tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70794273264747506022024-02-07T11:20:37.973-08:00crowsperchT A Delmorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09408255456458250147noreply@blogger.comBlogger211125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079427326474750602.post-59361115349452372912021-03-12T09:15:00.000-08:002021-03-12T09:15:27.680-08:00Reading and Writing<p> Covid seems to diminish as Spring begins to take hold. I am seeing light at the end of the tunnel in ways that I have not imagined light. I am reading an essay every so often from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Owning-All-Essays-William-Kittredge/dp/0915308967/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2K0UWJSN0W0CG&dchild=1&keywords=owning+it+all&qid=1615568098&s=books&sprefix=Owning+it+all%2Caps%2C214&sr=1-1">Owning it All by William Kittredge, </a>and <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Erosion-Undoing-Terry-Tempest-Williams/dp/1250758246/ref=sr_1_1?crid=UJD7AWJ63DNV&dchild=1&keywords=erosion+essays+of+u">Erosion by Terry Tempest Williams </a>. They are of the land and speak of it eloquently from different times. Speaking of light my poetry is changing which is always fun and a challenge. After writing most of my life it is trusting in the birth of the unexpected. I write a lot about Jonah from the myth of Jonah and the Whale. The latest poem was a real surprise. My muse rouses me at night with a word or a phrase and leaves it to me to roll over or get up and write. So hear it is:</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Not Looking at the
Whales Dork<o:p></o:p></b></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">The man in the public shower<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">Looked like a whale breeching, over<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">And over. He was a whale, what type<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">I’m not sure. Truth be told, his tattoo<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">From toe to neck, undulated me to believe<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">That Jonah’s head peeked out of a substantial<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">Opening <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">Before, the infamous Nineveh vomiting.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">Staring in a shower is way wrong,<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">If straight on. A glance or a turn<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">Is permissible, but one is not to<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">Take in the whole body. Think<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">Ray Bradbury, with just one illustration.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">I was like a harpoonist, clutching<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">A bar of Ivory soap. The man<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">In the public shower turned off<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">The continual water as I dove<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">Into increased spray. He followed <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">The tide of the drain <o:p></o:p></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">To the mustard colored exit.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><br /></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">I trust the word the muse sends me.</p><p><br /></p><p> </p>T A Delmorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09408255456458250147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079427326474750602.post-5114444449272027612020-02-09T10:06:00.001-08:002020-02-09T10:06:17.366-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b>Eyes to See Ears to Hear<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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I called out all the criers from Sydney BC.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Loaded them on the Victoria Clipper<o:p></o:p></div>
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Placing them next to trees due for removal.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Voices up and down to plead.<o:p></o:p></div>
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A human boulevard<o:p></o:p></div>
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Along a cutting swath.<o:p></o:p></div>
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They are going to cut down a large number of trees in Bellevue Wa. to make room for power lines. The street 148th has a wonderful tree-filled boulevard even with the increase of car traffic it makes one pause. The poem above is my imagined protest</div>
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T A Delmorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09408255456458250147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079427326474750602.post-76362480059491836302019-10-13T08:16:00.003-07:002019-10-13T08:16:44.993-07:00Bill T. Jones reading Ross Gay Poem<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This morning I listened to Bill T Jones read a wonderful poem by Ross Gay: https://vimeo.com/343521470. It reminded me of a book I am reading Something Wonderful about Rogers and Hammerstein. It is the Soliloquy from the play Carousal that seemed to bump and flow with the Ross Gay poem. Billy who sings this piece is a proud papa to be. Here are the lyrics:<br />
<div jsname="U8S5sf">
<span jsname="YS01Ge"><br /></span></div>
<div jsname="U8S5sf">
<span jsname="YS01Ge">I wonder what he'll think of me</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">I guess he'll call me the "old man"</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">I guess he'll think I can lick</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Every other feller's father</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Well, I can!</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">I bet that he'll turn out to be</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">The spittin' image of his dad</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">But he'll have more common sense</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Than his puddin-headed father ever had</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">I'll teach him to wrestle</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">And dive through a wave</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">When we go in the mornin's for our swim</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">His mother can teach him</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">The way to behave</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">But she won't make a sissy out o' him</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Not him! Not my boy! Not Bill!</span></div>
<div class="secrsf" jsname="U8S5sf" style="margin-top: 13px;">
