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"poetry"
Last evening I took advantage of a rare opportunity to enjoy one of the best story tellers of our generation, Garrison Keillor. The master of A Prairie Home Companion and troubadour of Lake Woebegone, Garrison Keillor knows how to weave a tale.
The Steven's Center was a delightful venue for the event. The stage front was set with a simple table, stool and microphone stand. Denise Franklin of our local public radio station, WFDD, offered a simple and respectful introduction of Mr. Keillor that set the stage complete with understated anticipation.
What followed was a well measured unleashing of humor, poignancy and inspiration as the baritone voice of Garrison sung and spoke story into our hearts. His humor was masterfully crafted right down to the black suit and white shirt that playfully gave way to a red tie, socks and sneakers: classic Keillor - refined and established tradition with a splattering of irreverence.
I had two take a ways this night: 1. Garrison's description of marriage as "A life time sentence to a relationship with your best informed critic." You have to love this. My wife and I looked at each other with instant agreement and bursting laughter. 2. The art of story is a dying art and if we lose this wonderful form of communication, if the digital snippets of media that bounce in and out of our awareness each day manage to capture so much of our attention that we no longer have the time or craving for the well turned phrase and a rambling illustration...then life will be diminished beyond reclamation.
If you have not had the pleasure of basking in the mastery of story as it is delivered - no, performed - by Garrison Keillor then reach out into this digital, instant gratification world and GET YOU SOME well paced, long rambling, heart stroking, laughter generating, life adoring STORY.
in my hands
his
gentle and small
wonder and delight
an ebbing of laughter and stress
in my hands
hers
the future rests
tasks to be learned
suprises of nature and mind
in my hands
a bundle of memories
my daughter's squirming
my son's gentle dreams of sleep
in my hands
mine
empty now
full of possiblities
grasping for the next embrace
offered
to my hands
Renewal
frozen limbs bound in fear
eyes too dry for anymore tears
my heart lies latent in my chest
hoping, longing for endless rest
where are the dreams of days gone by
was it all some cruel perverted lie
can i move from this coffin skin
will my iced soul ever live again?
pain within, pain without
too parched my voice to release a shout
all that moves in this locked cage
is the glimmer of fire known as rage
where are the dreams of days gone by
was it all some cruel perverted lie
can i move from this coffin skin
will my iced soul ever live again?
explosion within, shattering these bonds
screams of life, demanding a new dawn
i will live, this day again will be
found zeal for life for i've been freed
here are the dreams of today my friends
laughter and wonder as this drama ascends
playing a part, living again
freed for the journey, ever to begin
freed for the journey, freed for this quest
living again to discover the rest
Truth's guided quest, a path of delight
ever onward, strive for the light
here are the dreams of today my friends
laughter and wonder as this drama ascends
playing a part, living again
freed for the journey, ever to begin
Beneath Still Waters
placid ripples radiate
out from the stone's wake
it falls into silence
downward
from a nameless toss it came
flying in a moment
failing to break gravity's spell
downward
descending the abyss
parting waters of primeval ways
stirring the reservoir of rage
downward
what life lies beneath
what longings to be stirred
what hopes become reacquainted
down there
a small pebble settles on deepest sediment
nests into it's new dark home
and something, disturbed, moves
down there.
dusk and flickering
candles.
sensations of
in between
gentle caresses
the last scent
yesterday's
cookies, baked
and eaten.
in between
a leaf falling
upward, riding on
the breeze
summer's heat
in between
silent breath
your voice
pausing between
words
measured with
care
in between
the end
the beginning
the alpha
the omega
the dream
the reality
we can't live here
for more than
a moment
in between
Someone, who reads my blog regularly, asked me today "Don't you EVER have a bad day?"
Yes - truly I must confess sometimes I do. Yet, those bad days become blips on my joyful life, mere moments of disconnect and soon my life is back again.
Just as proof - I'll share a few words penned in the midst of one of those disconnected moments.
Please
please, leave me alone
be gone you deafening blanket of despair
be gone
leave, and vacate my soul
let there be emptiness, darkness, nothing, void
please, let there be room for the light again
come, come spirit of hope, feather-light
brilliant presence an uplifting touch
come
please take my down turned chin
lift my face again to the sun. please.