—Anonymous Photo
—Poems by David Lee, Past Poet Laureate, Utah
LOADING A BOAR
We were loading a boar, a goddam mean big sonofabitch and he jumped out of the
pickup four times and tore out my stockracks and rooted me in the stomach and I
fell down and he bit John on the knee and he thought it was broken and so did I
and the boar stood over in the far corner of the pen and watched us and John and I
just sat there tired and Jan laughed and brought us a beer and I said, “John it aint
worth it, nothing’s going right and I’m feeling half dead and haven’t wrote a poem in ages
and I’m ready to quit it all," and John said, “shit, young feller, you aint got
started yet and the reason’s cause you trying to do it outside yourself and aint
looking in and if you wanna by god write pomes you gotta write pomes about
what you know and not about the rest and you can write about pigs and that boar
and Jan and you and me and the rest and there aint no way you’re gonna quit," and
we drank beer and smoked, all three of us, and finally loaded that mean bastard
and drove home and unloaded him and he bit me again and I went in the house
and got out my paper and pencils and started writing and found out John he was
right.
__________________
PAROWAN CANYON
When granite and sandstone begin to blur
and flow, the eye rests on cool white aspen.
Strange, their seeming transparency.
How as in a sudden flash one remembers
a forgotten name, so the recollection. Aspen.
With a breeze in them, their quiet rhythms,
shimmering, quaking. Powder on the palm.
Cool on the cheek. Such delicacy
the brittle wood, limbs snapping
at a grasp, whole trees tumbling in the winds.
Sweet scent on a swollen afternoon.
Autumn, leaves falling one upon another, gold
rains upon a golden earth. How at evening
when the forest darkens, aspen do not.
And a white moon rises and silver stars
point toward the mountain, darkness
holds them so pale.
They stand still, very still.
___________________
PSALM OF HOME REDUX
after rereading Cormac McCarthy and taking
a 5-mile run through the River Ranch
Laughter is also a form of prayer.
—Kierkegaard
Okay then, right here,
Lord, in Bandera,
tether me to my shadow
like a fat spavined mule
stuck sideways in Texas tank mud
bawling for eternity
At midnight’s closing whine
of the 11th Street Bar’s steel guitar,
when the stars slip their traces
and race the moon like wild horses
to their death in the darkness,
let my hoarse song twine with the night wind
May the bray of today’s good laughter
fall like a brittle top branch
wind nudged from a sprawling live oak
straight down like early spring sleet
to the hill country’s bent
and trembling bluebonnet covered knees
________________
Head up the hill to Placerville today for Poetry in Placerville, featuring Tim Kahl and Penny Kline plus open mic, Love Birds Coffee and Tea Co. on Broadway near the Schnell School exit, 1-3pm.
For more about David Lee, Utah's “Pig Poet”, go to www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/david-lee/.
For more about David Lee, Utah's “Pig Poet”, go to www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/david-lee/.
—Medusa
—Anonymous Photo
Celebrate the poetry of looking in!
Photos in this column can be enlarged by clicking on them once,
then click on the X in the top right corner to come back
to Medusa.
then click on the X in the top right corner to come back
to Medusa.
