Don Picolo, a retired educator lives on a small farm in delta country of California.
Mr. Picolo's poetry also appeared on page 0002 in the year 2000 edition of The Central California Poetry Journal.
Crops grow
This time
Humble home
Spanish spoken
The town just down the road
Many languages denote
Luckily just a few unimagined
For the prominent ribbon:
Granite cradle nestled in the rock
From here I see three dead pines,
I hear the creek, Sawmill Creek
I feel the granite below me
The tall spired outcroppings quite high above
As light hit the field
I've camped often and with many
With hunters and rifles cold
School groups and church gatherings
With families seeming sweet with daddy teaching
All text and images in The Central California Poetry Journal are copyrighted. Copyright by © by Scott Galloway 2001. All rights are reserved. See main Journal page for
copyright information.
Return to Central California Poetry Journal Table of Contents
Bracero labor
Pescadero
Pumpkins thrive
Pumpkin-patch Holloween-oooo
Catholic church
Genuflect-oh
Pesky peso
Me comprehend, no
Ode to a Small City
(Stockton, California)
Is proud they're American
The emotions sparkle
In the street and wax on boulevard
This pride hard won and fragile
It suits them as a people
They pulled it from the edge!
Cleaved to a weedy pathway
Detached and striated
Display little regard
An All American City
Granite Cradle
Two healthy cedars, a Douglas Fir
and ponderosa pine and a tit mouse
It splashes to the meadow below
A high flying jet bound, who knows?
and the warble of the lady tit mouse's mate
and the hot sun above- a black ant
Scurries across my belly bare expose
and a very, very blue sky
From here I see...
Morning Hand
The pick up truck's
Door flew open
And the field hand
Bent and squated
O'r the water valve
So the second grow
Can suckle moisture
In a summer's mow
Campgrounds
(California)
Different sorts
With youthful scouts and kaki clad leaders
Serious about the forest life
Like Romans about their road
Feeling lost and alone
With wives and lovers who found
The woods sexual, primal and earthy
with exalted purpose and ritual meaning
We studied and prayed to our gods
His kids the ropes and what living is all about
And now, often alone
Still
Peering in the fire

Authors and poets submitting original materials to this journal retain all rights to their original work, except those rights specifically assigned in writing to Solo Publications including the right to publish the submitted work in The Central California Poetry Journal. The poems on this page are copyrighted by the author. Copyright © Don Picolo 2001.
Send email to the Central California Poetry Journal
Return to Solo Publications On Line
Return to Solo Publications Web Index
Back To The Top