<span jsname="YS01Ge">Bill, my boy Bill</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">I will see that he is named after me, I will.</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">My boy, Bill! He'll be tall</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">And tough as a tree, will Bill!</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Like a tree he'll grow</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">With his head held high</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">And his feet planted firm on the ground</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">And you won't see nobody dare to try</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">To boss or toss him around!</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">No pot-bellied, baggy-eyed bully</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Will boss him around.</span></div>
<div class="secrsf" jsname="U8S5sf" style="margin-top: 13px;">
<span jsname="YS01Ge">I don't give a hang what he does</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">As long as he does what he likes!</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">He can sit on his tail</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Or work on a rail</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">With a hammer, hammering spikes!</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">He can ferry a boat on a river</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Or peddle a pack on his back</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Or work up and down</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">The streets of a town</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">With a whip and a horse and a hack.</span></div>
<div class="secrsf" jsname="U8S5sf" style="margin-top: 13px;">
<span jsname="YS01Ge">He can haul a scow along a canal</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Run a cow around a corral</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Or maybe bark for a carousel</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Of course it takes talent to do that well.</span></div>
<div class="secrsf" jsname="U8S5sf" style="margin-top: 13px;">
<span jsname="YS01Ge">Aha-ha-ha-ha!</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">He might be a champ of the heavyweights,</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Or a feller that sells you glue,</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Or President of the United States,</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">That'd be all right, too</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">His mother would like that</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">But he wouldn't be President if he didn't wanna be!</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Not Bill!</span></div>
<div class="secrsf" jsname="U8S5sf" style="margin-top: 13px;">
<span jsname="YS01Ge">My boy, Bill! He'll be tall</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">And as tough as a tree, will Bill</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Like a tree he'll grow</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">With his head held high</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">And his feet planted firm on the ground</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">And you won't see nobody dare to try</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">To boss him or toss him around!</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">No fat-bottomed, flabby-faced,</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Pot-bellied, baggy-eyed bully</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Will boss him around.</span></div>
<div class="secrsf" jsname="U8S5sf" style="margin-top: 13px;">
<span jsname="YS01Ge">And I'm hanged if he'll marry his boss' daughter</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">A skinny-lipped virgin with blood like water</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Who'll give him a peck</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">And call it a kiss</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">And look in his eyes through a lorgnette...</span></div>
<div class="secrsf" jsname="U8S5sf" style="margin-top: 13px;">
<span jsname="YS01Ge">Hey, why am I talkin' on like this?</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">My kid ain't even been born, yet!</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">I can see him when he's seventeen or so,</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">And startin' to go with a girl</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">I can give him lots of pointers, very sound</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">On the way to get 'round any girl</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">I can tell him</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Wait a minute!</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Could it be?</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">What the hell!</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">What if he is a girl?</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">What would I do with her?</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">What could I do for her?</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">A bum with no money!</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">You can have fun with a son</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">But you gotta be a father to a girl</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">She mightn't be so bad at that</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">A kid with ribbons in her hair!</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">A kind o' sweet and petite</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Little tin-type of her mother!</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">What a pair!</span></div>
<div class="secrsf" jsname="U8S5sf" style="margin-top: 13px;">
<span jsname="YS01Ge">My little girl</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Pink and white</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">As peaches and cream is she</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">My little girl</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Is half again as bright</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">As girls are meant to be!</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Dozens of boys pursue her</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Many a likely lad does what he can to woo her</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">From her faithful dad</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">She has a few</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Pink and white young fellers of two or three</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">But my little girl</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Gets hungry every night and she comes home to me!</span></div>
<div class="secrsf" jsname="U8S5sf" style="margin-top: 13px;">
