Oddments

In search of story


10 Comments

January 4.22: Coping

Sometimes we’re the audience,

sometimes we’re on stage;

either way we play a part

intrinsic to the age.

From Gilgamesh to Boba Fett,

the story is the thing

to make the case for why

we’re worth remembering.

The writer needs the reader,

as ear attends to speech;

reciprocally human

symbiotic each to each.

In telling and in listening,

we revere the mighty word;

inked or sung or spoken,

it must be read or heard,

and so the eye and ear

and reverent word creator

combine to tell of us

in storied life’s theater.

 

It seems to me, dear reader, that in our little corner of blogdom we have a certain reverence for the word. I like that.

Sometimes as reader and sometimes as writer, I have here learned about imagining, about thinking and re-thinking, about observing, and, even better, I have laughed. In that regard, 2021 was a good word year. In other places, the word has not been treated so kindly.

I wish us all a good year of words. Because words make life rememberable.

 

More thanks to photographer S.W. Berg

and to Wells Theater, Norfolk, VA.


6 Comments

February 7.21: Coping

The bench wants society.

Stop! it says. Sit! —

watch your species ignoring you and me!

They rush by but we are the busy ones,

busy stopping.

Soon another will come, stop, sit,

and society will happen.

Maybe a toddler, ooph-ing his way up,

will sit like an L,

revel in his new perspective,

then scramble away,

pollinator to his kind.

Then soon another, on the three legs of late life,

will ease down, lean back,

and toss some memories to you, hungry pigeon.

Maybe next a new parent,

jealously, wonderingly

hoarding that immense softness,

rocking slightly,

sparing a few hushed words.

By and by, maybe two, holding hands, cozy in,

nudging you to other times, other benches

where you stopped,

and you can’t help a small private smile.

Maybe someone who talks a waterfall

crashing down on you in atomic white foam,

like some relatives you’ve run from.

Then even the bench cringes but holds fast

for the sake of the human soul.

Ignore a bench at your peril:

society must be had.

 

 

I can’t help noting, dear reader, that I picture people aware of each other

whereas the reality is people are snookered into their phones

and have no idea you are on the bench with them.

I prefer my version.

 

More thanks to photographer S.W. Berg,

and to Wells Theater, Norfolk, VA.

 


6 Comments

March 13.19

If all the world’s a stage

give mine the glint of gold

scarlet plush and curtains

in towering thespian fold.

Give me a kindly audience

who patiently endure

through epilogue’s last echo

from brassy overture.

Give me jeweled soliloquy

sparkling in its wit

not too long but long enough

for annals of World Lit.

Give me blue-white spotlight

commanding and intense

before that sky-high curtain

begins its last descent.

After final curtain

when there isn’t any more

may there be one ovation

which resounds with loud “Encore!”

 

 

I never know where Bill’s photos — or any photos, for that matter — will lead me. This one brought back one of my favorite memories of my father, a brilliant man who developed dementia. Before the dementia claimed him, he wrote his own obituary and declared to me that he wanted people to read it and say, “Let’s bring this guy back!” I laughed, but I felt his longing not to be forgotten. How human.

 

 

Many thanks to photographer S.W. Berg.