A taste of home, a journal of living and traveling, spiced with wit, an old-fashioned newspaper personal column, from a curmudgeon cross-breeding metaphors and journalism and art. --Moonrise over Taos Mountain, New Mexico--Clark photo
Seeker, journalist, teacher, writer, watercolor explorer, wit, grandfather, geezer-curmudgeon, former weekly newspaperman, coffee drinker, genetic and native Texan, Southerner, perhaps a verb. Professor of journalism and director of Oklahoma Journalism Hall of Fame at the University of Central Oklahoma.
Just out the window,
black silhouettes of trees
remind me of those
halcyon days with you,
when we climbed out of the
cellar toward enlightenment.
Now, at a glance, the wild
birds swing into view,
obscuring the real world
of young men dying
to get home, and the
snow that falls on
our brains stays solid - never
melting into springtime.
On the ferry, we sit and
compare notes as to whom
in life has suffered the most;
men, women, boys, or girls?
Suddenly, in a revelation, you
say it is the Buddha over on
Main, who sits on his plywood
altar, surrounded by plastic
flowers, subjected to all the
passersby, who have never had
a Zen thought of their own…
--K. Lawson Gilbert
0 comments:
Post a Comment