If you visit Lance Mannion’s blog you’ll see that Mr. Mannion has placed me in the company of the poet Tom Lux in the "personal poetry preference" department. I am all agog and aquiver because I adore the poems of Tom Lux and I’m just sufficiently a kid-minstrel that I am unabashedly giddy with beanie rotating pleasure at being handed such a fine paper flower.
I am posting a poem I wrote about western New York State, a place that Lance Mannion knows well:
The Jazz From Cripple City
I saw tonight four men in wheelchairs eating
Flowers And laughing through the dusk
While in the public gardens
Forsythia leaned to the water.
O to bear up under such rollicking measures…
O to live in Baffalo, New York and eat civic plantings…
Yes I wasn’t alone before this poem began:
Yes, it’s true, I can’t see a thing.
A friend had to tell me about the men who ate from the rhododendrons.
Her description was full of detail, let us say, as
The courts are full of law,
As Doc Williams might have said.
But no one can describe the murmurous laughter that does not
Alter the case. & the twilight full of sounds…