Lone Pine
We've moved on to the Tuttle Creek Campground out side of Lone Pine, CA, a beautiful campground where every morning we are treated to a terrific sunrise.
This weekend was the annual Lone Pine film festival. Many Westerns were filmed in the Alabama Hills, just outside of town. Hundreds of pictures are set up among the rock showing scenes from the movies in the exact location where they were filmed. The theme of this year's festival is "Return of the Badmen." Lots of cowboys walking around town with black hats. (Yummy...)
On Sunday, Corrie and Brian stopped by on their way home. I gave them a quick tour.
Diana
posted by Diana | 9:15 PM
5 Comments:
Ballad of Mojave Molly on 395
Sing, O Muse, of a terrier tenacious,
Loyal, smart, equally audacious.
Onward, upward goes our intrepid roadie,
Climbing higher to the mining town of Bodie.
Sleeping seismic mirror of Mono Lake,
Where High Plains Drifter, a poncho did make.
On the Owens Valley, she wouldn’t dote,
Southward, downward, to the creosote.
In yo’ hot tub, you saw through the steam,
Upraised arms, the prickly prayers, of Joshua tree.
Wile E. Westie pines alone for B-movie thrills,
For views of Whitney, in the Alabama Hills.
Changes in sunsets, sudden or subtle,
She watches nightly, camped at Tuttle.
Reader, pan a min’t ‘cross the Valley of Death,
See you Molly, hot, out-of-breath?
Looking for cover, for a lady-like pottie,
Not a chance, near the Castle of Scotty.
Over Death Valley burns the solar corona,
Space rock gargoyles hover at Trona.
Starting at the glitter gulch of Reno,
Chain smoking, binge drinking vino,
Round after round of breakfast Keno,
Ending at Palms 29 casino.
Friends, I tell you, we’ve been wowed
By a poem, so clear and loud,
Describing that windblown, wondrous trail,
Three ninety-five, in fine detail.
The writer has no lust for fame
‘Cause he declined to give his name.
Security surveillance report.
Urgent action needed.
Hmmph.‘Wowed’ indeed!
There’s been a breech of Internet security.
(Epic poetry this thing could never be,
Caught filching the first line of the Odyssey.
It’ll take more than classical allusions,
To validate this intruder’s poetic delusions.
In “Lives of the English Poets,” he won’t roster,
Whoever this Homer is, this poetic impostor.)
Our scanning software has definitively detected,
A serious threat, which you’ve apparently neglected.
Of the blogspot code, the intruder’s outside the parameters,
For his unlicensed posting of iambic pentameter.
(Howl ye coyotes, marmots sque-e-e-k!
“Anonymous” to Molly, above did speak.)
Rebellion and irreverence are his real mission,
They lured him to desecrate the Internet tradition,
Of ranters and ravers, and free data miners:
Acronyms, misspellings, and cryptic one-liners.
Blogspot news flash! Code orange:
Anonymous newbie, with technique rough and inchoate,
Survives peeing on the boundary of Randy the Poet!
But with all his infractions, I won’t keep apace,
‘Cause even HIS poem has a saving grace:
On his doggerel, good taste was impaled,
But it was, at least, mercifully cur-tailed.
Of this marvelous new medium, he made richer use,
Ideal for RVers, running free, on the loose.
If a “poem” can be proffered by such a pretender,
Why not others, far better, ‘Comment’ senders?
It’s exciting to experiment in old age,
To try something new,
Without fearing your name on the page,
Kept safe, hidden from view.
“Anonymous” it’s my patriotic duty to identify,
But I’ll thank him for proving ANYONE can versify.
No need of abstruse skill or mystical inspiration,
While more facile tools abound, like bald-faced imitation.
How easy it is to affect the style of Alexander Pope,
But a plagiarist still needs hanging, by neck and by rope.
For giving us puns, inside jokes, and puppyish doodle,
Limericks, alliteration, a dirty dog’s whole kit-n-kaboodle,
But what else would you expect, from a …
Oops.
Wow, Mr. Glen! You've done it again,
Another great rhyme for your friends.
It made me think as I read your ink
How best your points to commend.
I would just say in a kindly way
'Tis not my intent to rebell.
Guv'ment is free to monitor me,
My bank and my phone as well.
I've nothing to hide, I've rarely lied.
The Feds should look at him
Who's obscurely inclined to hide behind
Some doggish eponym.
This has certainly been an enjoyable exchange. Thanks for the entertainment.
Glen, the line "Mono Lake, Where High Plains Drifter," gave you away. After I was accused of writing the post, I pointed the accusing finger in your direction.
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