<span jsname="YS01Ge">I got to get ready before she comes!</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">I got to make certain that she</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Won't be dragged up in slums</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">With a lot o' bums like me</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">She's got to be sheltered</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">In a fair hand dressed</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">In the best that money can buy!</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">I never knew how to get money,</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">But, I'll try, I'll try! I'll try!</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">I'll go out and make it or steal it</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Or take it or die! </span></div>
<div class="secrsf" jsname="U8S5sf" style="margin-top: 13px;">
<span jsname="YS01Ge">Truly a different generation but the same energy!</span></div>
<div class="secrsf" jsname="U8S5sf" style="margin-top: 13px;">
<span jsname="YS01Ge">Here is Gordon MacRae singing it.</span></div>
<div class="secrsf" jsname="U8S5sf" style="margin-top: 13px;">
<span jsname="YS01Ge">https://youtu.be/uq0UAdvGdII?list=RDuq0UAdvGdII</span></div>
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T A Delmorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09408255456458250147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079427326474750602.post-33760493093181893552018-01-01T12:30:00.000-08:002018-01-01T12:30:04.812-08:00Augmented Reality<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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A new year begins but I am stuck on some Ads. that will trickle into 2018. The idea of taking something out of context or just plan lie is not new, Just look in the White House. Put it in an Ad. that goes by so fast or the "truth" is printed so tiny it is impossible to read. I got Tivo to escape Ads. now I see that they are a tool, a deceiving tool that most don't see what they are up to. Oh don't forget the truck they are showing you does not have the outer Antenna. You might not buy it but you'll see it on the lot fully exposed.<br />
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Lexus steals the inner child to talk about its latest car. It is a physical relationship; the child into the adult woman is draped over the car, and a male voice brings her into the present by saying "the car is for both of us." She tells the car to ignore him. If the inner child is to be put into this commercial it is attached to a thing not a being. As we grow some of those growth edges are the inner child, not the outer child wishing and hoping and not growing up. The woman's response is a child to a toy not to engaging growth.<br />
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Winter Olympics Ad. by Comcast. Sentimental, not. The music is surely Peace Train but the lyrics are not quite the same, jumble. So I get nostalgia and lost. They can't escape a song that is bound in the Civil Rights Movement of the sixties. Mixing does not always match up.<br />
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We are shown pictures on computers and phones that are not there. The disclaimer is to small. Go back and another piece of your setup blocks the info. Hey here's and idea since you wont raise the font put the info on the top of the screen!<br />
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Adidas wants all the creative people to gather at the table of creators. It is one minute of youth, sport and music, oh and wealth! The creators are still everybody on earth. At least one of these "dem-gods" could say meet me in your neighborhood, the gritty community center, the Y! This table did not have an empty chair.<br />
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the Xfinity WIFI has a mom push a button that takes everybody of their devices, even dad, to sit and eat pizza. Just boxes and crusts on the family table. Could they not show something like the family taking a walk outside or a board game!?</div>
T A Delmorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09408255456458250147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079427326474750602.post-17157901278573553492017-06-17T11:55:00.000-07:002017-06-17T11:55:07.879-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I went to the Edmond's Art Festival last night and found a woman Cheryl Brown cherylbrownstudio.com who know how to create a crow! I am glad I ran across her.</div>
T A Delmorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09408255456458250147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079427326474750602.post-90114239477810885972016-07-23T10:12:00.002-07:002016-07-23T10:12:37.707-07:00Philocetetes, and why he is important to us. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b> Philocetetes, and why
he is important to us.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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Philocetetes reached inside of me and held on tight. After reading Susan
Sutclifes version of his story, <b>Black
ships Before Troy</b>, I wanted to know why this Greek character had a hold on
me. This is no minor role player yet he is put off on and island because he was
bitten on the toe by the dragon/serpent he slew. This caused him to scream
constantly, and have a wound that smelled and oozed. The black ship he was on put
him off on Limnos to continue on to Troy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I was struck that Philocetetes was left on the island for ten years. I
began to imagine: <b>what would a wounded
part of me hidden for a number of years look and feel like?</b> I might not
have been ready to deal with it at the time it occurred so I suffered it away
or a better way of putting it for me is I kept eating to keep it at bay. Maybe
it was so traumatic all I could do was to bury it. At some point I must face
that wound, heal that part of me. That part of me I call the child of awe. From
an early age I was not given the light to shine but shamed and abused wounds I
could not comprehend but felt. In my case it was an ulcer at age nine.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This immense war with Troy is not
going well for the Greeks. The Greeks talk to their soothsayer that tells them
to bring Philocetetes back from Lemnos. I am sure this is not what the kings
had in mind to turn the tide of battle. They send two of their best warriors to
fetch him: Diomedes (Divine Cunning) and Odysseus (Trouble Maker) It takes much
strength, and yes deception and time to face our wounds. When the two men face
Philocetetes, he does not recognize them. They raise their arms to show no harm
will be done. Two strong men humbled. It is a survival skill to push a wound
away but left in the dark it is hard to recognize yourself. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Philocetetes carries the bow of Hercules, a gift. Now this gift rests in
a place we would not usually go to for the sake of winning a battle or in my
case to get up in front of my family to speak my truth about our parents, and
to read poetry at gatherings about my parents. <b>What the wounded part of ourselves brings forth heals us</b>. <o:p></o:p></div>
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They bring Philocetetes back with them. But note how they handle him.
