Showing posts with label The Dodge. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Dodge. Show all posts

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

The Storyteller


November 27

THE STORYTELLER



Funny stories I long to share with new friends have to be put aside while the core of this entity is built.  Mutual memory is the siding on a house framed in integrity.  Treading together through the past, we strengthen each other's perception; it's the only support that can be offered without time travel.  We take hands, then link arms, wander happily toward the future having the keys to history jangling in our fists; we can return whenever prudent or necessary.  We forge a fresh path and hope for a pleasant journey; between us we figure we have slain all the dragons.


Invest in idealism.
*
At The Dodge


I remember so long ago
when I would come and sit and listen;
soak in the poets and the Consort,
sop it all into the sponge that listened and sat.

I did not know exactly what they were doing
and I didn’t know why I was there,
but I went and had a soak.

Now so many years hence
I am the writer I never knew
and I know just what they do ,
because I do it too!



Friday, December 2, 2011

At the Dodge

December 2

At The Dodge

I remember so long ago when I would come and sit and listen; soak in the poets and the Consort, sop it all into the sponge that listened and sat. I did not know exactly what they were doing and I didn’t know why I was there, but I went and had a soak. Now so many years hence I am the writer I never knew and I know just what they do because, I do it too!

Write a poem on your foot

*

GOOSE

I round this corner nearly every day.
There in the field stand a flock of problems,
Pecking the ground and flopping their wings.

Uniform and regular, the honking and squawking
Is undistinguishable from yesterday.

I ponder and squint, are these the same
Or yet another gaggle making their way
Along the migratory path?

Trouble is feral, skulking the edges of the field
But never sheltering in the yard.
I must leave my hands off
Knowing these are not mine.

The feathers fly and I gather the strays
Acutely aware of the ticklish nature of this.

Awkwardly I face the truth
No matter how much of a perplexity this is to me
Or others, it is only geese.