A Poem a Day, Week 17, April 23 to 29

 A Poem a Day, Week 17, April 23 to 29, 2022

Welcome to Sifting the Rubble's weekly blog and podcast of my poem-a-day challenge for 2022.  I am your host, and poet, Emily Gibson.  The poems for the 17th week, April 23 to April 29, originated during the third week of my six-week bicycle tour south on the Pacific Coast, from Bellingham, WA to Santa Barbara, CA. I am grateful to the experiences on the road, the people we crossed paths with, and our immersion in nature, all of which inspired these words.   

Though I did not create or share blog posts while on tour, I kept notes in my paper/pencil journal.  As I pedaled the miles away, I composed poems in my head and jotted notes at rest stops if I found an especially good line I wanted to keep.  Typically, I wrote poems in camp, in our tent in the evening by headlamp light.  It gives me great satisfaction and creative joy to bring these poems to life now, after the tour is over.  (I do want to add that I am recording this podcast  during the first week of July, while recovering from Covid, so if I sound a bit stuffy in the nose, that is why!)  Without further ado, here are the seven poems from the third week of the "Headwinds and Headlands" tour!

As always, you can keep track of Sifting the Rubble's posts on these platforms:

Facebook (daily posts) : https://www.facebook.com/BlueheronELG 

Twitter  https://twitter.com/SiftingThe

Instagram https://www.instagram.com/sifting_the_rubble/

And if you would like to read the journal from the bicycle tour, you can find it here.  

Please like and follow and share in whichever ways suit you.  Thank you! :)

And now, for this week's poems!

Listen to Week 17 Poetry Podcast

Poem #113, What A Hill!

by Emily Gibson,  April 23, 2022

YOU know that hill was grand,

from the cramps in your feet 

and the aches in your hands.

YOU know that hill was glorious,

how those distant vistas

still dazzle your senses.

YOU know that hill was special

the way your wheels hugged

each smoothly banked curve.

YOU know that hill was supreme,

with its absence of traffic

and faulty rumble strips.

Everyone else will know

what a hill that hill was

when they see your grin:

So many no-see-ums 

plastered in your teeth, 

EVERYONE can see ‘em!

About "What a Hill!": This poem was written in honor of the downhill on Lewis & Clark Road, at the end of the connector from Astoria to Seaside, Oregon.   When writing this poem, it fell naturally into a 3-line stanza form, with a few natural rhymes that came up.  I especially enjoyed the ending, because I have picked many bugs out of my teeth after a great downhill!

Poem #114 Rescued

by Emily Gibson, April 24, 2022

Dan’s rescue wagon,

Linda at the helm,

Retraced our miles to Seaside,

Delivered Jay to A’s Bike Shop.

Harry reads at Cape Lookout

And monitors the pups,

Back in Seaside, Andy

Wrestled that wheel

So we could ride for real.

Tuna fish and chips,

Shopping for essentials,

Back to get Jay and his bike,

Ready to pedal tomorrow again!

Linda navigated our route from 

Yesterday, yikes, what a sight.

Seems narrower and scarier

From the passenger seat.

Back in camp, Harry greets us,

ready for cribbage all night.

Dan fires up a smokeless fire

For chatting away the whiles.

Dinner ends with marshmallows 

thin and square for smores.

Perfect, like the day.

About "Rescued": As depicted in this poem, we needed rescue on our second day of riding in Oregon, thanks to a mechanical issue that plagued Jay's bike.  Our Vancouver, WA,  friends, Dan, Linda, and Harry, were waiting for us at Cape Lookout state park, and they gladly helped us resolve the issue.  It was a fair trade, losing a day of pedaling yet gaining a day in their company!  

Poem #115, Our Tribe

by Emily Gibson, April 25, 2022

A member of our tribe!

What a joy to find,

On this road we meander.

A fellow traveler,

A bit cracked like us

To think this is fun!

How funny how lonely

A tour can be

Though steeped in humanity

We certainly can be.

