The Daily Poem

MY DOMINICA

My California fades to nil,

While thronging greens close every space.

The chloroform of chlorophyll

With sweet anesthetizing grace,

Reduces me to semi-sleep,

Consumes my shallows with its deep.

Perpetually the wind and I

Converse in languages unknown.

The white-capped sea, the cloud-washed sky,

Like mothers cradle me un-grown,

Un-made the knowledge of my years,

My lips with milk, my eyes with tears.

What sacred incense paints the air

From burning heaps of stream debris?

The forest offers up its prayer

In Celtic knots and fleur-de-lis,

In fractal twists of spinning swim

And every spiraled synonym.

My ears unfold with taken shapes

From music never heard before.

The lullabies of waving drapes

My window sill and open door,

Where sunlit amplitudes of sound

Reverberate this barefoot ground.

I’m far from home but where for sure

Is home when loving arms are here?

The time goes by like something pure

Parading past all clean and clear.

I close my eyes and then I see

My Dominica holding me.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 370

Daffodils Stanza

Marigot, Dominica

Lat: 15.54, Long: -61.27

JOURNAL: Rashawna’s House

Mimi and Rashawna went into Roseau today to buy groceries. I stayed home to wash clothes. Using the primitive washing machine was fun. Process: 1] put clothes in, 2] turn faucet on and fill washing tub with cold water until clothes are covered, 3] add soap & softener, 4] turn timer on and the mechanism at the bottom spins water to the right, then the left, then right, then left, until finished, 5] turn another dial to drain washing tub, 6] turn faucet again to fill with water, 7] timer again to rinse, 8] drain, 9) fill 10) rinse, 11) drain, 12) put half the clothes into spinner and dial in spinner time, 13) spin, 14) remove and place other half in spinner, 15) spin, 16). Then repeat steps 1 – 16 for second load. Then hang the clothes on the line under the porch with clothes pins. Wait all day for the sun and wind to dry them. As sun is setting take in the clothes and fold. Then Wash Day is complete. After I hung out the clothes I walked down to the store and bought a few things for lunch: one can of black beans, one can of kernel corn, a small chunk of cheddar cheese, three packets of ramen noodles all for 19 EC dollars, which comes to about $7.50 US. With matches, I lit two burners on the gas stove. Placed two packets of ramen noodles in a pot. Opened the cans of beans and corn into a frying pan and placed the chunk of cheese in the middle. Let it all cook until noodles were done and cheese was hot and partially melted. Served in a bowl with ramen noodles on the bottom with corn and beans on the noodles and the gooey cheese on top. I ate two bowls of my ramen noodle extravaganza and put the rest in the fridge. After lunch I lay down for a nap. When I woke up the sun was setting. The electricity was off, so I lit a couple of candles for light. Mimi called to say they were just getting a ride with some guys in a pickup truck with the groceries and would be back in about an hour and a half. No lights, no TV, just a candle burning beside my laptop as I write. The wind is blowing as it has been all day. I can hear neighborly voices shouting back and forth from house to house, and a distant dog barking.

~ The Daily Poet

PHOTO OP

My picture's on the fridge

Of this Caribbean isle;

I think I'll stay a while.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 369

Epigram

Marigot, Dominica

Lat: 15.54, Long: -61.27

JOURNAL: Rashawna's House

Breakfast at Rosalie Bay Resort.  Said our farewells and took a group photo with the restaurant staff Melissa, Maudrina, Leoma, Seraphine, and Amelia.  Paid our final bill and said goodbye to Jan, the hotel manager.  What an amazing place!  It's definitely the coolest spot we've seen in the Lesser Antilles. Off the grid and gorgeous, with a wind turbine on the hill providing 70% of the electricity. 22 acres of Caribbean paradise. If you ever come to Doiminica you must spend at least a couple nights at Rosalie Bay. The rooms are spacious with every ammenity you could want. The restaurant menu is close-your-eyes-and-point delicious. And everyone we met whether at the main office, the restaurant, the spa, or on the grounds was cheerful and friendly, obviously as happy as to be there as we were. Rosalie Bay is the place to stay!  Marvin, who is in charge of purchasing at Rosalie Bay, drove us to Rashawna's house in Marigot.  He drove West up past the World Heritage Site to Pont Casse, a major junction that the locals call "the roundabout".  From there he turned North through the Central Forest Reserve down into Carib Territory, through Salybia and Bataka to Pagua Bay and on up to Marigot.  A funny thing happened on the way.  About 20 minutes from town a lady flagged us down for a ride.  Marvin hesitated since we were paying for the ride, but I told him it was OK with us if he picked her up.  Her name was Zilma, and was a teacher.

"What grades?"  Mimi asked.

"Primary." she said.

"The primary school in Marigot?" asked Mimi

"Yes."

"Do you know Rashawna?"

"Rashawna! Yes!  You are Rashawna's mother?! Zilma laughed delightedly.

How strange to have picked up a random person by the side of the road who knew Rashawna.  There was supposed to be a pageant at the Will Strathmore Steven's Primary School, where six grade school girls would be competing to be the school's princess for Carnival.  So we took the 30-minute walk along the coast to the school.  Along the way Rashawna was greeted by many locals, and introduced us as her parents.  Everyone was so pleased to meet us.  On the way we stopped by Marcus and Stacey's house.  He's a Peace Corp Volunteer and she's his finance.  Stacey invited us in and showed us the rabbit in the bathtub.  Marcus was out back building a hutch for it.  We went out back to meet Marcus and he showed us around his extensive garden: cabbage, oregano, parsley, bananas, cucumbers, tomatos, lettuce, and more.  He said he'd never grown anything before coming to Dominica.  "Things grow easily here." he said.  Rashawna showed us around her library.  The pageant was running late so we decided to walk back home and eat, then come back later.  We had some Mac&Cheese, but wanted to celebrate Rashawna's birthday somehow, and walked down to the Pagua Bay Bar & Grill for coffee and cheese cake.  We met  the owners Rick & Alicia Davison who came to Dominica for a 4-day trip and ended up staying.  They've been here how for five years.  They have a delightfully American Bar & Grill and are in the process of building a small hotel.  Nice people.

By the time we left it was after nine, and we decided to skip the pageant and go home to bed.  We took hot showers and climbed into the blue sheets under a mosquito net canopy.

~ The Daily Poet

SEA SICK HORSES

The windward stallions charging onto shore

    Throw back their silver manes and sniff the air.

Then suddenly their legs collapse to foam

    Like scuttling crabs in sideways mal de mer.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 368

Rhyming Couplets

Rosalie, Dominica

Lat: 15.37, Long: -16.26

JOURNAL: Rosalie Bay Nature Resort

I woke with sunrise and went out for a first walk down along Rosalie Bay.  Met Joanie taking pictures of crabs and stones and debris.

~ The Daily Poet

JUST SO

Wild and green and off the grid;

    There's a wind turbine on the hill.

Nobody's here, it's all for us;

    Like arriving in Heaven's thrill.

Angels who know our names and smile;

    I believe they've been waiting here,

Making our beds just so, just so,

    For a day and a month and a year.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 367

Ballad Meter

Rosalie, Dominica

Lat: 15.37, Long: -61.26 

JOURNAL: Back from Guadeloupe on the ferry.  Mimi met me Customs.  By car from Roseau to Rosalie Bay Nature Resort.

~ The Daily Poet

GUADELOUPE

I drove a hundred miles round

    the island just for fun;

And on the beach I found the

    ladies topless in the sun.

I drank the beer and ate the bread

    and now the food is gone;

I did the island, bagged the peak

    and now I'm moving on.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 366

Ballad Meter

Le Gosier, Guadeloupe

Lat: 16.21, Long: -61.49

JOURNAL:

Picked up my Twingo rental car at 0900 and headed out around the island: Le Gosier to Pointe-a-Pitre to Petit-Bourg to Goyave to Capesterre-Belle-Eau to Trois-Rivieres to Gourbeyre to Basse-Terre, then north to St-Claude.  Bought a liter of water and a bag of food and with much difficulty finally found the trailhead for La Soufriere volcano.  It drizzled and rained off and on the whole way up and back.  Within about 20 minutes of starting the climb I was soaked to the skin.  It took about 90 minutes to reach the summit of 1467 meters.  The crater was socked in with blowing cloud, with gusts of 50 mph winds along the crater's edge.  I slipped once and fell flat on my face.  No harm done.  Once down the mountain, I stopped to dangle my feet in the hot spring pool at the trailhead.  Then back in the car with the windows down to dry off.   Back to Basse-Terre and on up the west coast to Vieux-Habitants to Bouillant to Pointe-Noire to Deshaies to Sainte-Rose to Lamentin and back through Pointe-a-Pitre to Le Gosier just as night was falling.  Called Mimi, and then took a long hot bath.

