I used to ride my bicycle all over the place when I was a kid. We grew up on bicycles. When we lived down on Snake Creek, we routinely rode any bike that we could get working down to the Dip (creek named for the yellow warning sign in front of it). I’ll never forget the Christmas the four of us kids were led outside by our parents to see a row of shiny new bikes waiting for us: bright green things with tassels on the handgrips, bone-white banana seats, and plastic wicker-like baskets with blue and pink flowers on them. Continue reading “Biking Toward Poetry”
Tag: poetry
From Those Unknown to Us
I just read the great poet Pablo Neruda’s description of a lifelong inspiration in his poetry. He was playing in the lot behind his house when he found a hole in the fence:
“I looked through the hole and saw a landscape like that behind our house, uncared for, and wild. I moved back a few steps, because I sensed vaguely that something was about to happen. All of a sudden a hand appeared—a tiny hand of a boy about my own age. By the time I came close again, the hand was gone, and in its place there was a marvelous white toy sheep.
“The sheep’s wool was faded. Its wheels had escaped. All of this only made it more authentic. I had never seen such a wonderful sheep. I looked back through the hole but the boy had disappeared. I went in the house and brought out a treasure of my own: a pine cone, opened, full of odor and resin, which I adored. I set it down in the same spot and went off with the sheep.
“I never saw either the hand or the boy again.” Continue reading “From Those Unknown to Us”
Skateboard Blues
He cracked his skateboard in half doing a slide yesterday.
Though it didn’t work, “It was cool” and it made him grin.
Today he stalks the street, angling the lawnmower
Ahead of him, searching for quick cash to buy
Another deck, a more expensive one, righteous
With amped weight capacity, one that won’t snap
In two on a slide. I have maybe sixty-seven cents
In my purse, though yesterday I charged two pairs
Of boots at Penney’s. He stops a block away Continue reading “Skateboard Blues”
Survival Through Poetry
I am normally about a decade behind on reading books, but my lovely sister Kelly who keeps me supplied with downloaded audio books has kept me somewhat current this time. Last month I finished listening to/reading Peter Heller’s The Dog Stars, which came out in 2012. It’s the kind of novel that poets love and one that takes a bit of a poet’s mentality to perhaps fully appreciate.
Please don’t let that turn you off, you non-poetry people out there (hey, what are you doing on my site, by the way?).
The story is compelling, the characters people you want to know, the setting futuristic (sort of), and . . . there’s a dog named Jasper, a blue heeler who will win over every reader’s heart. (Scroll down on this page to see the dog that inspired him.) Continue reading “Survival Through Poetry”
Igraine’s Letter
It is not a chaste kiss
One wants from another
Who is the focus of drowning
Desire
It is not that
Merlin: a life of magic with no love
–only obsession at the end
yet
His empathy for Uther
His empathy toward passion
Propelled enchantment. Continue reading “Igraine’s Letter”
Not Meaning
The public radio show State of the ReUnion will be at our museum this Friday, Aug. 17, to interview me and others as part of a community story about Tulsa and surrounding areas. Since this show is not in our local NPR station line-up, I had not listened to it, but on the show’s website, you can hear all of its shows, plus see photos from the interviews.
I wonder what I will say . . .
I wonder where my poetry will be . . .
I wonder what the other people they interview will say . . .
I wonder where their poetry will be . . . Continue reading “Not Meaning”
Rural Oklahoma Museum of Poetry 