The waves shimmer under the
fading moon as the ocean
starts its day just before its dawn.
Glowing shades of turquoise, calm,
bright and clear, with waves expanding, the
sun climbs above the horizon beyond a
palm-framed, postcard-perfect island.
No one around to enjoy nature’s
majesty but dolphins and a couple sharks:
not another surfer for hundreds of miles.
Relaxed. peaceful and confident, set to
take on the boundless tubes and
meaty swells the ocean dares to share.
Paddling out to meet the peak, heart
pumping fast, as pulsing waves strut in.
Straddling the board, inhaling the
salt’s majesty as a gnarly, ripping
right-hander races in unpredictable,
capping on a mushroom-shaped mass of rock,
packing the bowl with controlled chaos.
Trading off waves, bent, warped, and
bubbled, walking the razor’s edge,
brave and young, taking unnecessary risks,
advancing when wise to pull back,
coming to the surface as another wave
hits the second edge of swinging sections,
burly lines around the corner
dipping in raw to wave face the swells.
Doubling-up through two-story backdoor barrels,
bowled over by a left and slammed by a
rogue set swung wide over the swollen reef.
by Bob Shallenberger
The poet Bob Shallenberger
striped by homespun bands,
tousled and muddled from the
resilient north plains wind.
Long beards tattered,
peppered white and gray.
Tattooed skin, red
from the Dakota sun.
Bifocals plastic, thick and brown.
Tee shirts faded mauve and …
Men walk in pairs on the concrete trail with
scuffed steel-toed boots and warn-out soles, drab
green shirts and khaki pants with brown tops.
In grey sweats and shorts they share dull tales …
Gravel hides on the winding asphalt
as the curve looms innocent.
Signs stream together,
red and orange blur without warning.
Rubber clenches, grasps,
releases and repeats —
Tracks swirling behind,
the striking metal skates in rhythm.
Lime green zoot,
masked, vest flowing loose atop
white saddles bony, shored at the base.
Silver chain spinning watch on end,
broad brim resting low on its
gaunt brow, paltry features
gazing, staring, smirking,
scheming as …
I started “Eric Liddell: Pure Gold” by David McCasland and just couldn’t put it down It’s the story of the Scottish/British Olympic sprinter from the 30’s who inspired the movie “Chariots …
Homes stripped from once proud families by
government-funded, too-big-to-fail banks with
cash reserves the size of third world regimes.
Their futures ripped away without consideration or
compassion, devoid of support from multi-termed
elected pen pushers …
“In The Garden of Beasts” by Erik Larson is a true story of U. S. Ambassador Dodd’s time before and during the Nazi takeover of Germany. It truly is a …
Sweat trickles beneath a black
shirt, untucked, vintage, and
well-worn for years with
guests and substitutes always
beside the other ones.
Magnetic beats echo long
side by side, above at back,
throbbing tempos call out the
middle faithful, …
Disconnected Global Elite:
they don’t need
solar panels on their shacks!
The sun won’t feed the
billion people who go to bed
hungry every night, the
masses of starving children
dying from contamination,
devoid of vaccinations,
treatment and …
This laugh-out-loud book is a true account of the author’s quest for true manliness in time for his newborn son’s arrival. A fellow inmate lent it to me to read …
The Merry-Go-Round© by Bob Shallenberger
Black & White Yard© by Bob Shallenberger
“Eric Liddell: Pure Gold” by David McCasland
Served Up© By Bob Shallenberger
“In The Garden of Beasts” by Erik
Solar Shacks© By Bob Shallenberger