~ The Daily Poet

PRAYER FOR THE NEW YEAR

O Father go with me wherever I roam,

Though lost on the mountain or tossed by the sea,

Your Word is my shelter, my harbor, my home.

Sweet Savior Provider of all that's to be,

My fate is good fortune, how grateful I am;

I can't comprehend all these blessings for me.

My Guardian Dove from Your heavenly dome,

Descend with Your flame and defend with Your sword;

I'll carry You with me wherever I roam.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 365

Novel Verse Form

Le Gosier, Guadeloupe

Lat: 16.21, Long: -61.49

JOURNAL:

Martinique to Guadeloupe by ferry.  Rough seas.  Discovered David and Joanie on board downstairs.  I spend the whole trip on deck with the rock-n-roll spray.  Four to five foot swells out beyond the protection of the shores.  Thanks to the blue "sweets" I kept from hurling into a plastic bag like the man standing in my direct line of sight, which didn't make it any easier.  I tried not to look at him, focusing on the horizon.  Rashawna and Mimi decided to disembark at our stop in Dominica, not wanting another two hours of seasickness.  The ferry left while they were still standing at the gangway discussing how to get their luggage that was checked through to Guadeloupe.  They waved goodbye, and hollered final instructions; something about leaving their bags on board the ferry until its return on Friday.

~ The Daily Poet

SPICY MARTINIQUE

One skip across to another island day,

    A different look, a Euro lazy flair,

    A swell of Afro-Asia in the air,

A topless ease on a breezy island bay,

Let’s weave our dream on spicy Martinique.

O sweet noose nymph, come out for me and play.

    Calypso girl, I’ve got a one night plan.

    I’ll be your salty bare skinned island man,

We’ll dine on shish kebab and cabernet.

Let’s weave our dream on spicy Martinique.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 364

Novel Verse Form

Fort-de-France, Martinique

Lat: 14.61, Long: -61.07

JOURNAL: Carib Hotel

David & Joanie drove us down to the Ferry Complex (again) and this time there was a long line of people waiting to board the ferry.  They said goodbye and headed back to the marketplace to find some coco tea and bakes.  They will meet us Dominica.

The ferry was 3/4-full.  Mimi and Rashawna took seats down below, while I went up on deck.  As we headed out into choppy seas, spray from the bow came up and dowsed us all with sea water.  The ladies screeched with laughter and crawded toward the doors back into the cabin.  A few brave souls stayed out on deck the whole way across.  Two guys standing near me cracked open a couple of Heinikens.  One staggered toward me to get to the railing.  "Must be strong beer," I said, "One sip and you're already staggering."  He busted out laughing.

When we docked in Fort-de-France, I followed a couple guys down some stairs at the stern and out through the loading door, as one of the first ones off.  Mimi and Rashawna were surprised to see me when they came down the gangway, thinking I must have been behind them.  Passsports stamped, we made our way into downtown Fort-de-France.  We found the Carib Hotel on Matouba Street and got a "triple" for 75 Euros.  Then it was off to find an early breakfast.  The Kebab Cafe beckoned.  Mimi and I got chicken shwarma plates and Rashawna got a pita sandwich.

We stopped in a pharmacy and asked if they knew of place to rent "motos" for the day.  The two ladies behind the counter really went the extra mile for us.  They looked up mopeds in the yellow pages and even copies a page out for us.  Very little Enlgish spoken here.  We finally gave up on getting motos.   I decided to go exploring on my own, and agreed to meet the girls back at hotel at 3 PM.  I walked for up out of the city toward the hills, crowded with slummy homes.  I found a pedestrian bridge of a highway and they started winding my way up cement staircases higher and higher until I was totally lost in the tangle of narrow streets and stairways.  After about an hour I asked a woman who spoke English how to get back to town and she pointed the way.  A bus came by so I hopped on and paid the 1.5 Euros for a ride back to town.  Mimi & Rashawna were napping in the room when I walked in, hot and sweaty from my excursion.

Then we all went out walking, looking for a beach.  Down along the wharf we saw people gathering and a ferry coming in.  We asked where it was going, "Pointe Du Bout."  So we hopped aboard for a 30-minute ride across the bay.  We found ourselves in a beautiful tourist village reminiscent of Coronado Island in San Diego.  We followed the people to the beach.  I took a swim in my shorts.  Several women were sunbathing topless, and children played in the lapping waves.  We lay out in the sun.  It was beautiful.  Mimi rolled up her pantlegs and went wading in the surf.  Three hours later we were on the boat as the sun set over the bay.

Back at the Carib Hotel, we showered and turned in early, feeling that sweet sun-drenched tiredness that comes from a day on the water.

~ The Daily Poet

NO GANJA FOR YOU

You ask me for ganja,

    So what if I gave you

The money you wanted,

    What else would you ask;

A car with a driver-

    Assassin to save you,

A house with a butler

    To keep you on task?

Or would you be needing

    A nanny from heaven

To step to your bidding

    So sweet and divinely,

To feed you and change you,

    To find you when hidden,

When ranging derange you

    And polish you finely.

You ask me for ganja

    But one thing's for certain,

You're far too beyond the

    Immediate mixing

Of cocktail desires.

    I'm calling your curtain,

I'm snuffing your fires

    Too broken for fixing.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 363

Novel Verse Form

Castries, St. Lucia

Lat: 13.99, Long: -61.01

JOURNAL: Auberge Seraphine Hotel

Finished posting around 0100 last night and went to bed  Woke up ready to go at 0500.  Walked into town.  Monday morning.  A different scene.  Everybody dressed up nice in their various uniforms of work-a-day life.  Nearly everyone I passed said good morning and smiled, except for the all nght derilicts lurking in the angles of their delusions.  And I think of the scripture, "To him who has will more be given.  But to him who has nothing, even what hehas will be taken away."  I also think of "He who is faithful in that which is least,  I will make ruler over many things."  Found a little cafe in one of the allies leading into the marketplace and asked for coffee.  "No coffee.  Coco Tea."  So I had coco tea and "bake" for breakfast sitting at as table across from a lady selling heads of  lettuce for $1.00 EC.  I figured she had 25 heads.  If she sold them all she would make $25.00 EC, or ten dollars.  Then what?  More lettuce back at the farm?  Probably not.  Her afternoon job at the nail salon?  Maybe.  It's hard to say.  There are many poor people here.  But although the general feel of things is rampant poverty.  As I sat and watched, my view of things gradually recaibrated down to the new scale, and the bell-shaped curve became visible.  Poverty is relative.  Poverty derives from unmet needs.  Most of the needs of most of the people are mostly being met.  Walked home in time to have breakfast wth everyone in the Egret Bay Cafe.  I had paid $2.00 EC for a coco tea, and $0.50 for a "bake" (a deep fried unsweetened lump of dough, quite tasty), but now, not even hungry, I spent ten times that for a couple scrambled eggs, hash browns and a cup of coffee.  Not wealth, but extravagance.  O well...little by little.

David & Jonie drove us to the Ferry Complex to cath the 10 AM ferry to Martinique.  No ferry today.  None until tomorrow.  We all decided it was time for a zero day.  Rashawna stayed at the Auberge, napping, lunching, watching TV.  Mimi & I walked back to the marketplace and roamed around.  We headed up the hill leading out of town and came upon a 200 year old home that caught Mimi's fancy.  She sat in the sun on a low wall with her drawing pad on her lap.  I sat across the street on a sloping patch of shady grass.  Traffic buzzed between us.  The Dramamine I had taken for the ferry was kicking in and I had a hard time staying awake.  After an hour or so, Mimi was suitably poached, and her drawing suitably sketched for us to go.  As we walked, I could see the skin of her face and arms getting red.  She had forgotten to put on any sun screen.