But cars and busses

Cashiers and servers

Hosts and vacationing families

Just don’t count the same

As one two-wheeled bloke

From down under does.

About "Our Tribe": With these words, I tried to capture the absolute joy felt when crossing paths with another touring cyclist.  Shawn was the first we met who was traveling south, so it was our first chance to share some of the ride with another touring soul.  He was also a cyclist we already knew of, thanks to the facebook Pacific Coast Route page!  So while it wasn't a surprise to see him, it was very much a delight.

Poem #116, Nature’s Palette: Rust

by Emily Gibson, April 26, 2022

Fruiting bodies on lichen stalks,

Jaunty quail bobs of moss flowers,

Pineapple textured alder catkins ready to bloom.

Dried moss mats mask concrete blocks,

Leftover cones on last year’s trees,

Old logs melt, return to the dirt.

Chests of confident robins that hop,

Cows and horses grazing on green,

Millipedes' feet that race from our wheels.

Nature’s palette uses rust

To clue future or past

Or something that does rush.

About "Nature's Pallette: Rust": Continuing with the theme of colors seen from the vantage point of my bicycle, here I focused on the color rust.  After jotting down the elements of rust color I had seen, I noticed a pattern of past, future, and movement, which became an organizing structure for the poem.

Poem #117, Seven Devils Road

by Emily Gibson, April 27, 2022

The first devil grabs your heart,

takes your pulse past 180.

The second devil holds all the oxygen

until your lungs burn from without.

The third devil wraps your quads

in layers of lead as you climb.

The fourth devil tricks your mind

with a false summit every time.

The fifth devil is a downhill rush that ends

in an abrupt climb back up it all again.

The sixth devil is all of this in the heat

with zero water stations on the way.

The seventh devil is a headwind

pushing you back on the descents.

About "Seven Devils Road": The Seven Devils Road had loomed large in my mind ever since I first read about this alternate route from Coos Bay to Bandon, Oregon.  Many cyclists have written about the real difficulties of this road, and I figured it must be aptly named.  But I had no idea the beauty of this road, nor how perfect a cycling route it was.  I used this poem to play, somewhat tongue in cheek, with the notion of seven devils, and how they might plague a cyclist.  

Poem #118, Monotony of Miles

by Emily Gibson, April 28, 2022

Monotony of miles.

Straight road,

Good Shoulder,

Off Coast.

On the Pacific Coast Route,

Even the ocean's

Scenic wonder

Gets monotonous

When seen

Every 

Single 

Day.

Straight road

Good shoulder

Off Coast.

This monotony of miles,

Makes it a rest day

After yesterday.

About "Monotony of Miles": I firmly believe monotony is a state of mind, and that even wonderful things like seaside scenery, can get a bit old and ordinary if seen all the time.  Thus, the rarity of a straight road with a good shoulder took on greater meaning and more than made up for the lack of scenery on this day.

Poem #119 A Lonely Road

by Emily Gibson, April 29, 2022

A lonely road stretches

along a span of miles

where a rain soaked 

dark pavement reflects

the space between

one town and the next.

In a car this lonely 

road disappears,

insulated from fears.

rushed by wheels

hopped up on gasoline.

On a bicycle

the same road leaks 

forbidding,

foreboding

forestalling.

It's an ominous home,

it crawls into your bones

through hands and feet,

eyes and teeth.

No random wayside rests

or soaking in of vistas

on such a road.

Nose down

pedal on

get through.

About "A Lonely Road": There are sections of road that seem to have a feeling all of their own. The stretch of highway 101 from Port Orford to Brookings OR was just such a road. It may have been the weather, it may have been our mood, it may have been the history of the land itself.  Either way, I wanted to capture the ominous feeling of this section of pavement, and how it may be different for bicyclists, compared to people in cars.  