There is tenderness even with defeat on the horizon. He is bathed and his wound
tended to. This is the hero’s journey. We need to think of our wounded ness as
a royal blessing. The gift: the bow and arrow and poison tipped. This is
Philocetetes gift and he has to use it his own way; some of the soldiers do not
want this poison. There will always be a part of us that will be skeptical of
our wounded ness, hold those feelings very gently. There are parts of me that
struggle with how I should teach or read a poem surrounded in wounded ness but it
is mine and I must claim it, and claiming is a comfort and a process. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Even with ten years of shooting birds on Limnos the shot to take out
Paris glances his hand, not the shot of great bowman. The poison becomes more
the necessity for this glancing strike. It also lets the story go on as Paris
dies a painful death.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Philocetetes has done his job but it is like he fell off the beach, we
don’t know if he is ever totally healed or continues to have this wound. In many
stories about healing you will run across this, the character does his job and
exits. Philocetetes received much to come and turn the tide of war but I put my
imagination into him, what would he do next? I would continue to monitor the
wound. It is much deeper than the oozing. I would go to the soothsayer and ask
about the circumstances that brought him to such a place. Any counselor worth
there salt knows, like I said earlier, that this healing takes time. How we use
that time to get healthy, to get to a place of healing. My Goodness! A gift
lost then found- what else might this important work produce? Philocetetes needed
the poison, at some point I feel that he will not need the poison or the bow to
do his healing work. <b><i>Phielo</i></b> means to love. <b><i>Ctetos</i></b>
means something that can be gained. I know I have more then one gift wrapped in
my wounded ness. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Look to these old stories and myths for healing they are there as well
as many islands to explore.<o:p></o:p></div>
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T A Delmorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09408255456458250147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079427326474750602.post-15082735217662196602016-05-29T11:15:00.004-07:002016-05-29T11:15:58.233-07:00No go Ballard Bridge<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This has been a month of losses for me. The Ballard Bridge would have been great but being in residence and a full time job, that would have been tough. Three other poems I put out for publication were rejected and into this mix the death of my sister Mary. After having coffee with my brother this morning I revised this poem:<br />
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Her name is Louisiana<o:p></o:p></div>
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A rambling girl. A bigger<o:p></o:p></div>
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Purchase never visited by me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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She had many a spat<o:p></o:p></div>
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Tit for tat- Katrina<o:p></o:p></div>
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A recent cat fight.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Mass exit makes for mass entrance<o:p></o:p></div>
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Big chiefs lead parades.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Streets pour with water<o:p></o:p></div>
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Occasional sofa and love seat<o:p></o:p></div>
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Blister alleyways. She’s pretty<o:p></o:p></div>
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My Louisiana- that ninth ward<o:p></o:p></div>
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Should have been exhumed earlier<o:p></o:p></div>
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Or been more honest in presentation.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I see my Louisiana on TV, its super <o:p></o:p></div>
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Dome like a Tierra, tossed.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But she comes back dressed and sweaty<o:p></o:p></div>
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For the next event- that’s my girl. <o:p></o:p></div>
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T A Delmorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09408255456458250147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079427326474750602.post-49887510570820774722016-02-20T15:43:00.002-08:002016-02-20T15:43:22.280-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have sent my resume in for a chance at being the poet laureate for the Fremont Bridge later this year. I have son great ideas and I wanted to share the first poem that I have written about the Fremont Bridge:<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Angles in Orange & Blue<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">If I crossed the Fremont
Bridge<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">As never before-<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Towers diagonally <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Like Petit holding<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Eyes below, I would<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Write the view of corvids<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">That call this angle common.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Moses burning bush<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Would have competition.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">I have removed my sandals<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Long ago, pressed my soles<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">To steel mesh and heard<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">My fascia cry: I am
home! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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T A Delmorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09408255456458250147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079427326474750602.post-78308284946009290312015-01-28T19:25:00.000-08:002015-01-28T19:25:04.975-08:00O Antiphons Outside Advent<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b>O Antiphons
outside Advent<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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They stole the sign-<o:p></o:p></div>
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Arbeit Macht Frei<o:p></o:p></div>
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(work sets you free).<o:p></o:p></div>
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Where is the O Antiphon<o:p></o:p></div>