We stopped by the Carnegie Public Library and inquired about Derek Walcott's whereabouts.  They said he is fairly reclusive now.  He lives over near Pigeon Island in the Rodney Bay area.  Chances of seeing him would be next to none.  We walked down to the Book Salon hoping to find a book of his poems at least...closed.  Walked home, showered, took a swim.  David & Joanie returned.  I lay down just "for a minute" to rest my heavy eyes.  Didn't wake up until Rashawna & Mimi came in after dinner around 9 PM.  Wow.  Had a solitary dinner at the bar: penne pasta with asparagus and mushrooms and a Red Stripe.  Ferry leaves at 0700 tomorrow.

A sign near a public works department of some kind as a lotto for St. Lucia: "A journey to be proud of, a future to look forward to."

~ The Daily Poet

LUCY IN THE STREETS

Saint Lucy is out on the streets tonight,

The sweet dirty streets of Soufriere town,

Talking & drinking & standing around.

Nothng to do on the streets tonight

But flirt up some weather to get herself warm,

Grab a cold Piton & start up a storm.

Everyone loose on the streets tonight;

They're ready as honey on the lisp of her tongue,

They'll stick to heir stories, she'll stick to her guns.

She's spreading her light on the streets tonight,

The beat & the heat & the fever all one,

Come baby, here baby, come baby come!

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 362

Novel Verse Form

Castries, St. Lucia

Lat: 13.99, Long: -61.01

JOURNAL: Auberge Seraphine Hotel

Dave rented us a car and we headed out around the island.  Heard singing from the open door of the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception as we passed through town.  We slipped onto one of back rows to enjoy the last 15 minutes of the service, especially the singing of the ressional, "St. Luca, St. Lucia, da-da,da-da, da-da."  to the tune of d1e3g2/e1d3f2/c1b2c1d2c1d3.  Then we stopped byt the Ferry Complex hoping to buy tickets for tomorrow's boat to Martnique.  When it got t be about 1330 we gave up waitng any longer, we headed south along the coast through Anse La Raye to Soufriere where we stopped for a late lunch.  Both the Diamond Waterfall and the Sulphur Springs were closed that we had hoped to see, so we just drove on downthe coast curvng around hairpins past a washed out bridge and multple landslides, carnage from he hurricaine that devestated the island last year.  Stopping at vewpoints, we took dozens of pictures of the green volcanic mountains, Petit Piton and Gros Piton rising 2500 near-vertcal feet from the lip of the ocean.  Once past th Pitons we dropped downa 15% grade int Choiseul and then on down to Labore, only a few kilometers from the Vieux Fort, the southernmost village of the island.  In Labrie, as the sun set like a fold-out in a National Geographc Magazine, we walked along the rocky shore past westward arching palm trees to the pier.  One lone fisherman, Thomas, sat on a pylon holding a fishing line loosely between thumb and fingers.  "Catch anything?"  I asked.  "Nothing yet." he said looking up with a meditatve gaze.  We introduced ourselves an talked a while.  I asked him if he had lived here hs whole life.  He pointed to a green & yellow house (one of the nicer ones) on the shore not more than a 100 yards from the pier, "That's my home."  he said with pride.  He was obviouly successful.  Turns out he works near the airport at a company that makes shippng crates.  He said he liked to come out and fish.  If he caught one, fine.  If he didn't, that was fine too.  He just like to have some a bit of quiet solitude.  He gave us a few thoughts on Martinique, "I've been there six times." he said.  By the time we left Laborie heading north back to Castries, it was getting dark.  As we drove through the little villages, it seemed like everyone was out on te streets just being together, enjoying each other's company.  Women with their children, men in groups.  Generally a good vibe.  Many people waved at us as we motored past.  Rashawna told about he rampant infidelity of both the men and women, with the idea of a "sex friend" being commonly accepted.  Although I am sure there is an undercurrent of tragedy that accompanies these sexual practices, on the surface it has the easy seductive feel of a communal family.

Back at Aubege Seraphine at 2100, we had coffee and desert in the Egret Bay Cafe downstairs.  Rashawna finally got her three-times-a-year report for the Peace Corps submitted, while Mimi penciled in details and color to her daily drawings.  I took a walk out to the end of the long drveway that leads up to the hotel, and then went in for a shower.  It's a beautiful island wit beautiful people.  I will carry fond memories with me.

On a taxi in Soufriere: "Why dream of what you want to be, and not be what you are?"

~ The Daily Poet

DEREK WALCOTT SQUARE

You walked these streets, Brazil & Laborie,

More sky back then above this spreading tree.

These children chasing round the square were you,

The breathless boys in arms go two by two.

An old stray dog trips past, perhaps come down

The mangy generations through this town.

The air not quite as fresh as when you breathed

Your first of many words all nicely weaved,

All lost in something smoke-like not quite thought

From fires in the belly tangled up and hot.

And then one day the wind came by to play;

It swept you up and carried you away.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 361

Rhyming Couplets

Castries, St. Lucia

Lat: 13.99, Long: -61.01

JOURNAL: Auberge Seraphine Hotel

I couldn’t believe the night was over. When I woke a few minutes before seven, it seemed like I’d just drifted off. But the sun was peeking in from behind the curtain over our balcony doors. The clothes I had washed in the shower the night before and hung on the security grating that enclosed our balcony were still wet. I ironed a pair of underware and put on a clean T-shirt. All my shirts were dirty so I took the gray long sleeve (with the freshest smell) and ironed it, spritzing it with bug spray.

Downstairs for breakfast at the open air restaurant. I ordered the Traditional English Breakfast: two poached eggs, two sausages, three strips of bacon, along with a few grilled mushrooms and two halves of a grilled tomato. Our waitress was quiet and pretty, wearing a tight blue skirt with a ruffled hem. Danly, our Rastafarian taxi driver showed up as we were finishing breakfast. He drove us up into the hilly interior, past houses built up on stilts. When we asked him why, we expected to hear something about flash floods or hurricaine, but were surprised to hear that these homeowners were hoping to build-in the downstairs and rent it out. He honked as we rounded sharp corners, alerting children and sad-faced dogs to stay clear. Every now and then someone would wave or holler and he would respond in kind. We drove right by his home on the way up to the Tranopy tour and zip line.

Denver guided us on the Tranopy tour telling us all about the plants and animals of the rain forest. He gave us both the scientific names and the creole names. E went up through the five layers of the forest: river, groud, mid-layer, canopy, and emerging.

I learned the six characteristics of a rain forest:

    1) Vines winding around trees in the canopy

    2) At least 600 species of plants per hectacre

    3) Blooming plants during every season

    4) At least 150 inches of rain per year

    5) Elevation between 800 and 2300 feet

    6) Geographically located between the Tropics of Cancer and Capricorn

When I repeated them back to him, he seemed pleased. Tebie was a kick, always playful and full of fun. We each had a turn at “Special Delivery”—a tandem ride down the zip line with Tebie riding behind us, spinning us as we flew to the other platform. A special treat! As elements of surprise, we did a “vine swing” between two platforms like Tarzan, and a repel down from a platform to the grond. Back at the main station, Sheila served us her special blend of rum punch. Mimi and I both agreed to have a second glass of it when she offered it to us.

Then the ride back to Auberge Seraphine with Danly at the wheel. I couldn’t get used to driving on the wrong side of the road. If I looked away for a minute to talk to Mimi and then looked up, I would be starled to see a car coming right for us on our side of the road!  It was warm and partly cloudy with a cool breeze on our necks when we stepped out of the van and returned to our rooms for a brief respite before heading into town for lunch and afternoon activities. I like it here. I’m feeling the need to slow down and take it easy. Two more island hops before we get to Dominica—then it will be takin-it-easy time. Still can’t get on the internet to post. Just writing in a Word document in the mean time.

We walked into town and found a little restaurant upstairs in a mall called the Caribbean Pirates.  Buess what ship was moored right beside it?  The SEA PRINCESS.  The same cruise ship Mimi and I took through the Panama Canal in September 2009.  What are the odds?!  We had Chicken Moti for lunch; what I would call can an India Burrito.  It was stuffed with curried potatoes and chicken.  Dave and I toasted the island life with a couple of Red Stripes.

After lunch we walked downtown right into a poetic serendipity:  Derek Walcott Square.  I've heard of Derek Walcott, the Nobel Laureat, Poet & Playwright, and I've browsed through a volume of his poems, but beyond that I didn't know anything about him.  Turns out he was born here in Castries, St. Lucia, on January 23, 1930.  He was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1992. This square was named for him.

