Saturday, November 29, 2014


Sometimes a poem can be written in a short time. Maybe under an hour, for example. Other times the poem can take a loooong time. The thoughts bouncing around in both the conscience and sub-conscience mind until a completed poem evolves.

This poem,"The Drifter" was one of the latter. . . . . . .


He walked down the street of this sleepy small town
Not a familiar face did he see as he looked around
He was a stranger just off an east bound train
Attire made “hobo-style” by the wind and rain


He left the family homestead at a very early age
A “new-be” on an unknown and hostile world stage
He’s walked, thumbed rides and hopped un-inviting trains
He’s survived the blazing sun, bitter cold and driving rains


His list of acquaintances, at any one time, is very small
He remembers faces, but the names he can’t recall
This small circle of “friends” changes every couple of days
When a new town he happens upon in his wandering ways


Author’s comments:

We could leave this poor individual, let’s call him. . . “Slim”, in this “town-after-
town-drifting-mode” until he has a fatal accident, gets deathly sick or
dies of old age. That would be a boring story and probably not a very
entertaining poem!

Since this is my poetic story and I’m making it up as I go, let’s change it!
Let’s see what we can make happen to “Slim” as he ventures into another
new town. . . . . . . .

It’s a wide spot on a gravel road, a typical small western town
A mercantile, a cafe, and a hotel where one could bed-down
Coming down the dusty main street is the star of our poem
Yes, it’s Slim; a man who it seems is destined to forever roam

Suddenly he hears the cry, “Help!” from behind a weathered door
Checking, he finds an injured man in severe pain lying on a dirt floor
He comforts the man; Then, Slim, getting over his own state of shock
Took on the daunting task, in an unfamiliar town, of finding a willing Doc

Luckily, find one he did; Medical aid was applied with care and love
Easing the pain for this man who had fallen from a loft high above.
Slim ably assisted the medical man in the delicate task of doctoring
At this point in time, Slim went from “Drifter” to a caring human being

Slim did the victim's daily chores as the man's injuries mended
 Life in a small town agreed with him and soon his urge to roam ended
He saw an optimistic future; All became rosy and, as we end this fable,
Our hero was to become the proud owner of “SLIM'S LIVERY STABLE”




I did not know about the hobo code until I came across the following in the Internet . . . . . .'Besides a spoken code language of sorts, hobos also had a written code to communicate information with each other. The symbols they used and what they meant can be found at - a Homeschool Curriculum Company     

Here is another photo from out of the past that I came across as I surfed the Internet ..........


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