1. |
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It drives me crazy
When I can’t get at the object
of my desire.
I know you understand.
I hear you talking
to yourself.
I can see what I want;
Hear it,
Muffled through glass;
Almost . . . taste it:
Pretty fluttering songs,
Quick, darting, chattering fur,
Tantalizing motion.
I remember my youth
When I could pluck sweet birds
from the sky,
Take down big, feeder-fat greys,
with their trophy-plume tails.
Now I watch,
Eating too much,
(For consolation, you understand)
Dreaming here
on the bed by the window,
Opening one eye to the apple tree,
Cocking an ear
to cardinals and chickadees
across the street,
Knowing, wishing
I could . . .
I cry now and then
For the open door,
For the young, lean days,
For desire
Of the sweet, long ago hunt.
I know you understand.
I’ve heard you cry too.
Why don’t you get up?
We can eat breakfast;
You could open that door;
and we could go out
Hunting our dreams.
_______________________________
On the neighbor’s porch
Hot pink, plastic sled,
Color of childhood,
Like bubblegum
Stretched over a ten year old’s tongue,
Impossible to miss,
Even half-buried in snow.
The thin plastic,
Hardly a wall at all
Between buttocks and bumps,
Earth and bones.
As direct as we were then,
Launching ourselves two and three deep
To shriek and jolt down the hard packed hill,
Uncomplicated as puppies.
Taking in the winter world
On our tongues, through our bottoms and bellies,
Our wet, frozen mittens and snow-filled boots.
Now
We walk upright, or drive,
Keeping to paths,
Sedate.
No longer giving ourselves over
to the speed and bubblegum frivolity
of the winters of childhood,
When we knew the air, earth and snow
With intimate innocence.
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2. |
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Last night I dreamed
Of going out to my neglected garden
To find onions in need of thinning,
Tall, fragrant dill,
And beets. I never plant beets
But there they were.
And just at the edge
Were some bright, wild berries
To catch my eye and bring me
To look.
As I knelt to touch the hollow, blue-green onion tips
And feathers and seeds of dill
I felt forgiven
For my neglect,
As if the earth and rain
And sun had given me
A late-summer chance
To make something of the casual seeds
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3. |
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As each one shed its chrysalis
Poised, unbound, they spread
Their tissue wings to greet the sun.
I waited for the morning heat to run off any fog
Then turned both out into the meadow
To flounce on the wind, to prance in the weeds
With wings of rainbow colors giving them away,
Skipping off to hide and lose their old man
Or leap and scare me as I feigned blindness yet
A cherry cheek or blond curl was easy enough to see
And close I lumbered to chase them up again,
A father troll in reach of son and daughter,
Pretending I was one step slower, their
Dizzy flight too quick for me.
And in that moment, as I caught my breath,
Both had flown to far-off scented air,
Grown, with little thought of home in mind.
Years I walk these fields alone and find
No colors in the bushes or rustle in the reeds;
Behind the trees, no one waits to pounce on me.
I seem to hear their romping games - the bounce and tease -
Whisper then, unfurl their names into the breeze…
And dream of catching butterflies again.
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4. |
Imagine That
03:27
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Oh children
We sat outside on just such
A perfect summer night
When the air was cool,
Smelling of green gardens,
When the moon was a golden crescent
Like this one.
We played tunes from across the sea
On fiddle, harp and guitar
And for a few moments
Drove away the weight
Of our dangerous times,
of the pandemic,
And looming struggle
We knew the flood was coming.
The wave you now see behind you
The one that changed the world
But we could not see
How large it would grow.
We could not see what lay beyond its looming
Or know if we could come through
Unharmed, if at all.
We only knew that somehow
We would be changed
Before summer came again
Sit with me on this sweet summer evening
When the world looks so much the same
As it did before.
Lean back into that evening
Before we knew
What the wave would sweep away
Or leave behind.
Imagine that.
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5. |
Bonfire
02:47
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One summer, when the children were still small,
We built a bonfire from brush around the cabin
Pulling and piling dead branches high and higher,
Gathering long sticks, marshmallows and lawn chairs
Then lit dry tinder and watched, horrified as fire
leapt and roared, echoing off the woods.