First mishap:  Joanie can't find her wallet.  Cash, credit cards, and driver's license--all gone!  Lost or stolen?  Hard to say.  David walked back to the airport to see if it was there, but by the time he got there, the last plane and lifted off and the airport had just closed.

~ The Daily Poet

BEYOND THE GREAT BEYOND

Who knew the sky would hold us up

    And let us glide away,

From land to cloud, from cloud to moon,

    From moon to Milky Way?

What wing would be required for

    A burst of lightning shaft

To zooming go from time and space

    To metaphor and aft?

Beyond the Great Beyond we guess,

    Where things are sparse and clean,

Where silence reigns in ever-ludes

    Of beauties never seen.

Oh take me, make me for a price,

    Or take me just because

I want to go where Really is,

    Beyond Sir Isaac’s laws.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 359

Ballad Meter

Castries, St. Lucia

Lat: 13.99, Long: -61.01

JOURNAL: Auberge Seraphine Hotel

David drove us in his little red Nissan Sentra out to Acieribo to see the largest single dish radio telescope in the world, Acieribo Observatory. Two major motion pictures were filmed on site; the James Bond film “Moonraker”, and “Contact” starring Jodi Foster. We didn’t spend much time in the interactive astronomy museum, but went in to see the 30-minute movie presentation, then out to the telescope itself.

The telescope was built between 1960 and 1963. It’s one thousand feet in diameter.

[details & stats]

I had a couple of delicious $1.50 hot dogs on site, not willing to wait for us to drive back out of the mountains for lunch. A portion of the sales goes to fund the observatory. Nice!

~ The Daily Poet

THE FUTURE FORTRESS

They marked their time with stone clad battle scars;

From seige to seige their tales of war were told,

But we foretell the future that is ours.

The ancient warriors filled their thirst for gold

And gorged their silver loving belly's fire,

While we design our grasp for taking hold. 

The masons watched their mortared rock aspire

To dizzy heights unknown by men before,

As we with sweatless gaze go high and higher.

The woodwrights carved their faith in bolting doors,

The blacksmiths swung their hopeful hinging gates,

As we release our doves to foreign shores.

The priests and kings divined their willful fates,

Contending eye for eye and tooth for tooth

While our benign derivatives of hate

Look down our nose of orbit lofty sleuth

Through clever skin-like isotopes of truth.

They marked their time with stone clad battle scars,

But we foretell the future that is ours.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 358

Terzanelle

San Juan, Puerto Rico

Lat: 18.47, Long: -66.11

JOURNAL: Comfort Inn San Juan

San Cristobal fortress.  Lunch at  Yeyos Restaurant.  David and I had roast turkey, rice&beans, and potato salad.  Mimi had morongo.  Rashawna had brochili chicken.  Joanie had BBQ chicken.  I had a pineapple soda to drink.  After lunch we walked to El Morro fortress.  We hopped on the trolley for a ride back. then we stopped at Starbucks for iced lattes.  I've been wearing my boots all day...so hot!  Stopped in a store and tried on a few pairs of sandals.  None fit.

Mike Reyes, aka Mike Goodlooking, a 66 year old great grandfather from New Jersey picked us in his white van talked us all the way to the town of Fajardo at far northeastern corner of the island.  He never asked our names, or referred to all of us as good looking.  "Hey, good looking, let me tell how it is..."  He may as well have been sitting in a rocking chair blowing smoke and stories.  He talked politics, business, history, and baseball.  He told us about his life in New Jersey driving truck for 40 years.  He told us about his four  daughters and his eleven grandchildren.  A man of endless enthusiasm and words, he entertained us all the way.

At Fajardo, he introduced us to our guide, Manolo, who after an abbreviated lesson in kayak navigation took us off into the night over the placid water under a full moon.  We paddled past the moored sailboats in the bay over to a narrow channel that tunneled through the mangrove trees for a half mile to Las Croabas Lagoon, or what is known as Bio Bay because of the bioluminescent plankton that live in it's waters.

"Las Croabas Lagoon in Fajardo has 500,000 to 700,000 of bioluminescent dinoflagellates (a plankton) per gallon, so when you wave your hand through the water you trigger so many of them that your hand lights up with a thousand tiny stars." 

http://www.elyunque.com/biolbay.html

~ The Daily Poet

IT'S RAINING IN SAN JUAN

Our bird comes down like cotton sheets,

And spreads us out on fresh washed streets,

Where stippled puddles catch the light;

It's raining in San Juan tonight.

The wind comes in off midnight waves,

And somewhere deep our secret raves,

"Come out come out beyond your fright,

It's raining in San Juan tonight."

This late night city takes us in,

A place our stories can begin.

Through broken clouds the moon is bright;

It's raining in San Juan tonight.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 358

Kyrielle

San Juan, Puerto Rico

Lat: 18.47, Long: -66.11

JOURNAL: Comfort Inn San Juan

Woke up at 0530 with a renewed sense of hope and expectation.  Things will be OK with Stephanie.  We talked last night again.  We've agreed to make this year of travel, a year of getting to know each other better via e-mail.  I'm looking forward to it.  Fatherhood is a journey began in youth before one knows himself, and ends when breathing his last breath into his child's ear, he whispers, "Who are you?"  Life is a continual discovery.  Sting is singing in the background, "Giant steps are what you take walking on the moon..."  The moon is no further away than the earth.  Each person walking through this Starbucks door with one eye open on the day is a moon to me, orbiting in space nearby, and yet so mysterious and untouchable.  Today begins the Caribbean leg of our planetary exploration.  May it not be about the islands of sand and stone, but about the people of of flesh and bone.

Dear Father, my Father, here in the morning, music in my ear, coffee on my tongue, children on my mind, hope within my heart, tears on the edge of crying, laughter waiting in line, love like a well in my soul, boyhood so close at hand, death around the corner, a strange world awaits, go with me, go with me, stay close, hold my hand as I cross the sea, whisper in my ear, "I know you, my son.", carry me when I'm tired, set me free to run and play, show me the work you would have me do, let me rest my head on your shoulder at the end of day, safe in your arms, go with me, go with me, stay close, my life is yours, I am your man as I've told you every day since I became a man, go with me, teach me your way, open my eyes, show me why you love everyone so much, teach me to love, I go with you, we go together, I can't wait, let's go!

Thirty-nine thousand feet. That’s about as high as any(non-astronaut)body gets. That’s ten thousand feet higher than the summit of Mt. Everest. All I see out my window is floor scattered with cotton. But wait, what is that there in gaps between the clouds. Land. With a bit of white along the coast. Probably the Bahamas. We’ve just left Miami bound for San Juan, Puerto Rico. My guess is we won’t be flying over Cuban airspace. They’ve reserved that for cigar smoke, I think. But there’s the Bahamas, the Turks and Caicos Islands, Haiti and the Dominican Republic that we’ll have to fly over on our way to Puerto Rico. It’s only a 2-hour-2-minute flight. Finally we have left our beloved homeland bound for parts unknown. In Miami I left messages for each of the girls. Talked to Suzanne briefly. She said, “Well, you’re off on the grand tour!” The grand tour is right. She wished me bon voyage. It’s strange how an ex-wife stays in your life, out of sight, buried deep in the background, but there, always there. A vague memory of an old life. I was just reading an article in the American Way in flight magazine about memory retrieval. In it they were talking about PTSD victims who have been helped with the use of Propranolol to go back and relive the stress event over and over. Slowly the fear subsides, the fight or flight response fades, and they are able to recall the details of the event without the emotional stress reaction. That’s how it is with divorce, I think. Slowly over the years, the memories remain like an old family video with all the familiar faces and places, but the intense emotion has gone out of it. The old arguments and grievances have somehow been answered. Life does go on.

