Things We Never Knew

A purple raccoon, actually three purple
raccoons, one alone could not reach the
button, rang my door bell yesterday
evening just after supper- chili and rice.

They say there is a moment just before
astonishment when the mind goes blank
with disbelief. I can assure you this
moment exists.

Seeing three purple raccoons standing on
each others shoulders ringing my door
bell had created a perfect vacuum in my
reasoning. Speechless blended with a
slow motion blink.

The top raccoon asked, “Where is
Betty?” Betty was my ex-girlfriend,
gone a month, with no regrets.

“She is not here.” I answered

The middle raccoon looked up at
the other and said “I told you so.”

The three then scrambled down and
strolled off down the walk. The third
raccoon that had been silent to this point
turned to me and said, “Too bad, she was
an interesting woman.”

It was then I had the first hint I might
have misjudged Betty. I could feel
curiosity turn toward regret. Why had
she never introduced me?

gng 1-10-0

Snapshot

Through the morning mist, across
dark green pastures, a black horse
was painted on a white fence.

Only the gentle chewing and lazy swagger
of a tail gave proof the painting was
alive, the fog of breath not a puff of my
imagination...

a brief snapshot as the train speeds
into the dawn, a passing memento
of moments we overlook...of life
outside out windows

gng 4-12-08

Lessons of Devil's Den (Gettysburg, PA)

The rolling thunderous echoes of cannons,
charging horses and the screams of dying
men has drifted through the ages to settle
like a cool morning mist among the dark
boulders of this place, where only the hushed
whispers of the fallen, retell and retell
the story we never seem to hear.

gng 4-17-10

When Angels Argue

With all the billions of angels in heaven,
surely there are disagreements. Little heated
holy discussions too trivial to take to God
but no less important to the parties themselves.

Say two guardian angels find their respective
charges in conflict. Do they sit at a polished
conference table in heaven and cordially, over
coffee and sweet rolls, set a course of action?

Or perhaps they have a picnic on earth and
under an apple tree toss a coin or draw straws.

My hope is that they get into a ring and duke it
out, with fellow angels cheering and screaming
for one side or the other, smoke and wagers filling
the arena.

I often think of my guardian angel and along with
my daily prayers I wish him or her a great right
hook.

gng 2-12-08

News Bulletins

Too often we overlook the poetry of
everyday events. So it was with great
satisfaction I saw the local paper reported
that “State Police are continuing to
investigate the theft of an Employee of the
Month sign from the local Walmart.”

Certainly the irony of this news story must
be appreciate on many levels, not the least
of which is the local crime rate allows for
the reporting of what to most of us seems a
trivial infraction within the justice system.

That’s not to say that the current employee
of the month is not affected in ways we can
only imagine, after all his parking space is
up for grabs. Thankfully his name will be on
the plaque in the break room.

The suspect was described by store
employees as a white male. So we can only
guess this crime was committed brazenly in
front of witness will little regard to stealth,
no doubt a crime of passion.

We can only guess that the thief felt he was
entitled to the award or he thought the
recipient was not. Or perhaps it was a Green
Peace advocate striking back at the monster
for exploiting children making ribbons in
China and that the employee of the month
was the criminal of the month.

And therein lies the poetic beauty of this
story, we can imagine anything and
everything. Will the giant corporate
newsletter report the incident or cover it up
in an attempt to shield its employees from
the dark side of being the employee of the
month?

Or perhaps this is the beginning of the
revolution, the first crack in the armor and
proof that rolling back prices has its limits
when confronted with an everyday David’s
sling and stone.

I suspect however the truth will reveal some
young man sound asleep with the sign above
his bed, dreaming of not being disappointed
living in a place where giants are still
vulnerable and the news so gentle.

gng 5-10-0

Henry

When alone or only with me, my
dog, Henry, magically barks. Each
time he barks, just as in a newspaper
comic strip a balloon appears in the
air, enclosing the word “bark.”

The balloon stays for only an instant
then puff it is gone and a small piece
of wood bark drops out of the sky and
and falls to the ground.

It is funny how we accept behavior
from our pets that would otherwise
be odd or strange from our human
friends.

So I have grown use to the fact that
Henry barks in balloons and trails
tree bark in his travels.

Often when I come home I find piles
of bark near the door or a window a
sure sign that Henry has defended the
house with his barking.

I find the piles a comfort, they are
the otherwise invisible signs of Henry’s
life when I am gone. I must teach him
to sweep.

gng  6-17-06
cabin afternoon sitting with Glen
my brother.

Pushing Words

My words, like a herd of range- wise cattle,
are scattered in every direction, reluctant
to form sentences or express thoughts.

The adjectives have all bunched together
and broken off at a run, stampeding toward
a small canyon to the west.

To the east, the nouns and a small scattering
of verbs have wandered toward a small creek,
grazing- determined to ignore my pleas to
arrange themselves into an opening stance.

To the north, most of the other verbs and
prepositions have spread among the tall
brush and brambles, solitary clusters of
vowels and constants determined not to be
herded or gathered.

Behind and toward the south are the stragglers:
the descriptive and slow to move adjectives and
adverbs, the stubborn pronouns, and finally the all
but impossible prepositional phrases and conjunctions.

However the day has started and the time for writing
has begun. So I toss the last bitter taste of coffee onto
the fire and saddle up. There are poems to write, novels
to begin and love letters to find out there on the range.

Time to gather the herd;
time to push some words.

gng 2-21-08