Morning Notes, Sept 7, 2021

Cover of Planet of the Blind....man and dog....

Before I knew you…a silly phrase…

**

Poetry matters. It’s the keel of our losses and our hope. It allows us to sail.

**

And silly to write such a thing–midday, late summer clouds coming on. But this is the hour when I was happiest as a child–alone in the woods, light suffused, everything quiet. Somewhere far off the town had a parade. I was in my cave, green, darker than morning. The trees donned sorrow hats as the sun faded. And the birds quiet. Hint of a coming rain.

**

Wild flowers
Queen Anne’s Lace
Standard butter cups
Mantle thoughts of dying
I’m in here…

**

I know I’m hopelessly local
Homely, undisguised
Laughing

What else is there
High in branches?

**

In his excellent memoir “Interesting Times” the Marxist historian Eric Hobsbawm says of the Welsh, circa 1960: “For most of the mountain people the Welsh language was chiefly a Noah’s Ark in which they could survive the flood as a community. They did not so much want to convert and converse: people looked down on visiting South Walians with their ‘school Welsh’. Unlike Noah, they did not expect the flood to end.”

**

Blind childhood:

Hydra I took you under my ribs, my darling who licked the words from stones.

Hydra, innocent, my speechlessness.

**

He supposes he should be more ironic about fealty and Romantic sadness, but finds he cannot.

**

Electric bulbs hang by threads.
Once my mother lived here—
Brockton, Massachussetts
Year of big ammunition,
WW I her father building bombs
For Uncle Sam—kids
Playing in dynamite
How it was…

**

Please, for the love of God, go out today and cultivate wonder.

**

You’d think I’ve a plan
But its not true
In the dark move fast

Author: skuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University

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