It was a 39-minute flight from Orlando to Miami. A quick arcing flight up to 22,000 feet and down again. We were expecting to see David & Joanie in Miami, thinking this was the flight that we were going to share, but perhaps it’s the flight from Puerto Rico to St. Lucia. Rashawna will be the first one in PR. Her flight landed at 1100 this morning. The captain just announced that it well be 1 hour and 20 minutes until we land. The flight is smooth and the flight attendants are coming down the aisle with beverages. Mimi is dozing, watching the in-flight movie without headphones. To the east out my window I see a big flat island with a single landing strip on it. Otherwise nothing but blue ocean dotted with clouds. The sun is setting. Looks like a full moon. The ladies at check-in in Orlando, when they found out we were going to PR, said we had to go to the full moon celebration. We’ll look for it. It will be 2000 when we arrive. We will cross another time zone as we descend into PR. That’ll be PST plus four. Downloaded Nicholas Sparks’ book Three Weeks With My Brother to my Droid. Read the intro and started chapter one. Should be apropos for the next couple weeks.

In an hour I will be setting foot on foreign soil. I haven’t been out of the country since before my Dad died. My last trip was his last trip. We spent three weeks in Costa Rica, the summer of 1998. Now nearly 13 years later, I’m heading down to the Caribbean Islands. How fitting. This was to have been his last trip. We were going to visit three Caribbean islands, taking his total Country Count to an even 100. He would have been a full-fledged member of the Traveler’s Century Club (TCC). He was going to take both Kimberly and me. Three generations, three countries, one glorious celebration of world travel. We were set to go in October. But it would never be. He died on September 28, 1998. So today I set foot in the Caribbean without him beside me, but with him in spirit. I hope to make 100 countries on this round the world journey. It may be difficult because we’re planning on visiting several European countries that we’ve been to before. But, who knows. Let’s say I’m at 40 now. Our preliminary list calls for 70 countries. If I overlap 10 countries in Europe, I may still make it. Maybe I’ll get to sneak in a few extras. Besides, TCC counts isolated geographical regions like Alaska, Hawaii, Easter Island and such as separate countries. It’ll be fun to see what happens. Maybe we’ll fall in love with one beautiful place, meet some great people and settle in for a month. Our itinerary is very loose. I hope we can keep it that way. My Dad would never have struck out with such few plans. But that’s how we’re different. As I get older I see the ways in which I’m like my Dad, and it makes me feel good, as if he is inside me peeking out, expressing his genetic code through me. I also see how I’m different. By and large, I like the ways I’m different.

The flight attendant came by and I ordered a Cape Cod. The guy two seats up had been rude and obnoxious.

“Debit or credit?” he asked

“Credit, please.”

He swiped my card through his handheld machine and handed me my receipt.

“Could I get some cash back?” I asked mock seriously.

He looked up, about to answer, and seeing the chuckle in my face said, “Sure. Here’s your cash back.” And handed me a second little bottle of Absolut Vodka. I grinned and gave him a thumbs up. Without a plan of formal attack, we had together smacked down the surly vibe from seat 28C and returned to humanity. Cheers!

My Dad loved to travel and so do I. My Dad loved books, and so do I. My Dad loved to read…well, I haven’t read one-tenth of the books he read. But like my Dad I’d like to write a book someday. Perhaps this will be the beginning. My window is dark. Soon the plane will tip it’s nose toward land, and the Caribbean leg of our journey will begin.

David met us at the airport in a red Nissan Sentra and took us over to the Comfort Inn.  Rashawna was there in the lobby to greet us.  There was a mix-up with the rooms and so David & Joanie got rooms over at the Radisson.  We agreed to meet up after breakfast at 0900.  D&J will pick us up.

Nora, the nice lady at the front desk referred us to Orosco's Restaurant for dinner.  So Rashawna, Mimi & I walked to the restaurant.  After dinner we walked down to the beach for a few minutes and then back to the hotel.  It's been raining on and off.  The streets are wet.  The air is humid.  The Coqui frogs are singing loudly in the trees like birds.  It's an amazing sound.  Evidently these frogs live only in Puerto Rico.  The walls of our room are very thin.  We can hear the people talking next door.

~ The Daily Poet

MY DEEP BLUE OCEAN

No weight of pain or loss can tear us free,

Because we love each other like we do.

    "Baby baby like a stone,

    Maybe small but not alone,

    Sinking in the deep blue ocean

    Of your Daddy's deep devotion..."

No matter what has changed, that Daddy's me.

And yes that little baby-stone is you.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 357

Novel Verse Form

Orlando, Florida

Lat: 28.54, Long: -81.38

JOURNAL: Pinetree House

We met Dona at Newcastle at 0800.  Reviewed the estimate, and signed the contract.  Discussed painting the outside of the house and pouring a cement driveway as possible projects once the house is rented.  It is going to cost more than we expected to get the house tenant-ready.  And, now that we're seeing how costly it is for Newcastle, we're wondering if Pinetree is going to be worth it.  We will need some further counsel.

The Estate Sale guy came by to sign the contract, but after about ten minutes of discussing details of the arrangements, I decided not to sign.  The more I talked to him, the more I distrusted him.  Jim Weeks came by and we settled up for the work he did painting the Newcastle driveway with slurry.  He agreed that it didn't turn out as nicely as we had hoped.  It's a small improvement, but a more permanent solution will come later.

Had a long talk with Stephanie about college and such.  She's seriously thinking about going into the dorm at Fresno Pacific University in August.  As I hung up with her it occurred to me that perhaps this sabbatical year could be a time for getting to know her better.  Circumstances have separated us, and time has created a breach.  I don't really know her that well, nor does she know me.  We know what other people tell us about eachother, but we really haven't had much one-on-one time, ever.  The same thing happened with my Dad and me.  As the youngest, there is a natural distance that develops, especially between father and child.  My Dad and I finally got to know each other when I was in my 30s and he was in his 60s.  So perhaps Stephanie and I can do it ten years early, while she is in her 20s and I'm in my 50s.

Finally got our business cards cut in half lengthwise, giving us each our own skinny card.  Talked to Callie at Don Scarlett's, arranging how we will communicate while overseas.  Ivan called and talked to Mimi a while about how things are going.  I see Ivan & Virgina reaching out to Mimi knowing that life is short.  I think Mimi and I have both made peace with our parents.  I'm very grateful for that.  How did we do it?  It's about letting go of the imperfect past with grace and forgiveness, and then taking the time to get to know thme as real people in the present.

~ The Daily Poet

TWICE FOLDED VALENTINE

I saw the aligators sleeping down in stuporous bliss

Below the surface of the water holding hands

And suddenly a yearning deep for all the love I miss

Swept up my arteries in warmly blooded bands.

Strategic as a Valentine twice folded for effect

As if a lover would believe the notion of it all

If only for a moment she could see what might reflect

From pools of adoration from a suiitor's call

And there and then in holy something held like glass

She'd take her vows and give her love away

Not ever looking back to see what prayerful mass

Of saints acummulating doubts of pain her way.

O come O come and sing the mournful song or all that's lost

And let the maiden in her throes of love regret

Because she hasn't counted all the acid hidden cost

Nor thought but once or twice of all she must forget. 

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 256

Novel Verse Form

Orlando, Florida

Lat: 28.54, Long: -81.38

JOURNAL: Pinetree House

Gave 71 boxes of books to Robert Leedy of Leedy's Books.  He agreed to let me take one box of poetry books from his store to send home for my collection.

LEEDY'S BOOKS, INC.

3847 E. Colonial Drive

Orlando, Florida 32803

Ph: 407-898-0816

www.abebooks.com

Ran errands around town, getting perpetually lost.

Mini Golf at Congo River Golf & Exploration:  Par=43...Don 51...Mimi 52.

Jax Fifth Avenue to toast Valentine's Day where we sat at a table and played ten hands of canasta.  I won every hand.  It was crazy.  I just couldn't lose.  Mimi came home and played the organ.  She was like a little girl, just playing for fun.  Trying out all the knobs, keys and pedals.

~ The Daily Poet

BLUE COIN

It's late in the evening

   And I'm feeeling blue.

No boni fide reason

   Except that its true.

The weight of the coinage

   That's minted today,

Confounds the explorer,

   Delay on delay.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 355

Novel Verse Form

Orlando, Florida

Lat: 28.54, Long: -81.38

JOURNAL Pinetree House

Attended College Park Presbyterian Church.

Lunch at P. F. Changs.

Best Buy and bought Nikon D-3000s x 2 for Child Fund.

Planet Smoothie at Millenia Mall: met Erikka Tierney & Elizabeth Molina.

Saw movie The Eagle at Cobb Plaza Cinema: hot dog and french fries in the movie.

