Twilight - Version Z, New title for my 3rd book is evolving too ... "Rainbow Gathering To Harbin This Day - Poetry of Loving Bliss" ...

Hi M,

Making some headway on my poetry book 2. Think I may have updated all blog posts from 2008 and 2009 with poems in them, and have added them to a manuscript of about 75 pages in a 8 x 11 Word Doc ... which will grow to 100-ish pages in 6 x 9. I'm leaving out the Haiku~ish from these years.

This could lead to a few further volumes of my poetry, if I proceed chronologically like this ... which I may not do, after all ...


It's really nice to revisit the traveling, the Rainbow Gathering poems, and the traveling to the Rainbow Gathering in national parks ... and to Harbin ...  especially ... I like these poems, their language, and where they go 'virtually' ... some are lyrical, some could go further in this direction ...

New title for my 3rd book is evolving too ... something like - "Rainbow Gathering To Harbin This Day - Poetry of Loving Bliss" ...

How's your short story class ? How are you?

What are your thoughts about traveling to Oregon and when?

L, Scott

- http://worlduniversityandschool.org/AcademicPress.html

* * * 

I walked down the dark, winding road at dusk in twilight,

and something like poetry came to me.

In the distance children
speak with each other,
and Canyon is all around
quiet, apart.


That old man who stands there sometimes
that Canyonite shirtless,
maybe 70 with long white hair,
big belly, smiling,
a little aimless, a village presence,
an independent character,
who sometimes catches a ride
into town for groceries, at home in himself,


who may have found his way
to Canyon years ago - in the '60s
and just stayed? - because
it's nice here in Canyon.
I can see the fit.


I wander further down,
pick up my mail at
the post office by the creek,
{a letter from my mother in my box}
which is running at this time of year,
and begin to make my way back up.

A vehicle comes toward me and
I move indirectly away
to the benches to my left - it's dark now -
and sit on one hewn from two large planks.

Next to it is another bench,
which looks Victorian, almost like a bed frame.
There's another bench, too, all next to the funky garden.

There's also a green park bench,
a small wooden table,
a wheelbarrow with soil in it,
some sawn wood tree stumps,
and two planters, one with fragrant sage
which I touch and savor.
I don't go in the inviting garden gate.

I've seen the kids
from the Canyon school, close by,
sitting here, and I've heard
they tend the garden, too.

In the dark, oh so temperate air,
I get up to walk back up
the winding road, homeward.

Vines straddle and hang from the garden fence as I walk by

I think about hopping in the hot tub as I pass by

earlier fiona and her best friend whom she is planning a wedding for at my place gather with another friend

I come high up the road and

the moon the moon is large and is an illuminated eye in tha trees canopy

I'm sweating alittle sand I came walking for the walk

can I become like that old guy as I pass his plae - content in being in canyon - I don't know the old hippie

I pass the old vw - so old and rusty that it's a memory covered with plants and fading metal - before turning into my home


the ridgetop is here and my wood home calls in the moonlight

* 

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