Whoever you are,
your paper landed by my doorstep today,
all wrapped up in anonymous plastic,
full of tidbits on personal investing,
with an interesting wine column written for laymen,
and with a comprehensive breakdown
of the summer movies.

The lead article announced the four agents of change
in this election season,
like apocalyptic horsemen but in a mildly optimistic way,
with a four-spread picture to bring it home:
three fat white men,
jovial and apple-cheeked as the Brady brunch,
and Barack Obama in the bottom right corner,
looking cross and vaguely ashamed
from beneath the fold.

I didn’t want your paper
but I read it straight through,
from the cover article on union regulations
to the end page piece about how Bernake’s tone
might signify the end of Fed rate cuts,
partly because my paper never came
but also, in a sense, because it was yours,
because you were denied it,
and because I didn’t want to seem ungrateful
for something you may have loved.

Still.
I hope you got my paper instead.
I really do.

I hope you were puzzled by the mix up,
the way I was, at first flipping between the pages
in a state of frank disbelief,
always expecting the next fold to reveal
the familiar font and column width,
and the viewpoints that assure you
that you are part of something worthwhile,
and underappreciated, and smart.

I hope you read it through, too,
from the cover article on middle school testing
to the tiny section buried beneath the editorials
called This Rural Life,
almost unnoticeable but so good,
a scant two or three paragraphs at most
and only printed one day a week,
just a blurb in which someone who has given up
the bluster and complications of the city expounds,
in a quiet way, about the awe one feels
upon waking up on a farm,
or finding a dead sparrow by the lake.

Saul Nadatas last blog post..Your Paper (redux)

Thanks for the rescue. xx

– Rescued!

Sorry, poetry for some reason gives my spam filter fits.

John

THE MEDITATION

Let there be silence
let there be darkness
and in that darkness peace
and in that silence peace
no word
no light
All Void
the Nothing.

In that nothing
what is the something that observes
the being of nothing
the No Thing?
Upon this question
my eyes open
to observe the world
of sight and sound.

My gaze falls immediately
on a tree, feathery acacia
fluttering in the breeze,
leaves reaching sideways
in clumps as flat as plates
but moving, rippling.
The tall fronds of the palm beyond it
prance and bow.

And noises resume.
Cars on the road over there
changing speed around the bend.
A man’s voice talking
as he strolls,
tiny phone cupped to his ear.
The sudden loud tick of my watch.
Anonymous insects buzzing.

Your Verse:
A roaring sea and a starlit sky
We were there just walking by
The waves go back and forth
Bringing back the memories we hold
Some we love and some we loathe.

Maybe try something like this (you get internal rhyme rather than end stoppedl)

A roaring sea, the sky, starlit
We were just there, walking by
Like the waves, back and forth
etc.

Walking ashore in shallow waters
We left no trace, no leads

Your verse:
Each time the waves wash the shore
They leave a fresh canvas to dabble with

Suggestion:
Waves washed the shore
Leaving a fresh canvas
We dabble

Anyway, It’s all relative. I just find that by cutting out the non-essential, I have a bolder verse.

John’s suggestion about reviewing old work was, I think, really meant for us to go back over our own work and notice what that tells us about our development, and to do so at the halfway mark of our “30 days” project. You could start now; there is no rule about all starting at the same time.

Pharaoh’s Dream
——————
Sitting high and powerful, defiant and condescending
Is the chosen one, the pharaoh.
The absolute, the ruler from heaven; as the world calls
And obediently at his feet it falls

He dreamt for a mark of his glory
A one of its kind, magnificent and grand
A monument to mark his rule of this land

Years and Years of toiling in the desert sun
Realizing someone else’s dream
They remained occupied
Until one day when the glory was out of its hide

It looked sturdy and magnificent
Built With their flesh and blood
The symbol of glory would sure leave a mark
Just different one in each heart

The active years of their lives spent
They had no emotions to vent
The unsung heroes never again thought
What havoc to them, the pharaoh’s dream has brought

Realizing they wont be remembered for long
They lived along singing the glory
Forgetting the mark it made
And waiting for the wounds to fade.