~ The Daily Poet

WASH DRY & FOLD

We're down at the Wash Dry & Fold,

It's a happening place we've been told,

   There's Mary's next door,

   Senoritas galore,

Both the beers and the dryers are cold.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 354

Limerick

Orlando, Florida

Lat: 28.54, Long: -81.38

JOURNAL: Pinetree House

Breakfast at White Wolf Cafe.

Met Ali at Living Morocco.

Finished cleaning out Newcastle.

Walk-through with Donna at 1400 at Newcastle.

Lunch at Lowes; hot dogs and girl scout cookies.

Home Depot, where we selected paint colors for the house; Behr paint--Cafe Cream (beige)for walls and Heavy Cream (white) for trim. 

Saw King's Speech starring Colin Firth.

~ The Daily Poet

STANLEY McGHAN

Young Stanley Mauritius McGhan

An odd geographical man

   Had septuplet sons

   And named every one

After countries that ended in Stan.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 353

Limerick

Orlando, Florida

Lat: 28.58, Long: -81.38

JOURNAL: Pinetree House

Breakfast with John and Rosalie for our last meal on the train.  They're both just retired and taking their first trip post-retirement to Orlando.  John was a road worker for 34 years, and when the county offered him early retirement, he jumped at it.  Rosalie worked in the Risk Management Department handling non-worker's comp disability cases.  They intend to see the entire United States over the next four years, one quadrant each year--Northeast, Southeast, Northwest, and Southwest--six months of travel, six months back home on Long Island, New York..  And since Rosalie doesn't like to fly, they will be traveling by car and train.

We ran into Dee in the club car after breakfast.  She was playing Mah Jang on her laptop.  She invited us to join her at her table.  Lots of New New Yorkers on the train heading down to Florida to excape the cold and snow for a while.  Lots of Italian and Jewish accents.  Dee told us that she had actually talked to the guy who jumped off the train in Harper's Ferry shortly before he jumped.  She said his eyes were red, and even his eye lids were red, squinting through slits.  He seemed agitated, always walking back and forth.  Most likely methamphetamines.

I fired up the WiFi and Mimi showed Dee how to get online using our hotspot.  She was thrilled to finally get to answer a few of her 81 e-mails that had accumulated in her in-box.  I was still feeling sleepy and so I just looked up elevations, latitudes and longitudes; my form of a brainless game, like Solitaire.  Maybe it's a offshoot of my years in management.  I like to track data over time and see how it changes, look for interesting patterns, see what the numbers can tell me.  Now what would really make it sweet, is a few charts and graphs.

Rented a Hertz at the Amtrak station.  He was going to give us a little economy car of some kind until we said we wanted to return it to the Orlando Airport, even though there would be a small extra charge.  "Since you're returning it to the airport," he said, "I'm going to give you something a little better."  He gave us a 2010 Toyota Prius.  How cool.  I've wanted to drive a Prius since they first came out, but have never taken one for a test drive.  Mimi and I discussed getting one, but thought they were a bit pricey.  The attendant walked us out and introduced us to our very smart and efficient driving machine.  No key; just a button that lights up when you get inside and press on the brake.  Push the button and the dash lights up, "Welcome to Prius" is briefly displayed on the dash.  All the buttons, even the gears are toggle switches.  Toggle to "R" with "gear shifter" and it starts to beep quietly reminding you that you are in reverse.  No rev on an engine as you back up, just a next-to-nothing hum.  Toggle to "D", the beeping stops and you begin moving forward.  It keeps track of your speed, distance, and MPH for Trip A as you drive.  If you really pay attention to your acceleration, and take it easy, you can really effect the overall MPG.  When you let off the gas and glide, your MPG goes to 100, which is the maximum, and energy actually starts going back into the battery.  Also, when you brake, the friction of the brakes causes energy to again flow back into the battery.  It's very intriguing.  Reminds me of my Cesna flight here in Orlando a few months ago.  I watched the dials and gauges so much that I got a little queazy and had to look out at the horizon a while to acclimatize.  Mimi made sure I kept my eyes on the road.

We drove over to Pinetree and dumped off our luggage and took a look around, then went over to Newcastle and immediately set to work.  As we drove up to the house, I saw the 1953 Ford pick-up still sitting there.  I couldn't believe it.  The guy I gave it to said he would have it out of there in a week.  Unbelievable.  I got on the phone and called ASAP Towing.  They came right over and hauled it off; no fuss, no muss, no charge.  The yard looked like crap.  The guy I'd hired to keep the yard had done a quick careless mowing job, and that's all.  There were still dozens of bits of trash, glass, cigarette butts and what not from the yard sale we'd had three months ago.  No edging, no dead leaves raked, just a cursory mowing job.  As I was hauling the remaining junk from the house out to the curb, who just happens to show up like an angel of mercy?  Jim Weeks, the guy who helped me haul the stuff from Newcastle to Pinetree last time.  He runs a yard maintenance business, as well as simple remodeling and hauling.  "I was just going to call you." I said.  We took a walk around the house discussing how it should look, what should have been done, expectations.  He asked me what I was paying the other guy and agreed to do it for the same price, "But I'll really do the job." he said.  He agreed to start on Monday.

So with the jalopy moved, and a new yard guy lined up, I was feeling better again.  I cleaned out the garage, and Mimi did the kitchen until it got dark.  I ran over to Amalfi, a local Italian restaurant and bought a chicken ceasar salad for Mimi and Pasta Primavera for me.  Mom called while we were eating and talked to Mimi about the mail that was arriving.  I got a $10 and some cents check from Eisenhower Medical Center, some sort of refund for something.  The last job-related money I'm going to see in a long time.  Mom will be depositing any checks that arrive for us during our trip at Compass Bank in Idyllwild.  She's already had a couple guys over to help her with things.  I think she's going to do just fine.

Back at Pinetree, where we decided to sleep in the nice clean living room; Mimi on the couch and me on the floor beside her.  Mimi cleaned out the upstairs bathroom so we could take showers.  No water leaking through the ceiling.  That's a good thing.  I'm pushing Mimi to not spend our entire time here in Orlando puttering around the houses.  I'd really like to see the Everglades and Key West before we fly out on the 16th.  Once we get back, I'm sure Mimi is going to love buying fix-er-uppers.  She's a great project manager.

President Mubarak of Egypt stepped down today.  Sad to see a man lose the respect of his people.  But good for them for not tolerating his extravagant lifestyle.  No TV at either house, so I didn't get to see President Obama's comments on the matter this afternoon.  We'll be heading to bed early tonight.  Both of us tired after a night in coach, and then cleaning all afternoon.  But it's that good tired feeling; a feeling of accomplishment.

TOYOTA 4RUNNER: Idyllwild to Palm Springs = 46 miles

TEXAS EAGLE: Palm Spirngs to San Antonio to Chicago = 2622 miles (2668)

CAPITOL LIMITED: Chicago to Washington D.C. = 764 miles (3432)

SILVER METEOR: Washington D.C. to Orlando = 899 miles (4331)

~ The Daily Poet

WORDS IN STONE

They took the best of what they knew was true,

One nation under God in liberty,

And carved it deep in stone forever new,

And by it wrote in blood their history.

Ideals that took their minds to higher ground,

Beliefs that held each man was worthy of

A land as free as their forefathers found,

A haven safe to worship, work and love.

These visionary men struck down the old

To build more perfectly their just-born state,

And so we touch the hope their hearts foretold

In letters from the past on slabs of slate.

They took the best of what they knew was true,

And carved it deep in stone forever new.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 352

"Sonnetelle"

Washington D.C., USA

Lat: 38.90, Long: -77.04

JOURNAL: Amtrak in Coach

When I woke up, I was lying on top of the bed covered by nothing but my thin world map bandana as the train was pulling into Connellsville, Pennsylvania. And for the next couple hours we hummed through forests of winter trees and snow-covered hillsides dotted with quaint country homes. Every now and then, a long tunnel interrupted the view, and we held our breaths, waiting to get through unscathed. Who started that tradition anyway? It probably has something to do with being underground, breathless, like death; then the light at the end of the tunnel—resurrection, hope, and life. We really are spiritual beings on a physical journey; our language belies this truth. We allegorize and anthropomorphize, painting our black on white words with the luminous colors of metaphor. Spirit wins over substance every time, fantasy over fact.

