6:14 PM, Wednesday, 29 December 2021

I was doing some work in the office after running errands dealing with having to fix some bifold closet doors… errands which ended up not being fruitful because two stores didn’t have what I needed, so I’ve had to order the supplies online.  One bit of success was I didn’t take a dive while walking on the ice everywhere we had this freak snowstorm and this place really doesn’t do much to clean up after it and it’s been frigid cold so the ice is not melting so there’s hazards but there were many hazards of this nature in Pennsylvania for far longer period so I just take it slow walking and driving but most people just stay home and a lot of stuff just closes down even though the total snowfall was probably just 7 or 8 inches. I got back home and I’ve been scanning and throwing out some papers that accumulated for many different things, just been doing some online records and bills stuff, and I had an opportunity to listen to one of the Poetry Broadcasts that Billy Collins does (far less frequently now than he used to when the pandemic started… he’s reduced his days because now he’s getting out and about more, doing readings in different places etc as the covid crisis has its ups and downs)… anyway listening to him I  often get inspired to write and something came out again today. Always a good thing. Here’s about a third draft of this, adding it to the long in the oven book, IT’S NOT THE MOON,  that in my dream of dreams will someday get published, or some pieces of it at least. Before I turn to dust.


I think they call them this
Someone put down these stones
between the driveway and the sidewalk
as an accent to this modest landscape
To add a touch of color and remind us that this is Earth
all full of minerals
and they are fun to watch just lying there
All worn smooth
shapes each vaguely resembling something else
and how the rainwater hits them
and they get shiny
or the snow puts them in its pocket for a while
or they will warm up if the sun’s at the right angle
and stays out for more than a minute
They’d be perfect for throwing at the trees
in the adjacent woods
To startle the animals waiting there for something
Or to make a new echo for today
But I hope no one really does this
I just want them to stay
Still                 Hard                Yet yielding under your feet
Oh and beware you can twist your ankle
if you step on them the wrong way
physics, anatomy, and the aging process colluding.

I recall a hobo wanderer in a film
who when the spirit moved him         used to stop
reach down
and pick up a stone
to remember each place he had been
like the cheapest most memorable souvenir.


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