This was no tame cooking fire for s’mores
No cozy blaze for ghost stories or songs
We stood in small groups in the flickering heat
Trying to act like we were having a good time,
But really, we were ready to put out sparks
Or run for the cool and sheltering pond
Later, after the young ones slept
The flames sank down to a sullen glow.
The parents stayed up all night to make sure
New fire wouldn’t rise from hot ash
Every day when I wake to hear
The roaring flames of the morning news,
I recognize that feeling of tense waiting
Keeping watch
Ready to beat at the flames,
Or run.
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6. |
Trust / Peggy & Alec's
02:12
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Trust.
Sometimes I want to tattoo it on my finger
Or backwards across my forehead,
So that every glance in the mirror is a reminder.
Trust.
Because a life of fear is not so much fun,
A dynamic vessel frozen
Like the Tin Man after the rain,
Forgetting about the heart
He had all along.
Trust.
Because the way it is
Is the only way it can be
This moment.
And fighting that
Hurts.
It may take a billion passes.
I can learn to trust the process again.
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7. |
Let Us Imagine
02:08
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Being sent poetry this morning,
and here is the poem that was sent:
Let us imagine
every statehouse steps
surrounded by a rainbow of food gardening.
Every lawn filled with perennial medicine,
and fruits, and good foods.
Every baby with a fair start,
via free nurturing nutrition,
their Earth right/ Birth right,
the human right
to Breathe free!
Imagine seeds for all and all for seeds
and clean air
clean water and sunlight
gentle warm rains,
and the dark soulful soil of the people!
Imagine Restorative Justice!
Imagine us living in peace,
Breathing our prayers.
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8. |
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To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,
One clover, and a bee,
And revery.
The revery alone will do,
If bees are few.
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9. |
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Ya know,
This northern job is the pits!
Down south
they give me thee months
In the midwest it’s at least two.
I can do the job in some kinda order.
First the bluets,
Then the forsythia,
Then tulips,
I can bring in the subcontractors
Like, one at a time,
Get the peeper guys in,
Then drain the vernal pools,
Get everyone out sunning on the rocks,
Then bring in the mosquitoes.
Have a little greenery up
before the birds come in,
Bring ‘em in gradual like,
So they aren’t fighting over
building materials, grabbing
each other’s
orders, ripping worms in half.
I can take a little lunch break,
Sit back while the sun does a little work,
Ruffle some nice lake,
Breathe a little.
Up here, up north,
Winter just won’t let me start work
He drags his damned feet,
freezes the permitting
Puts up big, dirty snow banks
Creates one ice jam after another, ’til I have a month,
A MONTH!
To do the whole job!
Sub contractors stepping on each other’s toes,
Getting peepers in with the black flies,
Turtles getting run over,
Birds fighting over the first shipment of twigs
Lilacs, daffodils,
Apple blossoms all at once
And no time for peaches
Or even wisteria
Unless I get that new
experimental stuff
Not the same at all.
And summer saying
“C’mon! C’mon! Only
ninety days ’til frost!
Get a move on!”
And now some bozo is paging me
Says the sugaring season’s too short
If winter had just moved his butt!
Oh and if you had believed
The global warming memo.
Hello!
And there’s some woman on the line
wondering if I forgot the fiddleheads
“No! I didn’t forget the Fricken’ Fiddleheads
Some commercial picker got ‘em all
in that spot last year.
Check somewhere else.
Just a minute.
You want what?!
More lady’s slippers?
You don’t care that they’re endangered,
hard to find, on back order?
Alright
That does it!
I’m done
D.O.N.E.
DONE!
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10. |
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If I told you
I saw your soul,
Would you judge me
inappropriate,
too intimate
for comfort —
or disbelieve me?
If you asked
for a description,
would I admit
you glowed, golden
as these late
northern afternoons,
whose slanted autumn light
makes green fire
of a backlit tree’s
shimmering leaves,
and balances me
perfectly, on the tightrope
between yearning
and content,
as if I finally understood
what beauty meant
to tell me?