We had breakfast with Fran and Dee from coach, both from Illinois, both traveling alone; Dee to Ft. Lauderdale, Fran to DC. Dee told us of her night sitting beside a gentleman who warned her that he might snore during the night. But, she dropped off to sleep first, and when she woke up he was gone. She got up and looked for him. He was in the Observation Car dozing. “Did I run you out of the bedroom?” she smiled. A lady looked up from her reading at the provocative question. Yes, he nodded. Turns she wasn’t just snoring, but flailing her arms and legs in her dreams. As she talked, sipping her first of three cups of coffee, the sleep started to melt from her eyes. Without knowing, I’d say Dee is a waitress, and Fran is a school teacher.

We made our up to the summit of the Alleghenies and the Eastern Continental Divide through a tunnel leaving the Gulf of Mexico behind, and heading down toward the Atlantic Ocean. Soon we were racing down through the Cumberland Gap. The stone walls out the window which had been covered with giant icicles and stunning icefalls, turned to dripping snow, and finally to dry dirt spotted with snow. On both sides of the train, young deciduous forests carpeted the rolling hills, or mountains as they call them here. We had passed Mouth Davis, the highest point in Pennsylvania, during breakfast, and I had to laugh—it’s a whopping 3200 feet. Our house in California is nearly twice that elevation, and we live in Fern Valley. Imagine the pioneers coming from Pennsylvania to California; something like a Californian migrating to Nepal.

Eric served us again this morning. He said he had framed my doodle and hung it on his wall. “Really?” I asked, surprised. “Yes,” he grinned, “I just haven’t had time to frame it yet.” How cool. After breakfast a quick smoke break stop in Cumberland, Maryland. The word “Cumberland” sounds like some place awesome right out of a history book. I think of Abraham Lincoln and the Civil War.

And then there was the incident at Harper’s Ferry where two rivers and three states meet. We had just gone over the bridge and through the tunnel, leaving Harper’s Ferry when there was an announcement overhead for the conductor to come to the dining car. A few minutes later more attendants were summoned. We were sitting in the observation car. Sensing a medical emergency, I walked back to the dining room and asked if anyone was sick or hurt. Eric said, “We don’t know yet.” An odd answer I thought. Then they summoned all the male passengers for a particular coach car to come up to the dining room. How strange. What was going on? Had there been a crime, a robbery? We had heard talk of a couple guys from coach who dashed out of the dining room without paying. As we approached D.C. our car attendant, Brian confided in us what had happened. A young man had wanted to get off at an earlier stop had opened the door of the train, thrown his bags out and then leaped from the train.

“Was the train going slow?” I asked.

“No”, said Brian, “It was going full speed, probably 60 to 65 miles per hour.”

“Is the guy OK?” I asked.

“We don’t know yet. There’s a man on board who said he witnessed the guy jump from the train. They’re investigating.”

At last we arrived in Washington DC.  Union Station was beautiful as expected, and crowded; shops for people and people for shops. We inquired about upgrading to a sleeper and found that they had only one left. The price? One thousand twenty-nine dollars! Ah…no thanks. Having six hours to kill, and not wanting to lug our bags with us around the streets of DC, we found a baggage check area to leave our luggage for the afternoon, and headed out into the Disneyland of History & Politics that is DC. Everywhere we looked; culture, history, art! I must have snapped 50 pictures an hour. First we went to the Senate offices looking for Diane Feinstein’s office, our long-time California senator. Mark, a Toyota lobbyist was kind enough to walk us down a couple long corridors to an elevator. Taking the elevator to the 3rd floor we found Senator Feinstein’s flag festooned office. There were three gentleman standing outside, leaning on the railing, presumably waiting for an audience with the Senator. We struck up a conversation. When we told them that we were just starting out on an around-the-world journey and had come by to meet to our senator, one of the guys lit up with enthusiasm and gave us his business card. He said that when we get back from our trip, we should contact him, and he would come with us to meet Senator Feinstein and tell her about our trip. He’s a Southern California water lobbyist [detailed information to follow]. He took down my website and promised again that he would make it happen for us. I was so excited that I forgot to take his picture. I’ll have to look him up on line. For all the bad things they say about lobbyists, I must say, my first four impressions were good ones.

Leaving the Hart Senate Office Building, we walked over to the Capitol. After getting signed up for next available tour, we asked the ticket lady if there was any way we could get in to see the Senate in session. She directed us upstairs to a sleepy guy, who talked softly and sadly like Eeore, behind a high desk. When we asked him for a Gallery Pass, he asked where we were from. California, I said. You’ll have to get a pass from your senator, he replied, barely looking up.

“We were just at Daine Feinstein’s office. She wasn’t in. We didn’t know.” I fumbled. “The lady downstairs at the desk, the lady in the red coat, told us to come up here and that you’d give us a pass.”

“I wish she wouldn’t say that.” Said Eyore. “I’m not supposed to give out Gallery Passes. You’re supposed to get them from your senator.” And he sighed a long sigh aimed in the direction of the Little Red Riding Hood downstairs. “I’ll tell you what. Since you didn’t know, and since she said I would, I’ll go ahead and give you the passes. I really shouldn’t. You’re supposed to get them from your senator.

“Thank you so much” I said with a smile. And we were off!

The tour of the capitol building was incredible. We put on headphones so we could easily hear her as she walked ahead of us from room to room. She was the most knowledgeable tour guide I’ve ever seen. She was a wealth of information. She knew every statue and painting, every chandelier and doorway of the place. Toward the end of the tour I asked her how long it had taken her to learn all this information. She brightened, “Most of us have Bachelor’s degrees or Master’s degrees, so we come to the job with a bit of head start.” I complimented her on her vast knowledge. Then I asked, “Here’s a trivia question for you.” She nodded. “How many of little decorated squares are there on the inside of the capitol dome.” She paused, “Well, I’ve never counted them.” She admitted. “There’s 180. I counted them. Five concentric circles of 36. Just a little something to add to your incredible knowledge of this place. “Thanks” she smiled.

After the tour we headed over to the Senate with our Gallery Passes in hand. Down a hall, up an elevator, through another security check point and we were in. The senator from Ohio was calling for a vote without further discussion, and the senator from Wyoming kept objecting. There was one other democrat senator siding with the senator from Ohio, I forget what state he was from, but the senator from Wyoming could not be budged. “Madame President?” he would said, “Senator from Wyoming.” She would respond. It was thrilling to be in the actual Senate building while actual senators were conducting actual business. I couldn’t help but thinking, “Where is everybody?” How can there be all this important discussion about 155,000 people who had lost their jobs and what needed to be done about it, and no one but three senators were in the room? Stepping off the elevator on our way out, an old man told me that all the senators were in their offices, and that if a vote was required, buzzers went off and they then had 15 minutes to get there for the vote. Makes sense, I guess. If the senator from Ohio couldn’t get the senator from Wyoming to agree, then what were his chances in getting the 98 other senators to on board? Democracy isn’t easy. There are so many angles, so many people, so many channels of power; it’s amazing it works as well as it does.

Then back out into the cold we went, hoping to walk all the way down the mall to the Lincoln Memorial and back by 1830, an hour before our train was scheduled to depart. By the time we got to the Washington Monument, my face chin was so frozen I could hardly form words. My lower face felt anesthetized. It was getting late, so we gave Lincoln a nod with our binoculars and headed back. We walked back into Union Station at 1830. An hour to spare. Perfect. We shared three slices of Sbarro’s pizza, then got a peanut butter cookie and a carrot cake cupcake from a bakery along with a couple lattes from Starbucks and headed off to Gate H, Track 23 to gear up for a long night in coach. We boarded, and Zack the car attendant showed us to our assigned seats. Unfortunately they were across the aisle from each other. We settled in to make the best of it. He came back a half hour later to say that he’d found us a pair of seats together. What a nice guy. We moved. And now Mimi is curled up beside me with her pretty head on a pillow, fast asleep. What a wonderfully eventful day it has been.

~ The Daily Poet

HUMAN SOUP

It’s like a big collective co-op group

Where everybody brings a bit to share

To boil up a pot of human soup.

We’ve got the bones of some unlikely troop

Who traipsed on in with their Elijah Ware

It’s like a big collective co-op group.

And then the skinny pagans with their goop

Come dancing up all grinning butt-cheek bare

To boil up a pot of human soup.