That concludes Sifting the Rubble's poetry for this week!  I hope you enjoyed this third report from the world of bicycle touring.  Perhaps some of them spoke to you, or maybe you found one begging to be shared with someone else.  Either way, thank you for listening and reading. Hope to see you next week! 

A Poem a Day, Week 16, April 16 to 22

   A Poem a Day, Week 16, April 16 to 22, 2022

Welcome to Sifting the Rubble's weekly blog and podcast of my poem-a-day challenge for 2022.  I am your host, and poet, Emily Gibson.  The poems for the 16th week, April 16 to April 22, originated during the second week of my six-week bicycle tour south on the Pacific Coast, from Bellingham, WA to Santa Barbara, CA. I am grateful to the experiences on the road, and our immersion in nature, which inspired these words.   

Though I did not create or share blog posts while on tour, I kept notes in my paper/pencil journal.  As I pedaled the miles away, I composed poems in my head and jotted notes at rest stops if I found an especially good line I wanted to keep.  Typically, I wrote poems in camp, in our tent in the evening by headlamp light.  It gives me great satisfaction and creative joy to bring these poems to life now, after the tour is over. Without further ado, here are the seven poems from the second week of the "Headwinds and Headlands" tour!

As always, you can keep track of Sifting the Rubble's posts on these platforms:

Facebook (daily posts) : https://www.facebook.com/BlueheronELG 

Twitter  https://twitter.com/SiftingThe

Instagram https://www.instagram.com/sifting_the_rubble/

And if you would like to read the journal from the bicycle tour, you can find it here.  

Please like and follow and share in whichever ways suit you.  Thank you! :)

And now, for this week's poems!

Listen to Week 16 Poetry Podcast

Poem #106, The Quiet Side

by Emily Gibson, April 16, 2022

On the Spruce Railroad Trail

We rolled hushed on gravel fines

Around the jewel of Crescent Lake,

Where craggy Olympians

Reflected, dusted with snow.

Across the water, barely audible,

Traffic rushed along 101.

With silent wings a bald eagle

Startled off a branch at trail level,

Alighted on a solid spruce’s crown,

On the quiet side of Crescent Lake.

About "Quiet Side": The beauty of Lake Crescent was so powerful, it was almost painful.  Even now, I look at the photos, and I can't believe it was real.  When we saw the line of traffic on Hwy 101 needling along the far edge, we felt so grateful for the effort we made to get onto this trail on this day.  Such a blessing of quietude.

Poem #107, Established 1825?
by Emily Gibson, April 17, 2022

 

"Established 1825"

reads the town marker.

When some people determined

other people were disposable,

their ties to lands deemed

unimportant.  They were

wiped clean from the land

like a slate turned blank,

but their blood remains in the soil

feeding life.  And their spirits

still reside in the mountains.

See their faces looking up

to their sky?

This land still has trails

they walked, trees and streams

they loved, descendants of the berries

they picked and the fish they caught.  

Funny how those who took

made the biggest signs

to proclaim their presence

so vociferously.

Never forget, this is

stolen land.  Tread softly

and see the beauty.

About "Established 1825?": The word Pareidolia means the seeing of faces in inanimate objects.   I've often wondered if other animals see faces of their own species in things?  I see people in mountain ranges all the time.  On this day, the Cascade Mountains served up indigenous aquiline noses as I passed the town of Edison's sign.   Anger welled up in me, as it usually does when I see historical markers which ignore and erase the existence of First Nations' peoples.  

Poem #108, Nature’s Palette: Yellow
by Emily Gibson, April 18, 2022

Alders festooned in pollen saturated tassels

Sturdy blossoms of skunk cabbages

A bald eagle’s feet tucked under for flight

Lemony daffodils nod from stiff stems

Silver dollar sized dandelions flattened by rain

Warblers' cheeky breasts like half-moons

An angular heron’s beak seeking dinner

Microscopic flowers on mosses

Edges of lichens on rocks...

Nature’s palette uses yellow

As an accent

To catch our eye.

