there is something to a man
who can pound posts
then write such poems
that even, Alice,
over her meatless meal
on Fridays, of fish
glasses askew
at picture of a poet and a deer
she, can make no sense of
I, though, imagine him walking
through heavy-hooded woods,
noticing that lacy branches,
dappling snowy forest floor,
speak of home and hearth
miles from any four-square
and from some slushy pavement
Alice has to tread
to tell her half-forgotten tale
pulling her fine lace kerchief
further over her pale brow
shaded by kid gloves
never imagining,
she might be missing something
in grumbling over every step
she takes to talk to God
I can imagine
what spirits speak to him
in white light,
so that, when he returns
to rack his gun,
he is struggling
for room to breathe
(images,
needing a place to be,
leave little room
until they are released on paper)
Alice, really doesn’t have a clue
how to be inspired,
she is too busy with the Ladies
League of Blue Doo
with little to keep them busy
but collect funds
for keeping clean air
and water
in the Charitable Church
baptismal font
but, I do,
because he has walked me
through cathedrals of his Back Forty
by deft descriptions
of a winter’s night
after a hunt, that halted
at a downed bluebird,
hanging onto a blister of ice
on barbed wire fence
Alice can’t even comprehend
dearness of heart
that can carve meat for dinner
and create poems
that carry God’s voice
Author notes
Alice? Where the hell is Alice?
In a list
A contest entry
- Contest: Write Something Wonderful for Rob - Closes May 14th by Night Hope.
600 points, ended May 14, 2007, 4 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 10 of 10
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Thank you
sister; I'm at a loss, but you know, you know...
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I know, you know, I know... and even better than this, I am sneding a shawl hug... and even more than the poem and the hug, I have sent you a gift straight from my traditional heart to yours. Do let me know when it arrives.
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smell the smudge, btoher, smell the smudge....
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UPDATES:
TWO ENTRIES ARE NOW ALLOWED PER POET.
CONTEST EXTENDED UNTIL MAY 14TH.
READ THE MESSAGE FROM ROB ON THE CONTEST PAGE, IN THE COMMENTS SECTION, IN ITS ENTIRETY. PLEASE HONOR HIS REQUEST.
SPECIFICALLY, LEAVE YOUR POEM(S) IN HERE AT LEAST UNTIL HE'S HAD A CHANCE TO READ & COMMENT.
PLEASE GIVE HIM PLENTY OF TIME TO DO SO. IF YOU MUST DELETE IT/THEM, LEAVE A LINK TO IT/THEM IN THE COMMENTS SECTION, PLEASE.
EXCERPT FROM ROB'S COMMENT:
"I will read and comment when I can, so please leave your work here. Thanks for your support.
Peace"
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I have a picture like that. Only its 2 deer, and they have the cigs and the sunglasses!
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the ones sitting on the couch with their leg's crossed? LOL...I have seen that one...
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This sounds.
This sounds just like you and how you feel about things. The poem is highly descriptive of the person upon whom you are writing about. You did an extremely fine job on it. This is a poem written with love. -
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thank you, country cousin. I do nto knwo that I have worked on any other poem as much as I worked on this one.
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"but, I do,
because he has walked me
through cathedrals of his Back Forty
by deft descriptions
of a winter’s night
after a hunt, that halted
at a downed bluebird,
hanging onto a blister of ice
on barbed wire fence
Alice can’t even comprehend
dearness of heart
that can carve meat for dinner
and create poems
that carry God’s voice"
Sighhh. Ohhh, Hell, yeahhh. I know you do, my Sister, 'cause I do, too. The three of us have a holy kinship, it seems; we've proved it with our spontaenous collaborations. This is such a beautiful, perceptive & powerful penning, Sweetie...He's gonna love it, Carol. I sure do. Thank you for being the first one to pay tribute to our beloved Scribe...& for setting the bar so high, right out of the gate. Good luck in the contest, Lady. You've painted his portrait so well. Wanda
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Isn't that amazing, that three can find that kinship? It is.. it truly is.
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