Wednesday, November 4, 2009


I went to sleep listening to Andre Rieu performing The Strauss Gala and it inspired a beautiful dream. When I got up at 4AM for my scrawling session I wrote a poem which included three of my dear old friends and a person I think may have been Gordon Parks.
I stood near the carousal, a carnival of making merry
In full voice around me. Two old friends hurried by,
Selected two painted ponies and mounted with grace.
I called and waved slowly. Then someone had my elbow.
I was propelled forward and seated in a gilt carriage.
The person released me to mount the wild horse
That pulled my chariot. I removed my sweater and shoes.
I let down my old white hair. The man let down his hair, too.
Soon we were moving to calliope din. Faster! Faster!
Ann's lavender skirt billowed over the rump of her rosy mare.
Roberto's red silk bandanna whipped the sky behind him.
Jim's blue shirt filled with air, water ran out of his sleeves.
His long white hair rose and fell over his shoulders.
I saw a stern black man with white hair watching.
His fists thrust deep into the pockets of his red plaid pants.
"Turn right!" I shouted. Jim laughed and turned left.
The black man scowled as we galloped past.
When I saw him again he was leaving on long strong legs.

The carousal disappeared. The calliope was silent.
Around me a field of wind-whipped wild rye.
Before me the rusted hulk of my carriage.
At my feet a horse skull staring into the blushing sky,
A heal-all growing from the eye.
I covered the head with my sweater, put on my shoes
And walked east on long strong legs
Toward all my waiting dreams.

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