Train to Newport (1962)
I was but fifteen-years old, when Tom and I snuck into the freight yard, To catch a train going to Chicago. I was surprised at my stupidity—!
It stopped in Newport, Minnesota, Seven-miles from home, and we And we both (Tom and I) kicked stones, Walking those dark miles back home.
Note: The author did many things when he was young, but he never hopped a train again, it was his first and last time. #1241 2/23/06
Homeless in ‘68
The homeless man has naught— For I was, when I was in San Francisco
Back in ‘68— Everything is pointed against him You want to cry a little, but I held it in.
It gets dark quick when you’re homeless. No matter what side of the street you’re
On, a homeless man is in hot water!
#1240 2/23/06
In 1968, Dennis traveled from Minnesota to San Francisco by train, he had a streak of bad luck and had to eat at the mission, and ended up sleeping on a sofa in a dojo, for several weeks, and then on someone porch on a couch for $5-dollars a week (a Spanish family). Then finally he found a job, and got a real room to roost in, and was very happy.
February in Minnesota
O’ quiet February—afternoon
Thy winter winds have ripened.
To-morrow’s perhaps more rigged;
We live them solely: one by one.
The crowd, people, city’s heartbeat
To-morrow may come out to see,
The harsh February morning breeze,
Makes the hours of day much briefer.
See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com
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