The Road to Hondo

An Ode to Hondo and our trip,

‘The Road to Hondo’

Into the future on the wings of memories
across the Lone Star State at high noon.
Tall pines shrank to dwarf sized oaks
mesquite, cedar trees and the same cactus
passed us for miles
while Lou Lou sat next to her window
and I sat next to mine.

Commercialism lined the highway
through the scenic hill country
as signs; blocked the mountainous views
food for conversation, like:
‘Cedar Eaters’
motto: ‘Environmentally Friendly’
(picture: A large tractor with forks
uprooting trees and shredding them)

“Brave weeds rose up to look around
for lawn mowers.”

The moon ascended over a wooden fence
and stepped upward through power lines
like a musical note rising in scale
began the night’s long, silent song.

“On full moon nights, deer
tip toe to larger openings
cause they can see where the rocks are at.
Their dancing gets freer
and prettier cause they know
mans not there to dampen the dance.”

The truck’s grill a beautiful new color
filled with flattened butterflies
the first night we were there.

“What was that that moved?
Probably a little ole nothing”

“The little single couple sitting
at the road side park
touched the back of their hands together…
scared me!”

A case of ‘the missing pink panties’
rose, where muscles grow
in a motel light’s ignored glow
although the rain closet offered
a blast in two different ways
romance blossomed…
on the road to Hondo.

The asphalt raceway crowded with racers
racing from one scenic site to the next
faster than one could enjoy such places;
passing our newly restored ‘classic’ pickup truck
several times as we made our way steadily
on the roads to Hondo.

A country said to be dominated
by the over population of white tail deer,
we saw as many in the wild
as there were laying along the highway.
The scent of a skunk’s hit and run
had us pinching our noses.

Mexican meals in the high Texas hills
strolling where Germans made heritage
Oktoberfest pre:dawn,
workers with late night yawns
prepared for a new day’s worth of commerce.

The wineries were not yet awaken
watching wild birds
clean sweep a parking lot
for fallen morsels and hopeful handouts
while mockingbirds sang for a meal.

Excitement grew wilder
as we drove nearer, to the town
where the legendary Mayor,
imaginer, story teller, singer,
song writer, cowboy and poet lived,
as we turned…
on the last road to Hondo.

“Not much happened in Luckenbauch this month,
except the potato chip man came by.”

His small smiling statue
still stood outside the old post office/
souvenir store/ beer joint
with a line of people strung out the door
to ‘shell out’ dough for memorabilia
some tourists were even taking pictures
of the chickens pecking the ground.

Musicians gathered around back
for the weekend’s weekly gathering,
songwriters with hopeful expectations
of recognition and the music of
Texas guit’fiddle pickers from across the state;
sitting next to celebrities
whom have all made the journey
on the road to Hondo.

We reveled in the words of the dead poet
in several postings of his humorous
country wit, around the small town,
we tipped our hats, bid him ‘good day’
hand in hand with Lou Lou
we drove away from Luckenbauch, Texas…
on the road to Hondo.

“Folks won’t believe we have such a big moon
for such a small town.”

by Art~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Hondo Crouch, 1916-1976

Luckenbach Moon, “…This kind of moonshine makes you crazy to sleep in it, they say.  But I think you’re crazy not to try it…”

Portions of his poetic charm was highlighted in parentheses in this poem. LouAnne and I went to Luckenbauck a few years back. I had just rebuilt the motor in my old truck and it needed a long drive to break it in. We only broke down twice, but I repaired the kinks and we had a good time. I wrote this poem after we returned.

drive carefully

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