'The season's same old news.'
Well, I've changed house in recent seasons so much is new to me here. I
notice even the thistles differ. And the breezes don't have salt in them
from the ocean, too far away. Where the savage sun has killed lawn, a
wonderful array of tiny flowers has grown, complete with visiting buzzing
bees to threaten my barefeet. We've had rain here for two days straight!
It's January - my mind keeps trying to adjust to this strange weather. And
now a howling wind ...
Yes, the news is equally as bad, just as the same moon shines on all the
same world. I feel our 'ignorance' protects them. They are an obscene
minority and should be eliminated by our majority. Easy to say, perhaps.
But I am rambling. It is great that your poem has me thinking, Max!
On 14 January 2015 at 14:21, Sheila Murphy <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> Ahhhhhhhhh Very appealing, Max. Surely you do not mean YOU.
> On Tue, Jan 13, 2015 at 3:27 PM, Max Richards <[log in to unmask]>
> > Not the News
> > What delights me in old age?
> > anything? Lately it's been the sky
> > above the lake, any time of day
> > or night; on the lake those birds -
> > tiny in perspective fishing -
> > these flying wide curving this way.
> > Antidotes for the evening news.
> > Town birds familiar from every
> > town I've been in - sparrows,
> > pigeons. 'Don't feed the birds'? -
> > hard not to, even those crows
> > massing pecking on lawns,
> > glossy quarrelsome superb.
> > Newsworthy? not in the least.
> > Mushrooms after rain, mosses
> > revived for winter, herbs, shrubs,
> > cauliflowers gone to seed,
> > kale in pots outdoing flowers.
> > First daffodils, stirring of crocuses.
> > The season's same old news.
> > Delight? the sight of children,
> > women, even a few men -
> > faces, graces, sometimes voices;
> > places and spaces - for example:
> > this avenue in perspective,
> > this corner space with benches.
> > Sad and bad though all the news is,
> > here our ignorance protects us.
'Undercover of Lightness'