Hobo Jungle

[The Dirt]

It being Mother’s Day, I thought I’d put up a tribute. This is a song written by Bruce Springsteen, for two boys, friends of his own son, whose mother died at a really young age.

The song is about a son who loses his mom, and he believes that her spirit comes back to him at night in the form of a palomino that comes out of the mountains when he goes to bed.

Granted, not all mothers are deserving of remembrance or tribute. This is both for those who were, and for all you hobos whose mothers have passed on, and are remembered with fondness and wistfulness.
___________

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r9g-frGBlRA

Silver Palomino

I was barely 13 years old
She came out of the Guadalupe's on a night so cold
Her coat was frosted diamonds in the sallow moon's glow
My silver palomino

Sixteen hands from her withers to the ground
I lie in bed and listen to the sound
Of the west Texas thunder roll
My silver palomino

I track her into the mountains she loved
Watch her from the rocks above
She'd dip her neck and drink from the winter flows
My silver palomino

Our mustaneros were the very best, sir
But they could never lay a rope on her
No corral will ever hold
The silver palomino

In my dreams bareback I ride
Over the pradera low and wide
As the wind sweeps out the draw
'Cross the scrub desert floor

I'd give my riata and spurs
If I could be forever yours
I'd ride into the Serrania where no one goes
For my silver palomino

Summer drought come hard that year
Our herd grazed the land so bare
Me and my dad had to blowtorch the thorns off the prickly pear
And Mother, your hand slipped from my hair

Tonight I wake early, the sky is pearl, the stars aglow
I saddle up my red roan
I ride deep into the mountains along a ridge of pale stone
Where the air is still with the coming snow

As I rise higher I can smell your hair
The scent of your skin, Mother, fills the air
'Midst the harsh scrub pine that grows
I watch the silver palomino

[webenda]

Happy Mother's Day to all Hobo Mothers and Mothers of hobos.

[rogruth]

Dirt,

Although I am not a Springsteen fan,that is a beautiful and moving poem.

I do not do well with words about emotional things.

[rogruth]

Wayne,

Is that some type of cactus flower?

I visited Arizona four times,always in July.Never got to see the desert in bloom.

I consider that a loss.

[webenda]

It is indeed Ro'er. (Left out the "g" because I did not want to put on airs.)

Its_a_cholla_cactus.jpg (237.08 KiB) Viewed 2272 times

Dirt,

I am glad you explained that poem ahead of time. Otherwise I only would have understood the "...blowtorch the thorns off the prickly pear" part. When there is not enough grass due to draught in Arizona the cattle walk around with cactus stuck in their tongues and lips because they tried to eat it. The cowboys try to help by burning the thorns off cactus before the cattle get to it.

[rogruth]

Wayne,

but that "g" thing is only at the end of a word.

[The Dirt]

Glad you gentlemen enjoyed it. Me, I love the imagery, and the metaphor of something that the lad can see but no longer touch or have.
In Tramp's words, "some poems take you like a rain".

Take a couple of minutes and hit the youtube link for the song itself.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r9g-frGBlRA

[webenda]

Oh. Ok Roger. I was just puttin' you on. [dangling]

[2railjon]

Just a note...141 years ago to this day the golden spike was driven in to the track of the Transcontinental Railway!

[rogruth]

Wayne,

You be chillin' now.


Concerning the photo above,is that a bottle of - - - ,no it couldn't be.This is a railroad,you get fired for that.

[Tramp]

I'm not sure how many of you hobos are interested in Zen.

http://wiod.com/common/zen.html

[rogruth]

I have had a life long interest in Zen.
Thanks for the link.

[ogauge47]

Just found this....

[The Dirt]

Tramp, LMAO!!
I just found this!

Yes, I practice Zen myself, every chance I get!

Oommmmmmmm....

[webenda]

Its says no birthdays today but yes there is a birthday today. I am 63 years young today.

That was 5/26/2009, so you must be 64 tomorrow. Happy birthday Jim. Your catching up with me (68.)