An Award-Winning Poem

as published in the AB retired teachers’ magazine. The contest theme was Travel.

Free

You’ve got a big wad
of gum in your mouth
that tastes like cherries.

Your gas tank is full
& you could drive
for several hours.

The roads are much better
than the weather report
& any tourists have stayed home.

The sky is unclouded, blue
with the mountains just ahead.

You’ve finished a good meal
& left your work
far, far behind.

There is a key in your pocket
for a cabin you’ve
never seen before.

Your friends have asked
for nothing in return
‘maybe a poem or a postcard.’

Yesterday’s storm has passed.
There is only a positive
sense of dislocation.

Where you are going
& when you will arrive
is up to you alone.

There are no more limits
to your freedom

as you climb to
the top of a hill
passing vans and other cars.

You are leaving Calgary
& the rest of your life.

There is only now
& maybe tomorrow.

There is only now
& whatever will
happen next.

……………………………….

Written about 1995 on my way to a film conference in Banff and a stay in a teacher-friend’s cabin. (ps/ they did get a personalized poem printed below). Every time I leave Calgary since for the mountains, I recall this poem and how I felt that glorious solitary winter day. It was about that time that I decided I would retire from teaching as soon as I could….

………………………………….

Banff (At Roy and Kris’s)

Down the long steps
to an unscheduled wood,
down to the feathered green
of mast-like trees
swaying high and significant.

An inland sea sweeps
deck and continent alike,
black and white peaks
a geography of snow:
one man, one solitude.

He was meant for this ground–
his presence a direction
his message a track.
He was destined for this
much meaning:

the boardwalk over pungent moss
the unseen elk and wolf
no tourists
and a safe passage home.

…………………………………

ps/The cabin poem still hangs framed there as far as I know.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Time to Split

(Antarctica, Dec. 2015)

On the verge of cracking up
the 35 folks of Halley VI
awaiting ships and bulldozers
for a timely tow.

Chasm 1 has spoken–
the deep-ice wiggle
man once again
could not imagine
aims to put a fool’s notion
at risk once more.

Space-age-module madness
in the path of a
50-meter-deep fissure.
Kind of takes
your frozen breath away.

Man proposes.
Nature swallows.
Death by rift.
Yet another hi-tech dream
not all it was cracked up to be.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Selling Out Kids to Madison Avenue

(Not that that that hasn’t happened before, particularly via historical franchise-branding.)

The dubiously-called smart toys such as the 1984/Big Brother Hello Barbie toys  (which are really turning-kids-over-to-strangers-and-corporations) are creepy and sold to parents who simply don’t care about kids and are prepared to sell them out in the name of technology and virtual experience (sans real, warm parental caring). The devil, as always, is in the details as a kid’s data is sold unwittingly/witlessly to often invisible third-party strangers/marketers.

So much for privacy as hackers also have access to this data, stealing identities of kids before they even turn 18. Already out there a hacker has access to the photos and personal data of some 316,000 Canadian kids! Why the great rush ( a la Justin’s irrational speeded-up Syrian refugee scheme) to have creeps scream obscenities at infants? People (parents, most so) have been brainwashed to line up and mindlessly buy a bogus technological bill of goods with zero critical thinking put into choices for their precious children. Uh, like why?

Pity the millions of vulnerable innocents in our dystopian brave new world shamelessly exploited by ToyTalk, Elemental Path, and even Amazon, sold out for a buck by parents shilling and acting as dupes for unscrupulous companies. So much for innocence, privacy, and protection of the very young, eh?

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Alan Watts (1915-1973): An Early and Recovered Influence

001 (79)

“The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move into it, and join the dance.”

I don’t think there’s anything more satisfying than going to look for a vital, once-influential piece of your life, and finding it, as I did just now looking for an old 1966 book on my non-fictional bookshelf in the basement.

The book was by the British-born Alan Watts who came to America to articulate Eastern thought about the time Maharishi and Ravi Shankar were having their moments with young Western audiences. Its intriguing title ensured its attraction: The Book: On the Taboo Against Knowing Who You Are.

Imagine the random, natural, ubiquitous appearance of Nature and the world (sans any human-designed structures) as wiggles or wiggly line shapes having an apparent arbitrariness and chaos about them seen a certain way by the human eye. Now imagine imposing a net or graph organizing and pigeonholing the same random wiggliness or any wiggliness of your choice.

Watts: “The net has become one of the presiding images of human thought. But it is always an image [I would add “impression” or “appearance”] and just as no one can use the equator to tie up a package, the real wiggly world slips like water through the imaginary [my italics] nets. However much we divide, count, sort, or classify this wiggling into particular things and events, this is no more than a way of thinking about the world: it is never actually divided.”

In other words, whatever order we see or imagine, is just that: a subjective, human-imagined overlay of structure, an imposed illusion, differing from and not necessarily accurately representing that which we see or are looking at.

In that quote/description/explanation/metaphor, the entire gist of human experience, life, and the relative failure of reason/the rational mind to organize the world and human life into any predictable, hard-and-fast way, to roll the universe into a ball, as Prufrock did, or as Einstein, Hawking, and many artists have tried to do. This speaks to how random, arbitrary, and constantly changing all things (including people and the external world) really, essentially are.

People often try to find cause-effects or conjure rational explanations, as Alice did in Wonderland, but flamingoes are not mallets and hedgehogs are not really balls in some imagined human game or desire. They are what they are, much as the universe, Nature, and people are what they are. All of these are fundamentally uncontrollable, non-pigeonholable, and unnettable.