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To chorus through such misery?<o:p></o:p></div>
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A root of Jessie to break soil<o:p></o:p></div>
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And entangle such theft.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Are Wiseman afoot
making<o:p></o:p></div>
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Way to the scene?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Will it show up in someone’s<o:p></o:p></div>
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Basement to shameful to see<o:p></o:p></div>
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Sunlight outside<o:p></o:p></div>
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Its original mooring?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Will it be returned<o:p></o:p></div>
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No questions, to the gate?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Will it show up as a selfie on Facebook?<o:p></o:p></div>
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A rite of passage that needs no reminding.<o:p></o:p></div>
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O come O come Emanuel and ransom captive….<o:p></o:p></div>
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When I wrote the above poem I wondered how I would connect the stolen sign at Auschwitz with Christian preparation music in Advent. I see the sign as remembrance and ask: How can someone steal it? It has been stolen before. I thought about the root of Jessie coming to the aid of the Jews. Wise men awake and always on the move, not necessarily for the baby Jesus but alive to retrieve the sign over a death camp. And finally: O come O come Emanuel and ransom captives not yet born some dead three quarters of a century.</div>
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The selfies Jewish kids take at death camps bothers me but maybe it makes them feel alive. I see the three kings as avengers first not just worshipers.</div>
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T A Delmorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09408255456458250147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079427326474750602.post-50816139435850640442015-01-27T20:05:00.001-08:002015-01-27T20:05:22.252-08:00ESPOUSED<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have been called to this place to espouse. To espouse what exactly? Those falsehoods that abound in advertising. Just recently I read that we don't need advertising and I wonder if that is the result of the permeation of many falsehoods. That what we see in bold print is not true and we are too tired to read the fine print. Big is good and small is bad. That is what advertising on TV begets. On radio the small print is the fast voice like a grease eraser over ink. Why am I called to espouse on this? I don't see myself as a prophet of truth. If the medium is the message then that straight path John the Baptist speaks of are now massive switch backs that lead to nowhere. TIVO helps to rush through ads. and if I stop to read the fine print it is covered by some timeline on the TIVO. The ads. that make me most angry are about drugs, they work off of the fear and pain of the viewer. I see a scale that weighs the emotion and risk of belonging. The good life of breathing better MAYBE or performing sexually MAYBE. Pharmaceuticals see it as a good risk for the patient. Wheres the doctor in all this? The ad. will make me seem smart to go to my doctor with this information. There are full page ads. in the paper for cellphones and buying shoes to watch on TV. Yet the paper can only have one local editorial and one national. I have said to many people just follow the money. These companies want us to pay to be healthy, pay to be connected. Just this week Anhausier Busch bought a local brewery There are no choices. Follow that stream of beer back to it source. We can complain to Congress but they are so far away. We have Facebook that keeps churning stories but do they go anywhere? No. I am the kid in the crowd in the Emperor's New Cloths. He is naked but nobody notices. He had good ad. men and power. But he is still naked.<br />
The soap box on the street corner lasted longer than the pony express. I got educated away from the box and onto the fast moving horse. Now we get instant messaging and junk in our mail box. no taking pliers to the TV to change the station There were no gigs in the Magnovox. Truth telling does not make it right. Being caught in a lie does not me you are wrong you just got caught. Do I want the drug that might help or risk the consequences? Unsure? They can mail you a sample.<br />
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T A Delmorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09408255456458250147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079427326474750602.post-46632511767312164252013-05-19T08:38:00.000-07:002013-05-19T08:38:09.856-07:00
This last week I awoke to a story about a <a href="http://www.npr.org/2013/05/15/183914596/utah-charter-school-nurtures-entrepreneurial-spirit">charter school in Utah</a>. I don't know a lot about such schools but I voted for it in the state I live in. Believing that more diverse education is a good thing.This school in Utah wants to teach about business using the fable Ant and the Grasshopper. I knew the fable well from a <a href="http://http://www.amazon.com/Fables-Rhyme-Little-Folks-Illustrated/dp/140652249X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1368976148&sr=1-1&keywords=fables+in+rhyme+for+little+folk">book </a>I own.
I was shocked. the version I have is not a fable of business ethics but on how not treat your neighbor. The first stanza of the fable leads one to believe that singing (arts) lead to hunger and hurt. The second stanza of the fable is the grasshopper who is humble and knows the value of a vow. He is also honest and vulnerable. A good question for the eager to learn students might be:what does it mean to be a neighbor? The third stanza of the fable we meet the ant. There is no mincing of words she hears the grasshopper and repeats his tale back to him. He sang for his supper and will now reap that benefit by starving. An ant does not lend and is not sympathetic/empathetic, but is shaming. Fourth Stanza. there is a sense of relief from the ant that the grasshopper is done in by his own gift, his volition. Winter is a dead season and now he will pay. On might want to read the story <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Frederick-Leo-Lionni/dp/0394826140/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1368977106&sr=1-1&keywords=frederick+by+leo+lionni">Frederick by Leo Lionni </a> to see the gift of the artist in a fable, especially in winter. there is also the story of the Good Samaritan. And there is a parable that Jesus tells about the kingdom of heaven, that in his brilliance is the opposite!
