The Mother Road - Route 66, Will Rogers, Woody Guthrie

There are tales to be told,
Told in a road ode,
Bout the Mother Road.

An adventure road,
A romantic road,
A storied road.

Listening to tales,
Man found Indian trails,
Followed with wagon trails.

Of that one Westward way,
Man did a survey,
Laid a highway.

A ride of endless seams,
A road of many schemes,
A path for eternal dreams.

A road of untold grass clumps,
A road of a thousand gas pumps,
A ride of endless Ka-thump, Ka-thumps.

Described in romantic song and ode,
That ribbon of highway ode,
Is Woody's song road.

Hear America's inspiring song in ode,
Feel the romance of America's dream road,
The go west tug of that road.

A happy and sad road,
When times of despair did bode,
It became the Joad road.

Nightly campfires glowed,
Family burried beside that road,
Souls forgotten graves still hold.

A meandering road,
A peaceful road,
The Westerly migration road.

Goes forever it seems,
Its old movie screens,
Picturesque desert scenes.

Unlimited peaceful views to sketch,
On so many a scenic stretch,
For memories to fetch.

On a serene Oklahoma drive of road,
Travel the heart of the Mother Road,
America's glory road, this road.

Panoramic views of the Western span

crest,
Heaven and skies at their best,
America's entrance to the West.

Over land nature so blessed,
Beautifully caressed,
Romance possessed.

Pass an old farm,
Catch a scenic barn,
America's serene charm.

Passing nature's prairie stage,
Eyes and hearts engage,
Fields of wafting coral sage.

While at that stage,
Turn a seasonal page,
See fields of autumn sage.

Man's quarry,
The road to glory,
America's story.

A road most rode with out care,
Some rode in despair,
For all it was a trip affair,

Lure found this road,
Hope took this road,
Man romanced this road.

America's romantic road,
America's glory road,
America's Mother road.

Stormy Weather - Severe Weather, Nature's Dichotomy

A story to be told,
Nature to behold,
Where hot meets cold,
Awesome powers unfold.

Nature's blender,
To some an offender,
To some splendor,
To all an awesome wonder.

Natures most romantic skies,
Most times the clearest skies,
Few times the darkest skies,
Most violent skies.

When sky's extremes rally,
Along weather's rift valley,
There is a grand finale,
Up tornado alley.

Skies once serene,
Turn green, then mean,
A fearful scene,
Natures warning scene.

Across the hills,
Black clouds grow,
Thunder peals,
Strong winds blow.

As storms near,
Some frozen by fear,
Others struck by awe,
Neither able to withdraw.

Skies start the attack,
Flashes quiver,
Thunder wracks,
Flow like a river.

Heavens hailing,
Debris sailing,
Clouds tailing,
Sirens wailing.

Gone is the still,
The real, turns unreal,
Brings a scary feel,
Then surreal.

Trees bend,
Charges crawl the skin,
Hair lifts in the wind,
Fear and awe blend.

Winds lash,
Trees tumble,
The scared dash,
And stumble.

Lightning streaks up and down,
Deafening sounds,
Flashes surround,
The surround confounds.

In the midst,
Of the tempest,
Comes the twist,
If it exist.

Then as suddenly as sent,
Rains relent,
The tempest spent,
The storm went.

Leaving cleansed plains,
The smell of fresh rain,
Tranquility springs,
Things of wing sing.

Nature came this way,
Its power on display,
Causes man to pray,
Then goes away.

Notes:

The above is a description of a mythical storm system that has the potential to produce damaging tornadoes. As dangerous as an actual tornado is, we would be

remiss to neglect the appreciation gained by witnessing the display of power that nature controls.

Each year the Tornado Alley area of the US experiences numerous storm systems that could produce tornadoes. In reality, the chance for a tornado to hit a

particular area is very small. Few people who live a normal lifetime in Tornado Alley will ever be close enough to witness an actual tornado. Let alone be in

the path. The path of a tornado is very narrow, but very devastating to whatever is in the path.

An Ode to the Little Horned Toad

Here is an ode,
An ode bout a lonely little toad.
A funny looking little toad.
This ode is bout that little horned toad.

A little known toad;
A little four toed toad;
Found along a dusty road;
Found on that Road Runner's road.

It is a horned lizard we are told;
But, ask any country kid what is this toad?
They will say, why this is a little horned toad,
This barbed looking little toad.

N ow, there are hopping toads,
We have our jumping toads,
Then there are swimming toads,
But, none of these are little horned toads.

And, you may see a walking toad,
You may hear a croaking toad,
You may even feel a slippery toad,
None of these a little horned toad.

N ever under a stool,
Not this little toad.
A cover of sand is the abode,
For this cool little toad.

Some say a scooting toad,
Some say a rooting toad,
Across the road it scoots,
In the sand it roots.

Next time you walk a sandy road,
Look for an ant eating toad?
Is it a hissing toad?
If all yes, then its a little horned toad.

Stories and tales are told,
Of the little horned toad.
But, when stories and tales unfold,
Mostly myths are told.

Superstitions are told,
About this little horned toad,
About this puffing toad,
This blood squirting eyes toad.

Some think it a scary toad,
But, it is just a harmless little toad,
A scared little toad we should never goad.
And, do be careful how you hold.

Thorns its head adorns.
Around its neck is worn,
Scales that look like horns.
It will puff to bluff, and hiss to warn.

The little horned toad is a throwback

toad.
A toad of the dinosaur mode.
But it is just a shy little toad.
A frightened little toad.

If it is not a country road,
Then it is not a horned toad,
If it is not a lonely road,
Then it is not a horned toad.

If it is not a sandy road,
Then it is not a horned toad,
If it is not a four toed toad,
Then it is not a horned toad.

If every you are on a dusty, sandy,

country road,
Look for the little four toed toad,
Remember be gentle with this little toad,
It is only a scared little toad.