July 30, 2017

the bridge generations

poet and daughter 
fully festival-ed in 
cooperstown, ny 
july 29, 2017


those that last viewed the analog world
in all its splendor and glory
before the story became entangled
within a digital place of places met
have, at their curry 

a slurry of voracious appetites kept
teeming neat and disorderly
tidy, constants, bonafide bite thrifty(s) through
kited mood, set and setting
getting high each time
we raise our awareness
to forested beyonds, clear meadows
to how we come alive with the percolates
of an evening's approach


we ate marrow
to curb our selfish inclinations
we rode time
home and heart
hand basket soul 

holding on in the
reeds, marshes
places where
the rain
gets in the 

imagination 
we bleed need
we capture the scents of things
in mason jar parlance, wind and bent willow sometimes
pussy or otherwise red, white and curly May bees
some things won't be perfectly transcribable, we said
and that's where and when our bones wrote poems
fit with clocks
sin and sticky grit


heaven always waits
the words
always wade and
the you is whomever
you carried
to remember
why, this is the way we came


to know
to be
another poem
slipped into jazz and
lawn mower sounds
a summer day
says come
eat of me
I am 



EJR ©

1 comment:

  1. Edward, my goodness. I feel this so deeply. That whole opening section sets the scene exactly.

    "have, at their curry
    a slurry of voracious appetites kept"

    "bonafide bite thrifty(s) through
    kited mood, set and setting
    getting high each time"

    "to how we come alive with the percolates
    of an evening's approach"

    Mad love for this poem. This is what I'm looping; the perfect background music for your piece.

    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yCOAuJsVIh4

    ReplyDelete