I thought you were away from civilization, or not near a computer. Very nice
poem. :)
Kind regards - Deborah
Deborah, I was, but that was sent to Map before. Thanks Ryfsis for posting
the poem and notice and to all who said nice things about it.
Gary
who has work to do before he is on line for fun and games
----- Original Message -----
From: "Deborah Russell" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Friday, April 11, 2003 2:11 AM
Subject: Re: [THE-WORKS] Gary on the Map
Hello Gary,
I thought you were away from civilization, or not near a computer. Very nice
poem. :)
Kind regards - Deborah
----Yay. Congrats Gary. Well writ, that man.
Cheers,
Frank
Mazel tov Garbro!
Map of Austin Poetry #281-1
Featured Poetry Supplement
Theme: April is National Poetry Month
Upcoming themes:
#282 - AIPF Christina Sergeyevna Award winners (submissions closed)
#283 - 2003 Di-Verse-City selections (submissions closed)
#284 - Witching Hour instant anthology selections (submissions closed)
This week's selections include:
1. "A Walk down Crooked Paths" by Gary Blankenship
2. "The Poet's Invocation" by Michael Levy
3. "Muse Errant" by Ursula T. Gibson
4. "Raw Earth" by Claibie Walsh
5. "It Is Easier to Run the World Than to Grow a Bean" by R.U. Outavit
6. "A Poet Dies in Basra" by Mike Gullickson
1. A Walk down Crooked Paths
(For Laurel) by Gary Blankenship
I walked through a poem today,
I should have taken blackberry trails
across the back lot,
along the canyon edge;
but the poem held me
shoeless,
still in my robe
and night sweat.
The poem was not set by
a name well known.
Pound did not engineer it
nor Roethke place the gravel.
Frost did not measure
a perfect path,
nor Basho rake in imperfect surprises.
The poet is a blue-collar craftsman,
self-taught,
but flawed,
tools rusty from too many
days in puddles and fog,
eyes weak,
perspective skewed.
The poet is unknown
outside her circle of friends;
the next town over,
they would scratch their heads
at mention of her name.
Perhaps she will be published someday
near the back of a large volume
where no one
ever goes.
I walked through her poem today
and heard crows sing,
yellow jackets change their coats,
Chinese pheasants dance with fox,
hazel nuts ripen,
a whisper so slight I nearly missed it
in the rustle of leaves
leaving,
a whisper
meant to silence
the sound of my clodhoppers
as I waded through her words.
© Gary Blankenship
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