be
More like them.

The idea that there might be
Some natural biorhythm
Or inner clock
That controlled when I am on
And when I am not
Was not the answer I wanted.

It was obvious
There are many factors
That have an impact on
How much I get done
And the effort it takes to do it,
And most are within my control.

When I am sleepy or tired,
Feeling irritable or overwhelmed,
Sick or indifferent to outcome,
Wishing I was doing something else
Or otherwise resisting what I am doing,
Productivity is clearly a challenge.

I learned to be aware
Of my inner state,
Not to push myself beyond endurance,
To clear my head
And manage my attitude
Before tackling each task.

I accepted the responsibility
Of mastering me,
Realizing that if productivity is to be,
It is up to me,
That I can be incredibly effective
If I choose to be.

The Perfect Shot

It fascinated me
Watching the professional
Photographer work
As she captured the flavor of
My daughter’s wedding.

She was good at what she did,
Angling for just the right pose,
Ever conscious of the lighting,
Trying to capture a sense
Of the spirit of the occasion.

Being an amateur photographer myself,
I noted each shot she took,
How she composed that picture
And the artistry exercised
In deciding which picture to shoot.

It always seemed, however
That the perfect shot occurred
The moment after
The photograph was snapped,
The instant everyone relaxed.

It amused me to think
That had a false flash been used
To fool the posing subjects,
An entirely different set of pictures
Would have resulted.

I wonder if the rigor
Of photographing weddings
As a professional
Would dim the passion I have
For capturing the illusive smile.

Palmyra Island

After enduring the Doldurms
And a month and a half at sea,
We were more than ready for
The sight of land.
The funny thing was
That we sailed
Most of the way around the island
Before we were sure
Which one it was.
The sextant tended to be
A somewhat dubious tool
For figuring out
Where we were
In the hands of
Sugar Baer and Doug Diamond.
The two could never quite agree
On where they thought we were.
As it turned out
We were at the island of Palmyra.
It is a tropical island
Just north of the equator
And south of Hawaii.
It was uninhabited then,
But the huts of those
Who once lived there
Could readily be seen
Amongst the palm trees
There along the shore.
It looked like
A fantastic place to explore
Especially with all the wrecks
Of ocean ships
That could be seen
Captured in its harbor.
In fact,
We almost added
One more ship to the toll
When we ran aground
About two miles off shore.
Apparently we missed the channel
Coming in and ended up
Stuck on a coral reef.
My brother and I
Wanted to go explore the island
And check out
Some of the other ship wrecks,
And actually started out
In that precarious little dingy
We jokingly called a lifeboat.
It became immediately clear,
However,
That there were a few problems
With that innocent plan.
First of all
The chances of making it to shore
Through the pounding surf
Were highly unlikely
In that unstable boat.
Second, assuming that we made it there
How would we get back?
Last but not least,
We observed numerous
Extremely large sharks
Including what looked to be
A fifteen foot hammerhead
Right beneath our dingy.
Wisdom got the better of valor
And we turned back to the boat.
The island was used as
An undersea burial site
For arms and munitions
Left over from World War II
Which in turn
Contaminated the local fish
Forcing the islanders to move.
As a consequence
The local waters
Had not been fished
For many years
And some of the fish
Had grown incredibly large
As we could readily see.
It took us most of the day
To work ourselves
Off the reef,
And some of us
Wanted to give the channel another try
But the Diamonds
Refused to try their luck again.
Generally most of us
Get where we are going
With some balance
Of luck and skill
But when skill is nonexistent
And your luck is horribly bad,
Then you will likely turn
And head the other direction
Just as they did!

Pago Pago

So we made it back
To civilization
From our sea adventure
Or at least to
The American Samoan
Version of it.
It was there that
My brother,
My aunt and myself
Jumped ship
And decided to head
Our separate ways,
But in the few days
Before I headed off
Back to the university
For a more classical
Educational curriculum,
We added a couple
More adventures
To our take.
Sei and I rented a couple
Sunfish sailboats,
And sailed out of the harbor
To challenge
The major ocean swells
Just outside.
The Coast Guard took
A rather dim view
Of our recreation,
And after attempting
To go out and rescue us
Three separate times,
Made us get out of there.
I must admit
That it was a bit treacherous,
But by that time,
We were both fairly confident
Of our ability
To handle the ocean,
Well maybe
Just a little overconfident.
That first night
We found a local
Chinese restaurant
Which had a big
Circular table
With a large Lazy Susan
In the center.
We commandeered
Some chop sticks
And made he table into
A makeshift gambling table.
We would lay cash
On the table
And spin the wheel,
And whoever the stick
Ended up pointing to
Was the winner.
We must have had
Half the town
Watching in fascination
And perhaps wonder
As we carried on
And enjoyed ourselves.
As far as I know,
That table might still
Be used for that purpose
To this day!
Then later after we eat seafood
To our hearts content,
We extended
The evening
To one of the local bars
Where we discovered
Exactly what island hospitality
Is all about.
I think that was the night
We make up for
Three months of celibacy
Spent at sea.
I had read so many stories
By James Michener
About the island charm,
Stories like Hawaii
Tales of the South Pacific
And Rascals in Paradise,
And it was all true,
And we were definitely
Rascals in Paradise.