what children need are stories, it sustains and moves us forward. The Ant and the Grasshopper is a cautionary fable not a business model. Beware what one might unleash in the wrong arena.T A Delmorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09408255456458250147noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079427326474750602.post-77496957930896767102011-09-25T11:52:00.000-07:002011-09-25T11:56:09.720-07:00Truth/LieI wont deny that i watch enough television to rush through the commercials on my TIVO. But the amount of times that I see advertisements that boldly claim truths and in small print deny or lie. To make matters worse the small print is not held long enough on the small screen to read the "fine print." I have become so used to it ie hypnotized by this speed to move on to the show I'm watching that I should be numb. But I have this quirk that makes me have to decide (we all have this and can use it if you are not asleep) and complain that this advertising especially for seniors (count me as one) is scary. The boldness to even announce the bad results for drugs that might kill someone or make the cure worse than the disease makes me think that another step has been taken in blinding people because: I've got this and I want a pill to stop it. Or the banks that tell you good news but the word <b>Restrictions</b> is in the fine print. We sign papers to buy a home (if we can nowadays) or a car. And that Caveat to read those details. We can't even start on the small screen. So ask questions just because they say they will be helpful and we should trust them is not enough. Go to you bank talk one on one, the same with your doctor. Television is good for many things but not to impart truths to those who need them most.T A Delmorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09408255456458250147noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079427326474750602.post-525274381746163172011-08-17T15:48:00.001-07:002011-08-17T15:48:20.223-07:00DoppelgangerI was reminded that I have not written here for quite awhile. So a quick update. I got divorced and moved to Seattle and some healing. My latest book Tell them that you saw me but you didn't see me saw is being published by Moon Pie Press at the end of the month. Two pieces below about my Doppelganger Two Flags.<br />
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<br />
Back When <br />
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Two flags woke up next to the evangelical church. Above him the sign read: Praise God in all situations! He remembers laughing at that sign earlier, thinking, there are lots of things god might do, like the prophet Elisah showing his backside and God was a whirlwind. Dusting off his blue jeans making it look like a ritual and not wakeup on the street. Two Flags tried to reconstruct the night before; he had been drinking, not alone, thank you, but they were strangers. The bar was on a strip in downtown Portland, next to Chinatown. He had family here for a long time. He could recollect the interim of belches from Mount St. Helens, as he and his girl walked the Grotto. The elevator to the saints and the rosary laid out by someone in the sky. Those roses a relief in their smells from sinners that wander the park.<br />
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<br />
Dr. Two Flags<br />
When Two Flags that grasshoppers were going to swarm east of the mountains, he took out his Hopewell pipe (shaped like a bear) and puffed Borkin Riff and blessed the six ways. Grasshoppers have a cycle and they know how to party thought Two Flags. He’d been among them, even took a shovel and pounded the ground missing as many as he could, and saying “sorry brother” if he hit a few.<br />
The garage he lived in, in Lake City had a yearly infestation of caterpillars lining one sided like a velvet yellow rug. The trees to the south had nests holding leaves and branches in a funny death. Taking his broom he’d sweep the a swath he could reach and stop knowing this is not a renters job. Getting up early and walking outside with coffee he could look at what he didn’t own. His place in Yakima was his domicile, sweat lodge, bar, love shack. His friend JC was keeping an eye on it while Two Flags worked to get enough money to pay utilities. He would borrow the electricity and put his hose on another’s faucet when necessary. That seemed like always.<br />
He lived in a two car garage; two very tiny cars. But he liked two! Plumed for a shower and toilet. All the furniture was the owners except a TV with rabbit ears. It was not cable ready but he would grab his crotch and shout: “I’m cable ready!” His work at Children’s Hospital was moving trash and staying out of the way and pretending to understand his Philippine super. His bus was like a golden pass and he has more scrubs than a surgeon. <br />
T A Delmorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09408255456458250147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079427326474750602.post-90100256890887827542011-08-17T15:47:00.000-07:002011-08-17T15:47:57.614-07:00DoppelgangerI was reminded that I have not written here for quite awhile. So a quick update. I got divorced and moved to Seattle and some healing. My latest book Tell them that you saw me but you didn't see me saw is being published by Moon Pie Press at the end of the month. Two pieces below about my Doppelganger Two Flags.T A Delmorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09408255456458250147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079427326474750602.post-28972273061800970972011-08-17T15:42:00.001-07:002011-08-17T15:42:51.858-07:00T A Delmorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09408255456458250147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079427326474750602.post-15503770090664566962010-10-15T13:54:00.000-07:002010-10-15T13:59:34.647-07:00Cynthia & Nick's WeddingMy daughter got married October 3rd. Here is a slide show.<br />
