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Rod on Maui, August 2003.
Photo by John Scoggins.
©2003 by Stanyan Entertainment.
A Thought for Today
Take it easy in Chat Rooms. Too much
typing with the left hand only could give you carpal tunnel syndrome.
STANYAN HOUSE
Worked late tonight with Billy Iz and his gang of programmers on The
Stanyan House. Friday night we get together to go over all the final
details for the Grand Opening of Stanyan House the next day on Saturday
the 8th. Three rooms of the old house will open to the public that day.
The Store (our brand new on line mail order company), The Library (where
you will find a couple of free downloads) and The Stanyan Bar & Grill,
(the new Stanyan Message Board.) The Guest Room, The Lounge, The Master
Bedroom and Edith Head (the john) will open in coming weeks.
It’s a big house and many more rooms; patios and atriums are on the way.
By the way, here’s the new address.
www.stanyanhouse.com
Little Towns & Pretty Places
#4 in a series
BUNKHOUSE NIGHTS
I never thought much about what I wanted to be when I was growing. Or,
perhaps I gave it too much thought. I wanted to be everything, go
everywhere – or anyway, away from where I was. I got to be a cowboy for a
while, and other things. Though I was never carried off by gypsies and
taken care of, I was befriended by life.
-from "Little Towns & Pretty Places", previously unpublished.
Cowboys
one
Brave
they straddle the animals,
hearts racing before the pistol sings
then leaping from the chute,
man and animal as one,
wedded groin to back.
One small moment in the air
and then the mud.
Hats retrieved,
Levis dusted,
back to the bull pen
to await the next event.
Sunday’s choirboys,
in cowboy hats.
two
Huddled in the pits
below the grandstand
or lining at the telephone
to call home victories
they make a gentle picture.
Their billfolds bulging just enough
to make another entrance fee.
Next week Omaha or Dallas,
San Antonio is yet to come.
And now the Cheyenne autumn
like a golden thread
ties them till the weekend’s done.
three
They wade through beer cans
piled ankle high in gutters -
the rodeo has moved
down from the fairground
to the town
and every hotel door’s ajar.
Better than the Mardi Gras.
The nights are longer than Alaska now
until the main event begins
another afternoon.
But after all, the Main Event is still to be a cowboy.
For ten minutes or ten years, it’s all the same.
You don’t forget the Levis
hugging
you all day
and Stetson hats checked in passing windows
cocked a certain way.
Some years later
when the bellies
flow over the belt loops
there are always mental photographs.
Here the hero in mid-air.
Now the Dallas hotel room.
Now again the gaping tourists
licking off the Levis with their eyes.
Photographs of feeling
mirrored in the mind.
-from "Lonesome Cities", 1968
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