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Selected Poems by D.L. Lang

Copyright 2018 D.L. Lang

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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This chapbook contains poems previously published in full length poetry collections. It is a small sampling of the poetry published by D.L Lang, the current Poet Laureate of Vallejo, California. It includes some poems that have received ribbons or rosettes at county fairs. It contains poems inspired by Oklahoma, the San Francisco bay area, Judaism, a few of her other favorites.

For more information visit D.L. Lang online at

Table of Contents


The Bay Area


Ribbon Winners

Additional Favorites



The town in which I came of age

still imprints upon this very page.

Her name translates to soul,

and upon mine she oft doth pull.

Named after an idyll itself,

her history sits upon my shelf.

Enid's dubbed appropriately

from her railroads to her prairie.

The city of my youth has changed

with many buildings rearranged.

Childhood haunts fade into the past

alongside schoolmates who have passed.

No matter the years that I am gone,

upon her stories I am oft drawn.

Hometown for me she may always be,

but I can only visit her in my memory.

Dining With Your Skeleton

From the sweet simplicity of wooden sidewalks of yore—

words intricately woven by that judicious James—

your sweet wheat blows

through the fields where dreamers lay.

The gentle serenade of Hedges

waltzes with the soulful Mitchell,

carrying me beyond those rough days

spent struggling for survival.

How I admire your modern day bards,

as they fly on Pegasys wings,

igniting my soul. I study your myths,

from George to Holden to Roye.

You build the statues of my heart,

painting the dreams unending,

that carry me onward, a rooted rose rock.

I've walked your hallowed halls in exile,

with infamous grey evangelicals,

amid the Roman columns of values,

silhouetted in skies once inspiring

the likes of Cessna and Woodring, that Musketeer.

Placed my feet solid in red dirt

that may hold not the mummy of that rascal George,

but the Union Patriot turned messiah gopher, Corbett.

They, like me, never saw your Victory ships,

nor your Carnegie. Though these days

my eyes oft admire mountains and palm trees,

the faint train whistle carries my heart,

whispering "Remember your history."

To my Strawberry Fields

I alone return to your natural sanctuary,

playing the fool on the hill.

20 years have come and gone

since we first stumbled on your beauty.

Your train whistles still comfort me

in my dark insomniac nights.

Your railroad shack and rusty classic cars long gone.

Your 100 year old bridge marred by graffiti

that glorifies the death that I feel.

My friends are long grown and busy,

raising their own kids and careers.

Blanton is but a dot on old maps with its origins lost to history.

The greenery, trees, and streams of my youth are long destroyed by tank shaped bulldozers, my worst childhood fears come true.

I long for days spent with my friends,

Pretending to be musicians with log drums and stick guitars,

Sharing first smokes,

and living in fantasy lands where dreams came true.

Memories of magical dusty pillows, swinging on rafters, climbing trees, hiking along the tracks,

root beers, and toy pistols.

I brought everyone here who meant something to me,

from best friends to soulmates,

immortalizing this place in album covers and music videos.

Just like then, escaping my troubles

to the silence of the shooting stars,

Meditating on what could have been.

just like then, still misunderstood.

In the middle of the night,

before the sun arises, it almost seems like it was back then:

a magical place that unites us all, but I’m the only one here.

One lone sentimental soul

reminiscing to a different soundtrack not in sync with this time,

but blending into the scenery.

It’s just me, God,

and the roar of locomotives on their way out west,

and that’s where I am soon to return.

Blanton-Kiowa Line

From Blanton up to Kiowa ran the Santa Fe,

her whistles lay silent to this very day.

It all started in 1902 by the DE&G,

stretching across the land just as far as you could see.

Passing through the towns that dotted the Great Plains,

she carried many a man and grain,

transporting stories of love and pain,

even running up those Great Salt Plains.

For ninety odd years, her tracks, they sang

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