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Knock on a Hundred Doors

Hello, 2019 and all my friends out there who have knocked on my door today. I greet you from a cozy cabin at Lake Burton, Georgia, on the last day of my holiday vacation. Tomorrow, I go back to work, but I also give my first poetry reading of the year at Cool Beans.

Event by Mind Gravy Poetry

Waiting for the Next Door to Open

I turned 53 on December 13. This is the third year of the second half of my life. I hope to see the world with new eyes again, be as curious as a kitten, and occasionally extend my claws and growl and hiss a bit. Sometimes it will be dark, but the curious go into the dark and see what's hiding, don't they? Here's a poem I wrote a few years ago that relates:

Darkest Night in Five Hundred Years

  • “The starling, that the counsaile can bewrie” (Geoffrey Chaucer)

This winter solstice, black board of naught

unlit by fire-stars or hurried yearnings,

still, undisturbed as a nest of starlings

hidden in its cavity.

The yellow sun must wait for its hour

to strike in this hush, deep netherworld of finite

fashion, the sky dressed as a mourner

at the funeral of a friend, heart scratched

with sadness, forlorn.

We all wait, the world awake in wee

hours, staring hard at the blue-black

worsted space that hides the lost

friend’s face as if behind a windswept

umbrella,

and we walk in this night rain toward

each other, sightless as kittens,

cheeks wet with hope and wonder,

as if we’d just been born.

Here we go, friends. I'll write again soon.

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