Thus, Life, Nature, and people simply cannot be ‘netted’, no matter how brilliant or clever be the human designer or thinker. Wiggly and wiggliness are normal or natural. That is why things often ‘act up’ or people can’t control themselves 100%. Whatever scheme or plan has a good likelihood of running off the rails in the face of this much different/differing reality. And as a Buddhist would say, This is just the way it is, the way things are, and we should get used to it or accept the natural, at times seemingly fated, flow we experience.

……………………………………………..

Having said all that, it is ‘nets’ that artists cast and have cast over our wiggly world which remains truly interesting. Think of Beethoven bringing out unique soulful possibilities of musical notes and tones. Ponder the amazing talent of Frank Lloyd Wright and his beautiful resplendent buildings and homes blending in with their various contexts. Consider how Rodin or Henry Moore amazed us with their work in stone. Recall the sensation that Orson Welles’ Citizen Kane made when it revolutionized film. And remember how van Gogh has thrilled us with his use of color as he tried to capture the odd, puzzling flow of his desires, human life and Nature in his time.

…………………………………………………

And so it is that I continue in my own ways to play with the possibilities of wiggly language, trying to net various subjects that present themselves as worthy of being noted, celebrated, remembered, understood, appreciated, or empathized with. Netting, finally, is potentially the great human preoccupation or creative vocation in which one person can capture some of the essence and spirit of some parts of the greater wiggle world and life.

It is, thus, that we bring civilization, order, and some degrees of permanence, pattern, design, Beauty, and Truth to the ever-changing flow and mix of disparate, wiggly elements. I am, if nothing else, a recurring and ongoing netter-facilitator “constantly risking absurdity” as Ferlinghetti opined about the risks of the writing life. Creating what Frost called “momentary stays against confusion”. Much of this, then, defines me, my life, and main purpose. These net affects/effects.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Inner-Child Saturday: The 5 P’s

IMG_0047 (4)

Decorating gingerbread men with grandson.

The 5 P’s of Christmas and Inner Child Moments of Being: Presence, Process, Play, Pleasure, and Possibilities.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

International Brothers in Poetry

12312307_10153741786449450_556028156_n  Richard Davies

From a review translated into Albanian, published in the supplement of the newspaper “Tribuna” in Prishtina, Nov. 29, 2014. My global, sensitive, romantic alter-ego, poet Kadrush Radogoshi, whose work I’ve had the honour to review and edit.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

A Vermont Boy’s Christmas

DSCN7414 (2)

(the Edmonton version, above pic)

He slid down
the Sunday hill, below
his house in Vermont.

In a distant church
an organ proclaimed
it was Christmas.

The boy walked on
with his sled,
blown by the wind.

The pews were half-full
as the choir entered
two-by-two.

Snow began to fall
upon the desolate field.
The boy kept his season alone.

Eternity was white
on the steeple spire
as “The Carol of the Bells” began.

A boy saw his shadow
on the snow, the sun low
along the horizon.

The thick flakes
and his cold walk
had become A Question.

“Silent Night” began
and the choir lit
its candles

as the boy rushed
up the steps outside
to the open tall oak door.

He entered with his boots,
red tuque and scarf,
moving slowly up the aisle.

An old man at the back
of the church turned
to greet the boy

and held out a candle
to light the one
he offered him.

A girl in a black dress
played her violin as the hymn
burned brighter now.

And afterward, across the field
boy and man walked as one
in the fading winter light.

The steeple bell pealed
softly behind them as they
climbed the hill to home.

(1st published here Dec., 2013, revised 2015)

Read this at Audrey’s Books this Sunday afternoon, 2 pm. Dedicated to the Smiths–Robin and Janet, who frequently are in the New England area to visit famille.

An Inner Child poem just in time for Christmas.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

This week’s California mass shooting

was the 355th so far this year in the States. They’re running at an avg. of more than 1 mass shooting a day. Pure madness.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

“The Crash, Bam, Boom Bowling Alley”

IMG_1943

(after a throw–a big miss, yellow ball behind pins; a variation is to kick the ball at the pins)

Front hall entrance. To be reprised this Saturday after grandson 1’s dance class. He will also be putting Xmas decals up in the patio window.
Last time he was here, I showed him Gene Kelly’s classic rain dance in Singin’ in the Rain. He loved it and his first Donald Duck cartoon. High culture!
This week’s viewing may be Laurel and Hardy’s famous pie fight or piano-moving antics up an L.A.hill in their priceless “The Music Box”. I also have the classic “The Snowman” animated film lined up for him later for Xmas.

December is easily the best month of the year and I’ve long noticed that Christmas brings out the best in anyone you meet here this month in Katzville. A big chance to play and gift to others. And, as above, lots of time to reconnect with one’s own vital Inner Child.

……………………………………………………..

Speaking of Inner Childness, I will be reading my Christmas poem, “A Vermont Boy’s Christmas” at Audrey’s Books, Sunday at 2 pm. Should be fun.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Telephone Solicitors and Regular-Mail Nuisance Charities

These creeps will still call or write even when you’re dead for years, for godsake, which has happened in our family. No respect. They are quite willing to go infinitely hurting and insulting survivors and the dead they’re trying to pry donations from. If you’ve never experienced this, be prepared to be pestered and exploited beyond the grave, ad infinitum. In our society, you are treated as an endless conduit of bottomless bucks, whether alive or dead.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment