The Starlite Cafe
· 48 poems by slithr
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 Title   [ Click any title below to view poem ]Category Date
 WI Glamping* Nature 8/20/2019
 Indeed Dark Poetry 5/10/2019
 Stay Warm and Glow, Sam Dedications 4/29/2019
 To the Author Misc 12/17/2018
 Procession  Life 12/16/2018
 Amerikkka Dark Poetry 10/6/2018
 Song Deconstructed Insight 6/16/2018
 Embrace the Now Life 4/17/2018
 PUMPED Insight 4/15/2018
 Perhaps To Sleep, D Dark Poetry 4/6/2018
 We Both Drove Pickups in '77 Love 3/5/2018
 Still Mine Love 2/27/2018
 Shadows Insight 2/24/2018
 Exfoliate Humorous Poems 7/6/2017
 The Meeting Humorous Poems 1/31/2017
 Electric Box Insight 7/22/2016
 Sounding Off Life 7/21/2016
 unplugged Nature 6/18/2016
 Purloined Reception Nature 7/13/2015
 This is Why I Camp Short Stories 6/15/2015
 Onward Hunting Nature 3/17/2015
 the devil is in the details Spiritual Poems 2/26/2015
 Good Friend Grieving and Loss 1/16/2014
 JRS Grieving and Loss 1/2/2014
 Atlas, Compromised Dark Poetry 12/20/2013
 Isobars Insight 9/9/2013
 Dog Sun Tea Nature 8/18/2013
 Dog Sun Life 8/18/2013
 Traveling Ashes Short Stories 6/25/2013
 After Dusk Nature 6/20/2013
Pages: 1 2

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WI Glamping*

Highway 60 breezes past
waving in reams of Queen Anne's lace
and the soft blues of roadside chicory,
old pickup trucks,
and a field of sunflowers
glowing in the afternoon sun.

I have three days with friends
at a camp site
replete with a fire ring
and a rich supply of wood.

Four dogs punctuate the days and nights,
each with a unique personality
and charming attentiveness
especially if bacon
is close to the table edge.

If dogs' eyes could talk
they would hope aloud
for human goodies to levitate
over to dogs' open mouths
moved by the sheer willpower of dogs.

Coffee, Dan's artwork, Dianne's humor, gourmet meals, stories
laughter, time well spent with friends,
cicadas buzzing under the shifting forest canopy colors.

Later, our ears are tuned to the sounds changing
with the deepening shades of the sky
and movements in the gathering night.
Some dark corners of the undergrowth
can glow with some wide-set eyes, says Joette,
and more company than we plan for...

The night grows extra quiet, and the wind rises,
makes chords through the trees,
which collectively become
a waving, gyrating hillside musical instrument in the darkness.

Then the rain starts, tentatively pattering
on campers and cabins
and it increases to a thick percussion, pushed by wind
sounding like piano keys all played at once.

The morning wakes up clean and wet.
We have tasty biscuits and gravy made by Curt
and then we must pack and go home
but plan for more adventures and campfire time soon!

*written with Joette G

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