Once Rebuked

She was a young girl then
Maybe only eight or nine
When Tommy caught her eye.
Oh, he wore dorky glasses
And was kind of goofy
But something about him
Had her single him out.
In her intoxicated state
She dared to dream
All kind of fanciful dreams
About him and her
And what that would be like.
She pondered that
For the eternity of a day or two,
But was faced with one dilemma,
He didn’t seem to know
That she existed.
She made a fateful decision
And decided to let him know
Just how she felt,
So she scribbled a brief note
Asking him if he
Would like to go steady.
She carefully placed the note
Under his book during the break,
Then waited on pins and needles
For his reaction.
It was swift in coming
As Tommy waved the note around
For all to see
Making fun of her request.
She was mortified beyond measure,
Wanted to dig a hole,
Bury herself and hide.
She concluded that day
That it wasn’t safe
To express herself to a guy,
Or even to let the guy know
That she was interested.
Thirty years later
She was still letting
Her younger self’s conclusion
Run her life.
Freedom only came
After she began to question
Whether or not
Playing it safe
Was still her primary concern.

Newsaholic

We had been over two months at sea
And had not seen or heard
Anything from the rest of the world.
We had not encountered
A single ship at sea
Other than the wrecks
At Palmyra Island.
Obviously we were not traveling
Along the major shipping lanes.
We had not even seen
A single plane pass overhead,
And were beginning to realize
How incredibly immense
The Pacific Ocean is.
For all we knew
The rest of the world
Could have gone to war
Or simply vanished,
And we wouldn’t have known.
For someone who read
Two or three newspapers
Every single day
For years and years,
I was utterly amazed
How well I could get along
Without the slightest idea
Of what was going on
Anywhere else in the world.
As it turned out,
The rest of the world
Got along just great without me.
Sure, there were plenty
Of tragedies and travesties,
Just like always,
But I didn’t miss anything
By failing to keep up with them.

My World

Of all the many gifts
That I have been given,
The one I appreciate most
Is the ability to find
Countless forms of beauty
In the world around me.

My world is filled
With magnificent mysteries
Worthy of my inquiry,
Fascinating intricacies,
Amazing coincidences
And limitless possibilities.

Each day is an opportunity
To explore and to discover,
To test the limits of what I know,
To challenge myself
And the world around me
And to learn a thing or two.

I live in a constantly changing world
Where spontaneity is a virtue,
Where even the best laid plans
Must continually be adjusted,
A world where I have learned to play
And not take life so seriously.

It is a world filled with people
Of infinite variety
And each person
Has a story to tell,
Some wisdom to pass on
If I will only listen.

Hidden beneath coarse exteriors
And elaborate artificial barriers
Are real people worth knowing,
Artisans of creative inspiration,
People of unimagined genius
And ordinary people doing extraordinary things.

Most of those I meet
Seem to march to the beat
Of a different drummer than I,
And each unique rhythm
Contributes to the cadence
Of the music of my life.

There are times of harmony
When I am present
To love, peace and joy
And the serenity they bring,
And times of discord
When I am totally out of tune.

When I open my eyes
What I am present to is
The soft sensuality of a woman,
The fire of romance,
The magic of partnership
And the ecstasy of life.

When I open my ears
What I am present to is
The power of acknowledgment,
The generosity of friendship,
And the sound of real communication
And the fulfillment it provides.

When I open my heart
What I am present to is
Abundance in every form,
The gift of being human,
The glory of being alive
And the words of a poem.

My Kind of World

It is an extraordinary world
In which I’m privileged to live,
Full of passion and promise
And possibilities galore.

It is an amazing place
Of incredible beauty,
Natural wonders,
And constant change.

It is a special place
Where I can pursue
My wildest dreams
Or be anything I choose.

It is an immense world
Full of romantic characters,
Leaders of enormous stature,
And heroes of mythic proportions.

It is a fascinating place
Filled with common people
Leading extraordinary lives,
Making a difference in the world.

It is my kind of world,
Full of courageous intimacies,
Acknowledgment beyond measure
And exuberant poetic expression.

It is the world I choose!

