Monday, February 22, 2010


Feb. 19, 10. The day arrived with a red blaze on the distant horizon. All the trees are dressed in a heavy lace of frost. The black robed pilgrims standing along the road have assumed a new identity. In morning light they become young pine trees.
Last night was open mic at the Evansville Art Center so we all showed up. Barbara had a bag of percussion and shaker instruments which we all shared. Sharon H and I signed up and waited our turns. What a great show it was. So many talented poets, musicians and singers took the stage. So many old friends, familiar faces and hugs of welcome.
There are times when I am with a group that I seem to disconnect and sink away to be alone. It does no harm for I rise again and no one knows I have been away. But not in this group. I remain present and connected.
I read a poem I had written, "The Barefoot Poet"
The fabric of her gauzy gown
Of opportunity was thin.
The gown itself a bit too small.
Snug in the shoulders, you see.
The hem fell well above the knee.
No elaborate embroidered promises
Adorned the shapeless bodice.
No long train of promises followed
Her barefoot steps.
Anxious to please but overlooked
Too many times, unrewarded
Efforts heaped the dusty corners
Of her diminishing future.
But plodding on for many years
She wore the dress to shreds.
Then it lay abandoned in the snow.
All her pretty poems tumbled
Unexpectedly from faded folders
To follow her barefoot steps.
I spent the night at the Henneman farm near Evansville. I was thoroughly welcomed by the two big dogs, Charlie and Zoe. I also had my first black and white dream! I was an observer of a homeless man's desperate plight. He wore an ill fitting wool tweed suit and climbed an apple tree for food. He filled his pockets, descended and walked down the road toward the setting sun. I saw that he was Montgomery Clift. He disappeared as a police car arrived at the apple house. A woman hurried out and pointed toward the west. There was no road so the cop had to walk. I whisked away and caught up with Monty as he entered a ramshackle house. It was getting dark and cold. He pulled down several boards and built a fire in the small wood stove. He tore up some of the floor and found a cigar box. He looked inside to find some money and an assortment of gold jewelry. He put this all in his pockets and slept on the floor. Soon the sun was shining into the room. He got up and left. I remained behind and heard steps on the porch. The cop was soon in the room. He looked around and wrote in his notebook. I was rushed forward to find Monty knocking on a door. Soon Shelley Winters was standing before us. He gave her the jewelry and walked off without a word. She looked quite stunned as she watched him leave. I knew the cop would be coming and I counted Monty's offenses. Theft, vandalism, trespass. Perhaps the man wasn't Monty but was also guilty of impersonating a dead movie star. Thus ended my first and hopefully last B/W dream.
I had my hair cut really short today.

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