Don Thompson Poetry...
San Joaquin Ink
Dust Bowl bona fides... Grandpa Marley sold the farm to buy this Chevy, loaded everything they owned onto the trailer, and headed for California. Mom (shading her eyes) and her sister are wearing the cat's pajamas, handsewn for the journey to the promised land, where they began by picking fruit in the San Joaquin.
The oak tree arrived here about eighty years ago as a seedling wrapped in burlap. An old friend, it has shown up in several poems.
Don and Nessie at a winery on the central coast. In "Local Color" there are references to wineries in the 805 area code.
Chris on our honeymoon...
Tule reeds in a canal not far from our house, taken on my morning walk.
"Cut a farmer, he bleeds water and binds the wound with borrowed money." 'Epigrams from the San Joaquin' WHERE WE LIVE
Old Easter sunrise cross on White Wolf Grade
Alfalfa field in front of our house, Elk Hills in the background
Cotton ready to pick, early morning
Aunt Aline's persimmon tree next door
Oak Grove Cemetery