My Kind of Place

I was at home there
Amidst the comfortable clutter
Of books and things
And odd assorted furniture.
It was a place
Where I could sprawl out
On the floor
And feel at ease.
I could totally relax
Enjoying the warmth of the fire
And the spirit
Of the conversation.
There was no pretense there
Just simple chatter
About life and things
In the company of friends.
It was my kind of place.

My Brother's Travels

Lee answered the call of the road
Instead of heading back to college
After our voyage to American Samoa.
He became something
Of a world traveler
And a hippie vagabond.
I sometimes wondered
What my life might have been like
Had I gone on and done the same.
He spent some time over in Figi
Then hitched a ride on another sailboat,
One whose mission was to disrupt
The French nuclear tests
Being executed at that time
On some of the remote coral atolls.
They did that
Green Peace fashion
By sailing to ground zero
At the time of each scheduled blast
To force its postponement.
That must have been interesting!
Eventually he ended up
In New Zealand
Sheep herding of all things.
From there he drifted on to Australia
And sometime later
Found his way
Up to Indonesia and New Guinea.
We finally met again
Almost two and a half years later
In Thailand where I was serving
As a Peace Corps Volunteer.
He even spent a while
Bumming around down in Peru,
But he headed back to the US
And has stayed there ever since.
There was a time
When we each thought
The only times we would
Meet each other
Would be in passing
On some far corner
Of the planet,
But life never went
Exactly the way
Either of us planned.

My Aunt Dofeen

She was always a character
In her own right,
An audacious soul
And a loving spirit.
There was a side of her
Still fighting
“The War Between the States”
That is to say
She was a Southerner
Through and through,
Yet there was another side to her
Of regal bearing
That let you know
She was a queen
And she expected
To be treated that way.
She had inherited considerable wealth
And spent or misspent
Most of it through the years,
But we loved her nonetheless
For she was definitely unique.
The voyage south
On the Yacht Araner
Was her lifelong dream
And she made the most of it.
It was an opportunity to see
The islands of the South Pacific,
To go some of the places
Her father had been
Some fifty or sixty years before.
She was an adventurer at heart
And traveled for quite a while
Throughout Fiji and Tonga
And some of the other islands.
She fell in love with
Tongan tapa cloth
And bought nearly everything
They had in the islands.
She also sent me stamps
From each place she went
To add to the collection
She had started me on
So many years before.
She got to hobnob
With some of the island royalty
Down there in the South Pacific,
Before heading back to Hawaii
To her own version of reality.

Mental Play

My mind is never idle.
It fascinates itself
Finding patterns and shapes
In everything I see.

It seems to have a need
To define an order to things,
And is always playing the game,
“What does this remind me of?”

The ability to see things
Where nothing actually exists
And the search for underlying patterns
Are not unique to me.

Why else would countless mathematicians
Using the most powerful computers made
Search endlessly for a pattern
Hidden in the number pi.

Maybe it is some ancestral trait
Passed on to me from eons ago
That has me able to look at the stars
And see shapes among the chaos.

My mind can entertain itself for hours
Conjuring up geometric patterns
Out of tiles on a floor
Or random spots on the ceiling.

My mind enjoys itself
Observing the clouds
And playing silhouette games
With them as they across the sky.

My mind can take
The most innocent set of hills
And turn them into female forms
Caressed by the sky in the horizon!

My mind is always at play
Seeing things
In the things I see
In this fertile head of mine.

Mel

He was a drifter
In search of a purpose
For the life he lived,
One of a multitude
Of such characters
Who wash up regularly
On the Hawaiian shores.
He came along
At just the right time,
Whether by design
Or outlandish circumstance,
And ended up becoming
One of the crew.
After a month at sea,
He declared he was
Going on a fast
And for the rest of the trip,
Water and crackers
Were just about all he ate.
This coincided with
The general rationing
That was going on,
So he just seemed like
A considerate soul,
A bit weird, but ok.
It was only after
We got to Pago Pago
That he told us the reason.
He was an epileptic
And he ran out
Of his medication
After a month at sea.
The one thing he knew
Was that seizures
Happen more often when full,
And that a seizure,
Had it occurred out there
In the middle of the Pacific,
Could easily have been fatal.
I was amazed
At how he managed that
And ever so thankful
That he didn’t let
That color our trip.