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href="http://smilebox.com/play/4d546b314e7a45334e6a68384d7a51784d5463304e544d3d0d0a&sb=1T A Delmorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09408255456458250147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079427326474750602.post-12816397083059260182010-09-25T12:50:00.000-07:002010-09-25T12:52:45.847-07:00Taos New Mexico last yearIn cleaning up my work area I ran across this piece.<br />
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When uncle Napoleon stopped eating peas on a knife with honey, he appeared in a village on the way to Taos. I should say I met him again for the first time. He knew the stories and that was enough for me. He used a willow switch to point out history on his covered porch wall. His back broken he moved using his swivel chair as pigeons flew around the enclosure. A walking stick appears, 'I make them' he says. He gave us homemade maps and hi-lited them with pink marker. He repeated a phrase: 'this road is not that long, you are not lost, stay on it.' God had spoken that to me years ago on a bridge; 'stay the course.' This new uncle Napoleon sang a Penetenta song in Spanish. I closed my eyes to listen, when he was done he said: 'you can wakeup.' A trickster sense of humor. When we left he said' come back again and bring your son and pretty daughter. We never told him we had children. His name was: Napoleon Garcia. <object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/C_EWvqkrB2Q?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/C_EWvqkrB2Q?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>T A Delmorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09408255456458250147noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079427326474750602.post-24079118173518822002010-08-06T14:45:00.001-07:002010-08-06T14:45:04.418-07:00<a href="http://www.fiftytwofiftytwo.com"><img src="http://www.fiftytwofiftytwo.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/12/fiftytwofiftytwo.jpg" alt="" /></a>T A Delmorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09408255456458250147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079427326474750602.post-56436645175801069622010-07-17T11:48:00.001-07:002010-07-17T11:48:24.806-07:00movie<object width="640" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/rThckvm7m5A&hl=en_US&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/rThckvm7m5A&hl=en_US&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object>T A Delmorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09408255456458250147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079427326474750602.post-53935415431323657462010-06-19T10:10:00.000-07:002010-06-19T10:10:11.587-07:00Shopping around my poetry bookI have been sending out query letters to universities about my latest book: Tell them that you saw me but didn't see me saw. There are a couple of poems with pictures on my blog from the book. My dream is to get the book published by a University Press in one of the Dust Bowl states and read my poems in each state leading to California as these courageous people did. I am going on a workshop weekend to Port Townsend to do a little art and then our Delmore Family reunion on Whidbey Island. I am giving a talk on story as it pertains to family. A new poem to enjoy below.<br />
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<b>Louisiana <br />
</b><br />
I named her Louisiana<br />
A rambling girl, a bigger<br />
Purchase I could have never got.<br />
She had many a spat; tit for tat<br />
Katrina the latest tussle.<br />
Mass exit makes for mass entrance<br />
Musicians leadin the pack.<br />
Streets pour with water. The occasional<br />
Sofa or love seat blisters every alley.<br />
She’s pretty, my Louisiana; that ninth ward<br />
Like a cancer, should have been examined<br />
Sooner or been more honest when she was<br />
Probed.<br />
I see my Louisiana on TV its superdome <br />
Like a tiara tossed. But she comes back<br />
Dressed and sweats for the next event.<br />
That’s my girl.T A Delmorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09408255456458250147noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079427326474750602.post-71899311977363826292010-05-23T17:07:00.000-07:002010-05-23T17:09:05.269-07:00Amazon.com: a poultice for belief: Books<a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=a+poultice+for+belief">Amazon.com: a poultice for belief: Books</a>T A Delmorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09408255456458250147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079427326474750602.post-28340653820175338422010-05-14T17:19:00.000-07:002010-05-14T17:19:13.016-07:00Catching UpI finished reading an essay a few weeks ago called poetry by concession. It was from a book which I just got from Amazon yesterday titled: The selected writings of Juan Ramon Jimenez. This essay touched a lot of things that I feel in my craft of poetry. I put a quote of his on my e-mail. Here is a quote of his: one is a poet not because one writes poetry, but because one is "an abstract dancer," someone whose "eyes are not turned outward but within oneself." The poem below was written in Minnesota after visiting my grandparents. It is the first time seeing that site. Hinkely, Minnesota.<br />
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<b>The Grandparents Grave<br />
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For Linda & Kim</b><br />
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The gate was a pull<br />
A hedge made it so.<br />
Walking the precipice <br />
Of this life; committed<br />
To finding their grave.<br />
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Red marble- square among green<br />
And so serene.<br />
Footsteps among the supine. <br />
Relatives don’t sit in cloister<br />
Like the “Our Town” line<br />
Preaching among the dead.<br />
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We voice the history<br />
Ineffable as it may be<br />
Like voicing an abandoned organ-<br />
Pipes bent and rusted, yellow keyed <br />
Stops left open.<br />
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In death there is no punch<br />
Of bare-knuckled fighters<br />
Or swigging rock gut.<br />
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The story, the Irish line<br />
