I'm Going Out to Clear the Pasture Spring

I have a lot to write, but not the presence of mind write it today – so here’s more poetry!

Sometimes poems are much better at conveying a mood than clunky prose . . .


Ark
By Katie Ford

We love the stories of flood and the few
told to prepare in advance by their god.
In that story, the saved are
always us, meaning:
whoever holds the book.


Other Answers
By Carl Dennis

Now he's gone off, the middle-aged man
Who rang the doorbell a moment ago
Looking for the Russo family,
And already I'm sorry I settled for saying, "No.
No Russos Here." A true reply,
True to the precept against deception.
But what about a flow of fellow feeling
That would have pushed me to step out
On the porch a moment—pulling a coat on
Against the November chill—and point
To houses where I knew for certain
The man would be wasting his time to ring?
A dinner guest, maybe, growing uneasy
About finding the residence of his new friends.
Am I so gloomy about the likelihood
Of stories with happy endings that I'd like everyone
To stay home, content with his portion,
However meager? Or did the man remind me
Of a character in a play who spells trouble,
A borrower who might bleed a house dry,
A talker so courteous he makes a wife regretful
She didn't meet him before she met her husband.
Or did I suspect he'd envy the pair the joy
Each feels in the other's company, as Iago
Envies the love of Othello and Desdemona?
If I want to be fair, I have to assume the visitor
Innocent until proven guilty. For all I know
He could add to the play the part of the true friend
That Shakespeare hasn't provided, a counterpoise
To the secret enemy. What a difference he'd make
By urging Othello to pause a moment,
Listen, and reconsider. However else
The world would remain the same
If I were inclined to give fuller answers,
Othello's story might be less predictable.
He wouldn't always stumble without a candle
To the final scene, wouldn't always learn late
What he'd give everything to learn earlier.

Friday Random Muppet Video

For your Friday entertainment . . . this is such an incredibly sweet song, done by the incredibly talented Danny Kaye . . . and a little extra show at the end . . .

Two Random Wednesday Poems

I haven’t posted any poems in a while, and I felt the need to find some. These two spoke to me today . . .

Spring
By Angela Ball

My feelings just took a turn for the better
While thinking of white flowers turning into strawberries,
Of clover turning into bees, of crowds of wisteria
Swelling and swelling.

People often think I have a friendly dog, but it is just me:
My wide arm-span for folding tablecloths, my feet that seem worn
Not just by me, but many.

I had this feeling once before, when I was walking through rain
And wet leaves in shoes that were red and navy.
Much of me hadn't been tried out, and I liked that.


Stopping along the Way
By David Wagoner

Heading south toward campus, my car
stops suddenly, abruptly, almost
on its own. My right foot
has found the brake pedal
before my eyes can admire
a very young possum strolling
across our right of way
at his personal intersection
of human cross-purposes,
some of whose brakes are squeaking
behind us now. The possum
pauses, lowers his gray-pink-
and-sooty snout to drink in
the odor of something
among the fallen and flattened
sycamore leaves. I've seen
too many of him lying down
even flatter than seemed
possible beside roads
and in gutters. I realize
my car's mere presence looming
over him won't quicken
those four deliberate paws,
won't urge him out of danger,
but before I can think or make
some warning sign, two cars
are honking. He lifts his head
dreamily, comparing
that sound to some distant sound
somewhere deep, far back
in his old, new mind, then begins
strolling forward again
and up onto the grass
among the unloaded, locked,
and abandoned bicycles
and empties and leaflets left
by fraternal and sisterly
orders on their own ways
to and from understanding
or back to forbidden gardens
and holes in the ground. Again
a car behind me honks.
And another. It's what geese do
heading south at the beginning
of winter. They want to know
the one in front still believes
they're there and are trusting him
to be sure where they're all going.

Mid-Summer Bumbling Along

I’m just going to start writing and then we’ll see where all this leads.

Ready?

Shall we?

My sister stayed with myself and Mr. Random last week. She was in the area all month on leave from the Army and stayed at my parent’s house most of the time. Since she has been back from Iraq, her legs have been giving her a lot of pain, and she has trouble going up and down stairs and also walking long distances. Since Mr. Random and I live in a 3rd floor walk-up, it was a slight problem. My sister and I had talked about going to New York City for a couple of days, but it was now out of the question.

I had taken the week off and had looked forward to getting away and doing things with my sister. Instead we were mostly home-bound. She was fine with that – visited friends some days, another day we went to lunch and a shopping mall, another day to the Museum of the American Indian and then had lunch, one day we went down to visit my grandmother – kept busy. Friday, she left – flew back to the base. My sister said she had a good time, got plenty of rest, just enough time away. She’s going to get her legs checked out when she gets back to base in Texas, and will let us know what happens.

I am not sure if I had a good time or not. I’m still tired. I am happy that my sister enjoyed her time here, but I’m concerned about her health. We did a few fun things, I saw a museum that I had not been to yet, we went to an ice cream tasting, had some nice lunches and dinners, but . . . but . . .

As much fun as the Fringe Festival was, it was still in the context of the day-to-day-slog. Despite my being home and staying away from work last week. It still felt like the same daily slog – just one element taken out of it. I feel bad because I don’t feel good, if that makes any sense.

I am low on days off until Christmas break – I have to save the rest of my time so I can take off the week between Christmas and New Years. Mr. Random will have the last two weeks in August off, because Congress is in recess then and he’s not going to be working at the Conventions. I look to the rest of the year with a weary eye . . .

Oy! I’m hoping that I figure out something fun and relaxing to do soon or else I’ll be fried by the end of September . . .