new old kid on the blog,
with an occasional
old or new poem written off
the old writer's block
Kenosha PassOctober wind poundsmountainsides of aspen,
the whole forest a library
exploding in slow mo.Seems the wind’sbellowing,
Read fast,fools! Everythingscrawled on theseflying-
falling leavespertains to you.
Thanks for sending me this fine, leafy "volume" illustrating once again that poetry is in fact a vast lending library; in this case, I think you gave Mother Nature a better read!
Love these leaves (filed among the inner litterae, in that sanctum of the fallen yet unforgotten): ...chill gust settles The question once And for all and...(gust/quest contains such an interesting mixup of levels and dimensions of the poetic)
Astyanax................................................Now that you are leaving, now that the day of paymentdawns, now that no one knowswhom he will kill and how he will die,take with you the boy who saw the lightunder the leaves of that plane-treeand teach him to study the trees.--George Seferis, from Mythistorema.Thank you for loving these leaves, Tom.