That is what outlives all.T A Delmorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09408255456458250147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079427326474750602.post-81698909282735029992010-02-28T16:09:00.000-08:002010-02-28T16:09:53.913-08:00Poems MailedI sent my latest book off to AWP Writers contest yesterday. I asked my friend Jenny to look over the poems (she is an amazing editor) and I added enough to get the minimum, of 48 + 1 poems so I keep working on my DL Project and other poems that come my way.<br />
I am also reading Corn by Paul Engle written around the same time that Dorthea Lange was photographing farmers. I am reading John Steinbeck's Travels with Charlie. You thought I would say Grapes of Wrath didn't you. Also A Plague of Doves by Louise Erdrich. I think she is one of the best writers out there.T A Delmorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09408255456458250147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079427326474750602.post-12439937601328589772010-02-13T09:21:00.000-08:002010-02-13T10:31:51.213-08:00<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">So much writing is done on emotion. I read about writers and how that have a schedule or a goal for each day. For a long time I tried this to emulate others who are so successful in this craft. This of course hides what my style is and creates guilt when I fail at "their" craft. I have my highs and lows as a writer but never fail to get something written. Having three books of poetry and several individual poems published says something of how I work. I am advocating for the individual style that all writers must find to FLOW.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> My <b>Dorthea Lange Project</b> went on hold for awhile. I would look at her photos and nothing would come. I began to think I need to go back and choose a different set. Yesterday I looked at this one photo below and these simple yet powerful words came to me. I think of <b>Gwendolen Brooks: We Real Cool Poem</b>, <a href="http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/we-real-cool/">http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/we-real-cool/</a> not to compare but to remind that short poems can be powerful. <b>Taking It Easy</b></div> <br />
We done work.<br />
Work done us.<br />
We done lean.<br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div>T A Delmorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09408255456458250147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079427326474750602.post-59302624208956761882010-01-31T15:03:00.000-08:002010-01-31T15:03:00.116-08:00New Poems<div class="MsoNormal">When mom smoked</div><div class="MsoNormal">She used a filter</div><div class="MsoNormal">Of black & silver.</div><div class="MsoNormal">The distance </div><div class="MsoNormal">From mouth to menthol</div><div class="MsoNormal">Was her intake.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This was style</div><div class="MsoNormal">A mirror to advertising-</div><div class="MsoNormal">Grace with a cigarette</div><div class="MsoNormal">Plugged in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>WE</div><div class="MsoNormal">Who inhaled such exhaust</div><div class="MsoNormal">Were sickened years later</div><div class="MsoNormal">By that wand that coughs</div><div class="MsoNormal">In our memory.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">David slew Goliath </div><div class="MsoNormal">That power moved through him.</div><div class="MsoNormal">David loved his Solomon, his king.</div><div class="MsoNormal">That love was a dance of weapons and music.</div><div class="MsoNormal">The obvious crown rolled like a rutted wheel</div><div class="MsoNormal">To and fro- subservience to royalty.</div><div class="MsoNormal">That spinning was playful with a dose of jealously.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">David as king loved his women</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sending spouses to battle while he</div><div class="MsoNormal">Had his way. That power was seduction.</div><div class="MsoNormal">God’s law was his aura as his body plowed</div><div class="MsoNormal">The air with proclamations. That rule was hypnotic. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">David’s musical talents went beyond the lyre-</div><div class="MsoNormal">Women moaned in lust and men wailed in cries</div><div class="MsoNormal">Of war, allegiance.</div><div class="MsoNormal">As old Solomon would split a child for equality</div><div class="MsoNormal">God’s favor he could not balance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal">That was inconsistency for a king like David.</div><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Chairman Mao’s Impromptu Visit<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Chairman Mao got off the bus today</div><div class="MsoNormal">Dressed in shorts and hoodie.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Looking much like a round faced woman.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Holding a laptop, no red book,</div><div class="MsoNormal">No star on cap. The distance was palatable.</div><div class="MsoNormal">No visible guards. He did not wave or talk</div><div class="MsoNormal">The peoples talk.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Cameras did not flash as they did</div><div class="MsoNormal">When shaking hands with an over coated </div><div class="MsoNormal">Nixon on the Great Wall.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I counted the group around him</div><div class="MsoNormal">But it never added to nine-</div><div class="MsoNormal">More sometimes less, but no gang.</div><div class="MsoNormal">This impromptu stop, his only</div><div class="MsoNormal">Visit to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:country-region w:st="on">America</st1:country-region></st1:place>, is all the more</div><div class="MsoNormal">Bizarre since he’s been dead for so long.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>T A Delmorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09408255456458250147noreply@blogger.com0