the Parade
To: ms_allthat@hotmail.com, loveisarose11@hotmail.com, dee_offner@hotmail.com, mystree_1@hotmail.com, lorelis@hotmail.com, decafi@hotmail.com, someone_new1@hotmail.com, RTMW62@cs.com, jae7244@hotmail.com, ip253406@ip.pt, ladyelan@angelfire.com, themissright@yahoo.com, oklahomalady@excite.com, wahine10@hotmail.com, chantellspring@hotmail.com, jcbinks@msn.com, sierra34@angelfire.com, lighthouse75@hotmail.com, ksotulsa@yahoo.com, darcysmail@yahoo.com, tlfie@groupz.net, poetinmotion@hotmail.com, chart13@excite.com, clavonec@excite.com
Subject: the Parade
Date: Sat, 25 Sep 1999 15:17:48 CDT
Poetry was happening in my dreams, strange wondrous lines coming to me out of the deepness of sleep, and I being just awake enough within the dream to recognize how beautiful the lines were. I will remember these, I told myself.
But of course I didn't. I awakened to a sense of urgency, pulled on the clothing and dashed out, hopped upon the bike and rode down to the Club. Ahhhh, Lawrence.
Cloudy in the morning, and clearing later.
Someone asked, Why are they closing off all the streets? and I had no answer.
And then, ahhh, the distant music and, glancing out the window, the crowds gathered along the street.
This is *not* a poem, merely impressions from what happened. Read it with a dose of compassion for this work in progress, kay?
"Parade"
I catch glimpses of you
Through the clustered bodies
The waving arms, clapping hands
And old people in their lawn chairs
Beside the stands
Wearing shawls and sensible hats.
There is nothing sensible
About this morning.
There are all those
Young girls marching by
Lifting white thighs high
And white boots with tassles
Which go up and down
Marching through old Lawrence town.
Not you, really, the you I knew
But the you I would know
The you I would touch at this time
Of my life, here in the prime
Of the end of middle age
That launching stage
Of what is left.
You see? When bereft
Of all that was
I wish to be
Where beauty does.
(Grrrrrrrrr, trapped in rhyme.....)
See the hats? Plumed with plastic feathers
Or plastic hats themselves
Or berets
With uniforms black and red
Or white and blue
With all those stripes
I never knew
The meaning of.
Am I too old to learn?
Would you consent to teach
From what you know?
Of how to watch a parade go by
And yet not let the feeling grow
To overwhelming darkness?
That some marching thing has passed me by?
With you, it yet begins
Without you, it nears the end
If that makes any sense
From one so dull and dense
And feeling old
And chilled, tired, cold.
A balloon breaks away
Trailing ribbon
Up above the heads it flies
Seeking clouds
And blue autumn skies.
I would with that ballon
Fly far away
To a land where
My beauty lies
But now I watch
The rise and fall
Of white and nyloned thighs
And tassled boots that rise
And fall
Within a rhythm
So far beyond me,
Beyond this all.
~~~~~
Okay, okay. Just notes, so don't get too bent out of shape. Hate it when the rhymes start coming and I start getting caught up in couplets as I don't particularly care for couplets and this is not nearly where it should be but at least it's...notes. Kay?
Being able to get back in the Cafe is a mixed blessing. It's good to see some of you again, but it also...trivializes it a bit. Here, within the Circle, each communication is so meaningful. There, within IM, it's...different.
I don't know why I feel such an incredible need to apologize for "the Parade." It will possibly work when I work on it. I don't know. Be kind.
Luvya's.
Dickens