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11. |
Virgin Mary
02:39
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Her favorite figurine
now a sad pile of broken
blue-and-white porcelain
heaped on the counter
and my wife implores a
resurrection be performed
by me
a simple Jew
armed only with Super Glue
and trepidation
but setting mind and jaw
squarely to the task
of all mankind
I do manage restoring
her slightly-cracked
sly smile
to its proper place
the same smile
that smashed me open
more than thirty years ago
still thrilling in random glances
over a sandwich or pillow
and though we’ve been broken
a few times as may happen
to most things brittle
when hit by something hard
the scattered china
always beckons us
to the bare floor
on bent knees
searching eye-to-eye
under chair and table
for the missing piece
with jagged hands
sparkling blue-and-white
and soft in prayer
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12. |
Fear is a Damaged Heart
02:40
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Fear is a damaged heart
Beating a rhythm of lies
with no tempering joy
Growing hard and brittle from overwork
Beating a rhythm of lies
to keep the ghosts away
Growing hard and brittle from overwork
Taking pale solace in easy blame.
To keep the ghosts away
and banish the nightmare of change
Taking pale solace in easy blame
shaking at the boogeyman of other
Banishing the nightmare of change
Without benefit of light or knowledge
the boogeyman of other
Dispelled by closed eyes hidden under the covers.
without the benefit of light or knowledge
with no tempering of joy
with closed eyes, hiding under the covers,
Fear is a damaged heart
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13. |
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Last night,
the crickets were still singing.
And summer still hung by a thread,
Green under foot,
Soft on the air.
No matter the red apples
Out my window,
Or early morning fog,
cold and close.
Even that week
of pewter sun and cloud
has not overruled the crickets
The date is worrisome
The crickets and I know
That the end is coming soon.
They sang through the dark
Doing whatever crickets do
for survival or joy.
And I began a poem
In the middle of the night
The words
And cricket song in my head,
too strong and urgent
for sleep
Frost and silence
Will come soon enough.
But not yet.
Not quite yet.
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14. |
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Do not try to save
the whole world
or do anything grandiose.
Instead, create
a clearing
in the dense forest
of your life
and wait there
patiently,
until the song
that is your life
falls into your own cupped hands
and you recognize and greet it.
Only then will you know
how to give yourself
to this world
so worthy of rescue.
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15. |
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[Tennessee Williams's text for "I think the strange, the crazed, the queer" is included with physical CD only]
______________________
It was the year gentleness died.
Larry was the first to go
the sweet young man covered with purple lesions.
He was the sweetest. Men can be sweet, you know.
Then it was Keith’s turn.
He was a rebel rouser, full of righteous anger.
But at his core he was all gentleness.
And it was a plague against the gentle.
And then Frederic went,
dear lovely Frederic.
His spirit was like a puppy’s
bouncing and joyful, always joyful,
and now gone.
I could tell you about Bill
and his love of angels because he was one,
and if you never met Kerry —
I could do this all day, telling you
all whom we lost the year gentleness died.
They went in the tens, then the hundreds,
we lost them by the thousands,
then ten times that across all the lands.
They kept falling, all the gentle ones.
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16. |
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Before a shattered world
can begin to heal
it might first float here
amid moss and minnows
in the shimmering mist
of an approaching dawn
We have only this body
and only one earth
made from flesh and blood
of porous mountains
where a doubtful heart
may soak in warm
uncertainty
You could stay awhile
with breath and gravity
your only guides
a primal sound
pooling and rising
from somewhere deep
within your belly
If you believe in stars
then here is the infinite
dance of light
upon a shrine
of rippling water
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Aaron Marcus Vermont
Aaron (they/them) is an extraordinary pianist, concertinist, tune-writer and practitioner of traditional community dance styles. They tour across the US with "Frost & Fire," "Giant Robot Dance," & "The Turning Stile." Aaron believes in the deep emotive healing power of music. Their infectious exuberance, Earth grounding, and subtle lyricism all connect with the strong rhythms of the dance floor. ... more
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