new old kid on the blog,
with an occasional
old or new poem written off
the old writer's block
For me these words evoke glorious images: the juxtaposition of wretchedness with the beauty of children free play. What do they then care for poverty when sunlight is free?
This "cuts a fine figure" yet keeps its distance so beautifully, allowing us to see... all beings at play in the fields of the infinite game of life, which in the end just goes on, and has neither losers nor winners.
Liked that, and thanks for it.
Are you drinking witchy potions or something? One perfect poem after another is too much! I'm crawling into a bottle of mescal until Monday—just me and my jealousy....
Rereading this poem, my eyes keep wandering off to the right, to where my own small "gang" of lawless young ones used to stave off adult forays onto their turf by using all sorts of play--all for naught, of course, but it was wonderful while it lasted. And looking back does give one the needed distance and perhaps, once in a while, a poem. Thanks to you all for being such nice kids.As for your craving for some mescal,Joe, here's an old one not intended for you but one that should make you think twice!PUNCH-DRUNK IN TIJUANAWhat’s missing, Slugger,Is the zing in the mescal,The bat out of hell, worm inYour belfry loud as a bell.