A Poet’s Impression of Reno

Poetry by James Dilworth

daffodils photo


Newlands Park

      by James Dilworth

Another Saturday —

A day before Summer comes in:

Some singing birds above

brown finches and red robins

in old, spiky, evergreen trees,

a couple crows commenting on the rest

as they scamper along the

huge green carpet of lawn

with clover and dandelions

yellow and white daffodils blooming

black plum trees ripening

happy children playing on swings

creaking merry-go-rounds full of parents

low murmur of cars all around,

miles away and nearby.

I make a picture

with camera and pen to remember

when I perched with coffee

on the old, mottled concrete wall

above Keystone Highway

In Newlands Park, up high.


The Tourist

     by James Dilworth

I live out my old carpetbag

My clothes are neatly pressed

Folded on starched creases

From my final night.

Can’t remember where home was

Now it’s where I am

No trace of life I’ll leave

Nor contribution too

My passing through time and place

Show I’m lost and free

Brilliant corners in Reno are like ‘Frisco

Every motel is blue

Wandering I forgot my station

And fell off the deep end

Lost I am found No where alone

Unsearching eyes go shut.

Forever uninvolved I wander

To find where it is for me

Some place my face will fit

There I will end my vacation.

reno motels photo
Photo by aresauburn™

I Have Known Many Winds

by MaiLynn Stormon-Trinh

MaiLynn wrote about her experience with the many winds she’s known after visiting Burning Man in the Black Rock Desert in Nevada. I’m pleased to be able to share this post from her blog with you.

Windstorm at Burning Man, 2015
Windstorm at Burning Man, 2015


I have known many winds.

I have known the Santa Anas – the eerie stillness that precedes them, the way they arrive and warp the human psyche to bring about unrest at best, violence at worst. I have known the hot sticky air that blasts through the Southern Californian concrete like a devil blowing his horn. The blonde, blue-eyed beauties seek refuge while I let my hair whirl and tangle.

I have known how cold a gale can howl. And how fierce it can be. I have felt the air of the Antarctic and how far it has travelled so it can chill its way through my layers. It is possible to shiver and bundle and nuzzle next to a sweetheart and still feel bitter. Alone in the dark, the wind bashes and makes monsters of things.

I have known dust storms. The desert transforms into another planet when the fine powder kicks up from the cracked ground. I have felt my bare flesh sting, my skin peel open, my insides dried from the outside until I am a rattlesnake let loose. The sun disappears underneath a swirl of airborne sand. I have inhaled and coughed up black for days.

I have known the agitation a tempest can bring. The gusts persist and hunched wrinkled women are kept cooped up. I know what it feels like to walk around a corner and to be blown back to where I have come from.

Stay. Be calm. I have been known to want so much.

But I have known many winds. They have told me more than any stillness can divulge.

Knowing the wind at Burning Man, Black Rock Desert, Nevada.
Knowing the wind at Burning Man, Black Rock Desert, Nevada.


Solace of the Wind, Wellington Harbor, New Zealand
Solace of the Wind, Wellington Harbor, New Zealand