Maintaining the Boat

As anyone who has ever
Had a boat can attest,
Maintaining a boat
Can be a full time occupation
And then some,
Especially if the boat
Is the size of the Araner.
There are things
That should be done
On a fairly regular basis
To keep a boat operational,
And few of these had been done
For the Araner.
To start with,
Her wooden hull was leaking
So pumping the bilge
Was a perpetual task
Complicated because the seals
On the hand pumps were wearing out.
The teakwood deck
Had not been properly sealed
And varnished
For a long, long time,
So it needed to be soaked down
Regularly with salt water
To keep it from splintering.
I have no idea how many buckets
We lost over the side
Trying to collect water
For that purpose.
After a month or two at sea
The toilets began to fail
And could no longer be used.
Climbing into the bow sprints
For sanitary purposes
Was an adventure
In and of itself
Especially when under full sail.
We tended to get saniflushed
Every time the hull
Cut through another wave,
And had to hold on
For dear life,
But it was very effective
At cleaning us out!
The Araner was equipped
With some rather large fresh water tanks
But they quickly became foul
Probably because they were not
Properly maintained either.
The Araner was equipped with
Ship to shore radio
Which was seldom if ever operational.
The engines and generator
Also required a lot of work
And it was a credit to Sugar Baer
That they operated at all.
In fact, early on
We spent considerable time and effort
Trying to find Johnston Island,
A restricted US naval base,
On the hopes that they would make
Emergency repairs
To get us back under way.
The biggest flaw to that plan
Was that we weren’t able to find it!
Who knows whether or not
The scam would have worked
Had we been able to try it out.
Well the Araner needed to be retrofitted,
That much was obvious,
And that was the stated reason
We were headed to the South Pacific
In the first place.

Lucky Accident

It was a little, nondescript,
Hole-in-the-wall type place
From the face of it,
One of the vast number of
Chinese restaurants
That dot the local landscape,
The kind of place
Where I go when I am
More bored than hungry,
Just looking for something
A little different from
The regular fast food fare.
The moment I entered the door
I knew this was not just
Some ordinary run-of-the-mill
Hurry up and forget it type place.
The Chinese lady at the counter
Was bubbling with personality
As she asked me
If it was my first time there,
Then graciously welcomed me
To her restaurant.
As I ordered my food and waited
Six different customers came in
And she greeted each one by name,
Obviously knowing them well.
Her enthusiasm was contagious,
Building my appetite
For the food I had ordered.
It was delivered
On an ornately designed plate
In grandiose style,
And it was as good
As any I have ever had.
There were a lot of photographs
On the wall
Of some pretty famous
Hollywood Stars
Along with their acknowledgments
Of that little lady
And the food she served.
After I finished
She asked me my name
And invited me back again.
It was a lucky accident
That I found her little place,
But you can be sure
That I am destined to become
One of her many regulars.

Knowledge

We are in the midst of
A phenomenal quest for knowledge.
It has been said that the total amount
Of knowledge available
Doubles every ten years or so,
And we struggle to keep up with it all.

Bookstores and libraries
Are filled with it.
Books and magazines are available
On every conceivable subject,
And not just one book or magazine either,
Hundreds of them on each subject.

However, have you ever noticed
How little difference
All the collected knowledge
Typically makes in our life.
What we know just doesn’t seem
To affect the way we live.

How many of us know
How to lose weight?
It’s really simple,
Eat less and exercise,
Yet that knowledge
Doesn’t do us much good.

How many of us
Have challenges
In our relationships?
Do the tens of thousands
Of books and articles written
On how to make them work help?

How about the art
Of finding a mate?
Would reading all the
Mating manuals
Ever written
Really better the odds?

How about the science of
Raising kids?
If you really wanted to
Drive yourself crazy,
Try doing that
By the book!

I’m not against knowledge
And ignorance certainly isn’t bliss,
But sometimes in an experiential world
Knowledge can be the booby prize
Allowing us all the answers
That don’t do us any good!

Hot Mellons for the Firemen

Brush fires are endemic
To the Southern California foothills,
Especially after the summer heat
Has dried up the wild brush and weeds
Turning the hillsides from green to brown.
When the Santa Ana winds start blowing
Conditions are ripe for a fire to take hold
And they get out of hand pretty quick.
Sometimes they are given a helping hand
By arsonists, or children playing with fire.
On one nearby monstrous fire
A number of years back,
They had firefighters
From all around the United States
Battling the flames.
Tens of thousands of acres
Of forest land had gone up in smoke
And ashes had been raining down
Around our house for days.
The news broadcast told of how weary
Those fire fighters were becoming.
It was hot, dirty, arduous work
And the fire kept getting the upper hand.
Surely I could do something
To help quench their thirst
And give them a break from their toil,
So I came up with a brilliant idea.
I would buy a truckload
Of juicy cold watermelons
And take them up
To those guys on the line.
I borrowed a pickup truck for the task
But fortunately delayed buying the melons
Until the next day.
Early the following morning
The newspaper headlines announced
That local watermelons
Were contaminated with insecticide
That could make people sick,
Thus they were all being destroyed.
Imagine what could have happened
Had I done what I intended
And ended up getting
A bunch of fireman sick.
Maybe the only lesson in all this
Is to beware of the good Samaritan
Especially if it is me!