Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Sketches - 27 (September 13th, 2014)

27.

Dead motionless gloss of balloons
on a perfect cool
September Saturday.

All the spectral deep daylight
through the front picture window
and stained-glass side window in
its amateur brush strokes
                      long ago
                      faded blue
                      and charcoal
                      red to rust orange,

the wind keeps gusting at
different points, some of it high
above the giant sprall-trees
miles and miles of oak, spare
clumps of aspen
            in a nameless twinkle gust.

I stood on top miles of
heavy tree’d expanse next
to the Lake Mahoney State Park
activities stage building, we played
songs between a few storytellers
as Ash and I were asked to
               do.

From that point it was hard
not to pay attention to millions
of those branches swaying tossing turning
down below, hypnotic waving luring
                  motion
as a few folks told their stories and we
sang in between.

Yet for all these formal storytellers
and summer to fall festival
parking lots full of old people
cars, Buicks (reminds me of church
potlucks of early 1980’s in deep
freeze Nebraska winters) the true
story fills up song spaces, empty sheets
and pages, tangles up the audio
tape and scratches at the
hard drive space millisecond
at a time - never completed
but a series of stopping points
               then beginning again.

(September 13th, 2014)

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