Any more would burn

Like the sun’s light.

About "Nature's Palette: Yellow": When we were riding around Lake Crescent, I had this idea for poems about the colors because there were so many different greens to be seen. This is the first of those poems, with my favorite color, yellow.

Poem #109, Warm Shower on WA 105

by Emily Gibson, April 19, 2022

In a deluge we arrive

Two cyclists, side by side

Loaded for bear,

Eighty-plus pounds per steed.

Of a shower, we were in need.

Jim and Fran obliged,

Let us feed them a meal,

Peanut sauce extravagance.

Then the next day reversed

And we gladly ate Jim's Thai soup bounty.

Stories were told, mostly true

We assume, and songs were sung,

mostly in tune.

This majestic house, full

of art, natures treasures,

and lore, is a wonder.

This experience, we will remember.

Why do we do this?  Travel by bike?

To meet people like you

It is a life delight!

About "Warm Shower on WA 105": Warm Showers is an organization that helps touring cyclists and people who want to host touring cyclists find each other. Jay and I enjoy hosting bicyclists when we are home, or staying with hosts when we are on the road. Invariably we find people who become part of our lives, as this poem tries to capture. I also wanted to express the ever present rain of this week, and how much we enjoyed the challenge of riding and camping in the wet.

Poem #110, Oyster Shells

by Emily Gibson, April 20, 2022

Oyster shells

Are not 

Ice-cream cones

They are sharp

They are rough

Not smooth 

Or creamy.

Oysters are 

Opposite of

Ice-cream.

They are

Fishy, smelly, 

Slippery, and slimy.

Not fragrant like 

Vanilla Bean,

Not sweet and cool.

Despite having an

Outline resembling

An ice-cream cone,

An oyster is 

Anything but.

Sorry if your

Hopes got up.

About "Oyster Shells": I passed this sign for Brady's Oysters twice. The first time in a car as Jay, Fran, and I drove to get supplies, and the second time when Jay and I rode south the next day. Both times, when I saw the sign from a distance, I thought for sure it was advertising ice cream!  And wondered at the audacity of advertising ice cream in this cold wet weather.  While I pedaled for the next five miles, I worked out my consternation at being fooled, twice, with this poem.  I do wonder if they purposefully made the shell look like a cone.

Poem #111,  Wild Asparagus

by Emily Gibson, April 21, 2022

Spears of horsetail reeds 

Grow in abundance along

Our route down the Pacific coast.

The fertile spears cause Jay to drool

Even in the rain, as he pedals,

Dreaming of seared asparagus

In olive oil and garlic.

I wish it was so.

Please don’t snack on them,

No matter how green and good

They seem.

Unless you need a

Diuretic.

About "Wild Asparagus": When Jay asked me at a rest stop about the "wild asparagus" I couldn't help but laugh, because I knew exactly the plant he was talking about.  He does love asparagus, and would eat it every night with dinner if he could.  

Poem #112,  Trees Exhale

by Emily Gibson, April 22, 2022

Trees exhale,
Shrouding their shoulders
In wispy steam.
They etch their dreams
On the fogged mirror of sky.

About "Trees Exhale": All day we rode past hillsides and mountains covered with trees, all with this mist rising up from the sun's warmth coming in contact with the moisture. I stopped on the side of the road to write parts of this poem, I could see it so clearly. I could have written many more stanzas, but it felt more powerful and concrete with just these 5 lines.

That concludes Sifting the Rubble's poetry for this week!  I hope you enjoyed this report from our bicycle tour through the Olympic Peninsula.  Perhaps some of them spoke to you, or maybe you found one begging to be shared with someone else.  Either way, thank you for listening and reading. Hope to see you next week! 

That concludes Sifting the Rubble's poetry for this week!  I hope you enjoyed this first report from the world of bicycle touring.  Perhaps some of them spoke to you, or maybe you found one begging to be shared with someone else.  Either way, thank you for listening and reading. Hope to see you next week!