Saturday, October 27, 2018
Liberty Valence Was Shot Too Many Times For Me
In 1962, age 17, I was a theater usher at the Saenger Theatre , in Pensacola, Florida.
Teenage dream. Free movies!.
Just had to stand there, red blazer or vest, and black bow tie, a few nights a week, holding a flashlight, and help people find their keys, answer questions about the next showing or coming movies, and, eat popcorn.
The first movie I worked was "The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence", with John Wayne, Lee Marvin, and Jimmy Stewart, three of the biggest stars of the day.
First night was great... but, by the third showing, I was beginning to get a little tired of Liberty Valence being shot.
By the third NIGHT, I wanted to shoot him myself.
CUT TO THE CHASE, ALREADY!!!
John Wayne did it!!!
Everybody go home!
Of course, for a while, each new movie had an appeal, but, over the next year, even that, and the free tickets to the Saenger, and its sister theater down Palafox Street, the Rex, wore thin.
Since then, movies have never quite had the attraction for me as they once did.
Part of that is simply age, but, part of it was being... well part of it.
Sometimes, if we get too close, or something becomes too common to us, it loses its appeal.
You know what? I think I'd like to see John Wayne gun down Lee Marvin one more time for old time's sake.
Friday, October 26, 2018
Morning Walk Begun In Darkness
Morning walk begun in darkness. Even the sun's not awake.
Rabbits scurry away barely seen in the gray half light.
Slowly, light begins to dawn, hence the word, or vice versa, first to the east, gradually lightening the whole sky. Some reds, yellows, blues.
Shadowy things take shape and substance.
That's how life happens sometimes. Unsure of what we are seeing at first, until some sort of light, delineation, illuminates the scene, allowing us to make out details.
Despite claiming poethood, I don't like to get too mystical about these things. I've too many scars to balance myself entirely on sunrise and roses and rabbits in the dawn, but, I tend to forget they are there as I go about my daily obligations.
It's "nice", simple word, but useful, to reconnect with the momentarily unfamiliar familiar.
So many mornings of my life, I've watched the world's life renew itself, or, sadly, learned of someone or something NOT being renewed this day.
Cycle of life.
Sometimes we get in a rut and only see what we see, or think we see, day after day, and forget the other things.
That's one reason why I like morning walks.
I'm reminded that there's more to know about each day, than just the day-TO-day stuff we all deal with. I can start my day with news, or with rabbits scurrying away in the dewy grass as the sun begins to change the colors of the world from black and gray (grey for my Brit friends), to green and yellow and blue and red, and, waking up the sleepy birds, causes them to sing a sleepy good morning.
Just walking around in my mind, now that, with my help, of course, the sun's up.
Wednesday, October 24, 2018
Poem: Her New Freedom
She has loosened
Ties and stays,
To new daring,
Bathed by the waves,
Of an ocean of freedom,
Relishing sun and wind,
Upon her body,
And her mind,
Joining me joyfully,
Hand in hand,
Heart to heart,
As we walk
The beaches of Eden,
Tuesday, October 23, 2018
Poem: If I Were Rain
If I were rain, I would seek you,
Fall warmly and gently on you,
Letting you feel my passage,
Across your face and lips,
Into your mouth, becoming part of you.
Some of me would slip, drip
Down the lines of your body,
Soaking your skin,
Replacing tears, with
Rivulets of love,
Monday, October 22, 2018
Poem: My Dancer
I watch her in my mind,
As she dances for me,
Body beautiful in
Its loving movements,
Arching, swaying, speaking,
Of freedom, happiness, joy,
And love... offered
As she dances,
To our hearts' song.
Sunday, October 14, 2018
Poem: Choose Your History
Before us came many,
Too many to count.
Many have been evil.
Many have been good,
And kind, loving, caring,
Doing the best they could,
Who they were,
Where they were,
When they were,
Too many to count.
After us come many,
Too many to count.
We are here, now.
Choose your history.
Thursday, October 04, 2018
Poem: Morning Walk, Evening Walk
Every morning I walk by the water.
Every evening I walk by the water.
Every time it's different,
Wednesday, October 03, 2018
Poet Or Charlatan, That Is The Question
The nice thing about writing my poetry is that, as long as I know what I'm trying to say, it probably IS officially poetry, even if nobody else "gets it".
I remember a story years ago about a poet who got a government grant to write a poem, and, as the time was running out for him to produce his work, he submitted a single sheet of paper with the word "Nothing", on it.
That was his poem.
Was he right?
Was he a poet?
I certainly don't know.
To tell the truth, I CAN see where a poet, attempting to deliver a "message" could do exactly that. On the other hand, it's also obviously, quite possibly a cop out, by someone who was unable to deliver the goods.
Who's to say?
Only the "poet" knows just what was in the brain that produced the end product.
Rambling thoughts. Under the heading of "thinking out loud", but this seems off the beaten path enough to be called errant thought.
Not a deep subject, but one I've wondered about for years.
When do we cease being a poet, and become a charlatan, using our wits to disguise our lack of inventiveness? And, just as an aside, does the ability to deceive in that manner show that we actually ARE what we claimed to be in the first place?