The clownish Toons toss in their Betty Boop

And stir their bubbliciousness with flare

It’s like a big collective co-op group.

The bureaucrats and business men recoup

The tax deducted morsels they can spare

To boil up a pot of human soup.

We each come round to peek a sniffing snoop

All dressed in flavored hats beyond compare

It’s like a big collective co-op group

To boil up a pot of human soup.

D. Edgar Lamp

The Daily Poem - 351

Villanelle

Toledo, Ohio

Lat: 41.66, Long: -83.56

JOURNAL: AmTrak in Sleeper

I woke up cold. Out the window in the dim light, I could see snow along the Mississippi, the train cruising only a stone’s throw from the riverbank. It was nearly 0600. Got up and dressed, and walked down to through the kitchen toward the observation car. Passed Lloyd in a narrow stretch and he warned me that the power was off in the entire train until St. Louis. The door slid open and a blast of arctic air rushed across my face and neck. I was glad I had my jacket on. I walked through finding a couple of brave souls wrapped up like burritos, their heads nothing but stray bits of carne asada sticking out from their warm wraps. Dean was up, hovering around the stairs, anxious no doubt for a smoke of his pipe. I went back to the thankful heat of our little nest in sleeping car 2230, room 12. Mimi was lightly snoring, and the sky was turning from white to grayish-blue; morning in St. Louis. Mimi woke up a few moments later and we watched the rail men disconnect the staff sleeper car, put it on a side track and link the engine back up to us so the electricity could flow back through the other five cars. Pulling into Union Station, we were electrified, and ready for breakfast.

We sat with Joan & Dean. Dean wears ear muffs and smokes a pipe on smoke breaks. Joan is a lithe and lively lady who always greets me with a smile when I pass her in the aisle. At first I thought they were husband and wife. Then I thought they were having a secret train rendezvous, but they were too old, and didn’t really seem “in love” enough for that. Finally I couldn’t resist and I asked them how they were related. Cousins. Who would have guessed. Their fathers were brothers. They’ve both been married with children, but both of their spouses have died, so they’ve consequently become fast friends. She has grandchildren, he great-grandchildren. His wife died about a year ago, as they were sitting in the living room watching TV. No warning. No complaint. No sound of any kind. When he looked over at her, she seemed asleep. When he tried to wake her for bed, he found that she was dead. She didn’t suffer. He was glad for that.

After breakfast I was suddenly very sleepy and decided to take a short nap. How luxurious it is to nap mid-morning after a wonderful meal. Two hours later Mimi woke me to say we were nearing Chicago. I looked out the window. “It’s looked just like that the whole time you’ve been sleeping,” Mimi said. Just snow covered fields with little farm houses. It seemed to take us forever creeping our way into Chicago’s Union Station. We put on our base layers and boots and both coats, stuffing hats and gloves into our pockets for later. We followed the arrows to the Sleepers Lounge, upgraded our tickets to DC to Sleeper, and checked in our bags with the Red Cap. It was 1515 by the time we hailed a taxi and headed out 7.3 miles across town to the Carl Sandburg House at 4646 Heritage Avenue.

Our driver was an engaging young black man, born and raised in The Windy City, who enthusiastically answered our questions. He told us that there are only two rivers in the world that flow backwards,

“One is the Chicago River. Can you name the other one?” We didn’t know.

“The Nile,” he said.

“Good thing we’re not on Cash Cab,” Mimi said.

“They die the river green on St. Patrick’s Day,” he said, and then went on (I missed the segue over the roar of the engine as he gunned it through a yellow light) went on to tell us about Moses touching the waters of the Nile with his staff and the river turning to blood, and of the magicians cheap-trick to duplicate what was clearly a God-thing. Then he came back around to say, that just as God had through Moses changed the water to blood, so it was a God-thing that the Nile runs backwards. But unlike the Nile, the Chicago River’s backward flow is a Manmade-thing for the purpose of sanitation.

When we finally found the house, it looked like any other on the street. I went up to the front double doors and tried the doorknob under the two Christmas wreaths still hanging. It was locked. I ran the bell. No one came. With the taxi idling, Mimi came and took a picture of me to memorialize the inauspicious end of my anticlimactic pilgrimage. I had to laugh as I trudged back to the taxi where the meter was coming up on $30.00. On the way back I asked our cab driver (let’s call him Moses) what his big dream was. “What do you mean?” he queried. “You know, like owning your fleet of taxi cabs…?” “Oh no, not me,” he said. “I’m just fine. I like what I do.” He went on to tell me how he was married and both his family and his wife’s family lived close, they took turns, one visiting the other. I was really impressed with his answer. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten such a contented answer to that question from anyone. Suddenly I was riding in a chariot full of milk and honey, on my way to the Promised Land.

We asked Moses, to take us over the river to Willis Tower. Thankfully it didn’t take as long to get back, and by the time we settled up, it was $45.00 including the tip. I suggested food, and Mimi heartily agreed, pointing to a place across the street. It was a below street level restaurant named Pret, which she told me means “Ready” in French. We had soup & sandwiches. The warm liquid soothed our frozen faces, just in from the minus 6 degree chill on the sidewalk, where everyone was bundled up to the nines. Satisfied and warm, we donned our polar gear and bravely struck out for long expedition across the street to Willis Tower. It used to be called the Sears Tower. As we walk in under the shiny silver letters through the revolving door, I can’t help but think of Bruce Willis in Die Hard. There was no line for the elevator, so we paid the fee, equivalent to a crosstown cab ride and hopped right on the elevator with two other couples. The pretty young elevator operator pressed 99, and up we went, doors opening onto the secondary lounge area. We were instructed to step around the corner and get on another elevator which would take us up four more floors to 103 for a most spectacular view of the city. We walked one slow circle around the Sky Deck snapping picture after picture. I’d never thought of Chicago as a huge metropolis. From up there it seemed to rival New York City for skyscrapers, and Los Angeles for sprawl. I could have spent a couple hours up there reading all the information boards about the history of Chicago and its native sons and daughters like Gwendolyn Brooks and Carl Sandburg, but our two and a half hour layover clock was ticking, and we had to get back.

New train: Capitol Limited. When we got in the car we discovered Justin in our old room No.12, and we assigned to his old room No. 11. Same two rooms different train, different car. Now we’re best friends. Justin works in Corporate and Government Telecommunications, as such, he’s always on his laptop and cell phone arranging this and that.

Brian, our new Car Attendant is a very cordial man who has been working only three months for Amtrak. He used to be a Bathroom & Kitchen Designer, but with the big sinkhole in the middle of the housing market, he’s taken to more reliable union employment. I like to see a man land on his feet when his career drops out from under him; see him pick himself up, dust himself off, and go find some work to do without simpering and whimpering for months on end about how sad his life is.

Our mobile hotspot has been working fairly well, except over the long stretches of gridless nothing. Down the Atlantic seaboard, I’m hoping, with all the high-density urban-opolises that four green bars will keep coming up strong.

We made reservations for the latest time slot and went up the dining car at 2030. The staff on the Capitol Limited are a bunch of tall white guys, and the service is excellent. Eric, the one short guy, waited on us for dinner. He’s hoping for a full time slot soon where he will get 3 days on and 3 days off and get paid for 180 hours a month whether he gets the hours or not.. During desert I started doodling on the paper tablecloth. He stopped to admire it saying that he liked to paint, but hadn’t done any in a long time. Mimi and I encouraged him to get back into it. He told us about an art idea that he had that was very unique. We promised not to tell. He doesn’t want anyone stealing his idea before he has a chance to get his place fixed up with some studio space. Mums the word.  I signed and dated my doodle and dedicated it Eric, as inspiration.

Mimi isn’t feeling well still; sore throat and sour stomach. Feeling a little blue. The boys in the table across the aisle at dinner made her think of her sons CJ and Jon when they were teenagers. I could see her watching them, reaching out to them with her eyes and her heart. I still can’t imagine what it must be like to have one your kids die. I don’t think the sorrow ever goes away. Yesterday she was thinking about Jon. “He’d have really enjoyed this trip.” I think of my Dad too, and how much he’d have loved to be along with us. He once told me, “If I win the sweepstakes, I’m going to pay you your salary for a year and we’re going to go traveling together.” “Well Dad, that generous offer has been made by other circumstances.” He goes with me in spirit.

~ The Daily Poet