Pursuing the poetical, paradoxical, metaphorical, lyrical, artistical, majestical, and mystical.

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Enchanted by Early Readers Take Two

Find a lost boy
who teachers
say can't read
well enough to
be in regular class.
Find summer
mornings to linger
with him on the
front porch swing.
Take him bookwise
to Redwall. Let him
cringe when Cluny
the Scourge ravages
Mossflower Wood
and breaches the
Abbey wall. Watch
him shiver and look
over his shoulder
when Poisonteeth
tries his hypnotizing
tricks. Look away
when tears trickle
down his cheeks
as Abbot Mortimer
passes the baton.
Do a double take
when he starts wearing
his dad's oversized
flipflops and a fishing
knife stuffed in its scabbard -
belted to his waist -
Mathias style.
Reading is listening.
Do not tell me
this boy can't read.




P.S. If you love foreign movies, My Afternoons With Margauritte is streaming free on Netflix or maybe Amazon Prime. It is heartwarming and worth quoting and watching twice. 

Thursday, August 7, 2014

Enchanted by Early Readers

Elleanor carried her current
book down to the beach. 
Early readers aren't heavy
burdens to pack up or down
steep trails. On the way back
she skipped ahead to catch me
trundling and heaving 
breathless up the steep incline - 
helped by hiking sticks. 
We stopped to rest and wait
by the entrance turnstile 
near the top for her 
mother and little sister.
She perched on the 
split rails and opened her book
to the page marked by a 
folded cloth napkin.
Composed and generous --
she offered to read to me.
I offered her my tiny pocket
flashlight to illuminate words 
shaded by old growth
cedars at dusk. Half way
down the page she stopped
to enthuse about the word shoul-
der which spilled over onto
the next line. She read it twice
to make sure it was as delicious 
the second time as the first. 
This girl lives hyphenated. She
enchants and captivates me -- 
another feminine being who will 
never be squeezed into one 
sentence, one line, or one page. 


Friday, August 1, 2014

Patches

Grating nutmeg helps me
return to my senses ~
like watering my
garden ~
or soaking
in a salted bath.

Something pungent
or wet or repetitive
needs doing ~
for there is no prescribed
patch to attach to my
heart when it fails adapting
to the gagging
motionlessness of
loneliness.