Companion to post of earlier today, “Coming Into Ashland.”

These further adventures occurred after the poet entered that town proper.

This was back in the day, of course, when it was not necessary for her to always be stationed immediately outside a respectable home to prevent being turned into yet another of the tortured and dead animals ~ in the past sometimes arranged artistically in color-themed series of up to 50 in a single day ~ which her stalker/targeter enjoys leaving in her path. 

Pueblo locals passing 24th and West on foot tonight, mask up. His hexavalent chromium is a miasma out here.

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Recorded Reading (5:40): https://www.dropbox.com/s/9axeujv7t4scm60/Pioneer%20Spirit.mp3?dl=0

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Pioneer Spirit

Some places more than others
Have a sweet magical feel,
A tickle to ones fancy,
They to the heart appeal

If when one’s coming into such
One happens to be traveling
Specific’ly to find
What synchronicity might bring

In way of good direction
Regarding ones next place to dwell
One harkens to this feeling
As in the heart it swell

And if additionally
One cannot afford the lease
Of temporary quarters
Which might surely better please

One deals with things not as
One thinks they ought, but as they are
And seeks a quiet corner
In which to park ones car

While its accommodation
Be not such as inspires delight
It does afford protection
Against unblinking night

Having discovered such a town
And such a space, thought it was best
To hunker down into my seat
And try to get some midnight rest

Though an attempt behind the wheel
At sleep is far from sure,
Limited relaxation
May viability insure

To walk, or drive, or leap, or crawl
To limp, cavort or dance
Into the next day’s limitless
Reservoir of chance

And so my slumber faltered
It seemed I did not sleep at all
But into some sort of a trance
Instead began to fall

Although in such locations
Discretely hidden be I try
Now casual, occasional
Pedestrians came walking by

Without a doubt they were
Surprised to see me sitting there
And peered into my windows
With an inquiring air

Before continuing upon
The errands of their — day?…
It took a little time for me
Their clothing to assay

But when a boy came by
Pulling a cart of wooden wheel
Myself some curiosity
At last began to feel

For, sure enough, that boy
Wore some kind of a flat brimmed hat
Was never by a modern
Fact’ried miliner begat

His cart was loaded cabbage with
Fresh picked from some adjacent farm,
A sleeve more than a cent’ury old
Billowed round his arm

Kicking myself for thickness
But alerted, finally,
To the Light spirit contact
Which this evidently be

I reached out to inquire
About this place to which I’d come
And where these good ambassadors
Themselves were hailing from

“We were the settlers first,” they said
“Who set our westward wagons down
Broke the sod and made the homes
And built the buildings of this town

“We learned to love each other
And we fought so hard to stay
‘Twas just business as usual
Continue on that way

“Even after realizing
We had all massacred been
One peaceful evening’s slumber
And the next dawning between

“This little hill you’re parked by
Is the last of undeveloped land
So it’s the commons after dark
For our stubborn little band

“And we have all decided
You can stay, ’cause we like you
Come back the next full moon
And bring your friend *Earnesto too!”

With eyes then fully open
I was staring at a license plate
Of a configuration
Peculiar to that state

Only two words emblazoned were
That metal plaque anent:
Above, location: “Oregon”
Beneath, just, “Permanent”

And I did stay there — three years more,
A visit to Earnesto paid
To tell him of the invitation
That the pioneers had made

It turned out I unable was
Back to see those friends to go
Next full moon, but Earnesto did
And this is how I know

He too met at midnight
Representatives the old town of
And fateful for his future
Did that meeting surely prove

“They told me I had been the chief
Of that Indian band
Which slaughtered every one of them,
Even the babies, out of hand

“From their present perspective
They better understood
The threat they’d represented
In our near neighborhood

“So for the massacre itself
For which I did the order give
They saw no reason that I not
Continue peacefully to live,

“In this new lifetime, undisturbed
By consequences of the old —
Although by one old shaking man
I was mysteriously told,

“‘This killing, justifiable
Or not, does not excuse
The trust and the betrayal
Which you saw fit to use

“‘For that separate mistake,
For that violation of
Deliberately cultivated
Innocence and trust and love,

“‘For this infraction only,
To this part of your guilt,
We cannot feel reliably
Able to speak of its result’”

If this true tale has not
Already been spooky enough,
Over the next half year
Earnesto started looking rough

Able no longer inner
Mystic messages restrain
He could not from approaching
Strangers make himself refrain

Though we saw less of him
The more his consciousness withdrew
Old friends did hear of it when they
Took him hospital to

Was it Oregon’s pioneers
Who helped to usher him his doom?
I cannot say, but for the
Possibility I leave some room

* Name changed

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Homeless until removal of the stalker/targeter/vandal/arsonist following her allows her to approach any landlord ~ even for a private parking space ~ this poet presently lives under perpetual threat of towing with all possessions should her 23-year-old van stop running for any reason.

She is badly in need of a modest reserve with which to field any emergency which might occur.

Donors may visit http://www.UgiftABLE.com , using code #72D-31S. It does take several days for the poet to be notified of your patronage.

Thank you for supporting quality in the fine arts.

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