Alaskan & Western Reflections

by Jerry Dale McDonnnell©2013 Published in Over the Transom #24, 2014 He said he was an Indian, American Indian. It was San Francisco. North Beach. Said he lived here. His family born here. Had lived here for generations long before the Spanish gold seekers trekking north stumbled on to it. Before any sailors of yore found the entrance to San Francisco Bay. Aye matey, North Beach, once the old Barbary Coast, shanghaiing skippers, wheelers, dealers, hookers and snookers. Why the hell not an Indian? Davy was skeptical of most things. He trusted tides and sudden squalls more than people. “He looks Indian, but he may be just bullshitting us for the beer,” Davy said one eye closed, first finger pointing at the Indian We’d been buying the beer. I wanted to hear this Indian’s story. It was almost November. A couple of days before the crab season opened. Davy and I had our boat docked in Sausalito ready to sail. Crab pots, 120 of them, on the deck, ready to set. A Wednesday night...

          by  Jerry Dale McDonnell©2014 Published in MungBeing #56 2014       The ceiling was low; the Cessna 170 was bucking like a bull with a money rider on its back. Steve, the pilot, swooped low one time over the slanted beach tilting toward a wind stirred water that slapped waves onto the narrow edge of Cook Inlet. Satisfied that driftwood wasn’t an issue on the sand runway that existed only by the grace of a low tide, Steve swung around to make a landing.   On the turn I counted two brown bears in the sedge clearing about one-quarter mile from the beach. The aircraft touched down a bit hard due to a sudden gust of wind off the port wing, which set us down close to wild water. I was glad Steve was the pilot or else we might have gone surfing encompassed in this metal box designed for flight not float. It was a good landing on a bad day. I was home for the season.         I usually don’t have b...

by  Jerry Dale McDonnell©2014                                                       Published in MungBeing#56--2014 Scene 1 While he was surveying at his meager library (14 narrow shelves in three freestanding units and 3 hung with adjustable brackets) he finds a slim one-page quarter folded pamphlet opening at a measurement of 11 x 17 inches (roughly) titled “Obscurity,” by Don Skiles, published by Cross+Roads Press, Ellison Bay, Wisconsin. Yes, he remembers it. A gift. Opens it to its full size and begins reading. Now consider just three evenings past while he was awaiting to read a piece of his own at the launching of a literary journal he was sitting next to a woman whose photo was the cover of the new edition of Cirque (not or herself, but an abstract image) made mention of a poet of which he did not have knowledge. Published ...

by Jerry Dale McDonnell©2014 Published in MungBeing #56 (reflections) Numbers III 1 . Ratios Bees construct hexagon hives—6 sides—made of wax and honey. Some brown bears have 3 cubs if honey and fish are plentiful.   Everyone starts with 1 mother and 1 father             some end with 3 or more grandfathers                         maybe 2 or more grandmothers. 2. Orders 17 years old. Boot camp. Herded. Stripped. Hair cut like a con. Civvy Clothes bagged and tagged like bodies.   New uniforms stuffed in a duffle. Fall in. Atteeen shun!   Our first 2 orders: 1. You will never forget your serial number as long as you live.             2. You will only remember the good times. We lived in ...