"Sing about it, yeh talk about it, yeh talkin' 'bout love"
Steve Forbert.
Not necessarily Paul (aka Saul).
I had my _________, now I'm holy.
Meh. So, in 2009, threatened by insolvency and the Mayan calendar (sic or snicker? yer basic B movie plot as reality, thanks Leonard Nimoy & Dr Spock). I'm thinkin' bout Forestry Song instead:
Forestry Song (6th Draft)
.
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for Doug, who stole
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.
_After man has cut & hewn_ Julia Rogers
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_A fool sees not what a wise man sees_ Blake
.
.
And birds sing on every
perennial from roots, present on past
rivers, running rocks and sands
see, in my poems; forests, solid, vast, inland
Shineplay shade as supple boughs wag; with
delight alone, or in streets rushd, or along fields
of Earth; of the slumbering liquid,
b/w a turkey and a toad, froggy
:frog: /phrog/ 1. interj.
Term of disgust (dark and
toadish girl, do not try);
This soil is a great toad-mother
The golden lights of liquid rage
prospecting--for blood, black gold
hills fell from our sight
hard as hurdle arms, gold-digging--
for broth, golden tramels, girdling a new purchase;
where the brook puts out flow roots
where winter wolves bark amid snow-wastes, icicles;
the cricket works where chromatic reeds walnut over
dancing rapt this phallic procession-- and
jostling through streets, dry humor, irony, puns, and
public halls--coming, naked, God-dropt in city street
--and every corner sign'd each mark'd grave soldier's foot
on a tablet scrawl'd & nail'd post
the crowded strata of mountains, soils, rocks,
giants march into the Full Sea of Time.
</blockquote>
by James A. Gardner
©2006
That being an early version--of a not-lament--but a poem-proposal--or a suggested mode of being with. // But what of Beulah-land? //
