- ABOUT POETRY -

Poetry should be a pleasure to read. By the time I was in high school, serious poetry didn’t rhyme any more, and it seemed to be intentionally abstract and intimidating. High schoolers weren’t expected to be able to READ poetry, it had to be TAUGHT to them! Where did it all go so wrong? Many, many years ago, poetry was very popular. Newspapers printed poems by noted poets about national events. Wikipedia runs down the history of lyric poetry from rhymed verse to modernism and, yes, it was done on purpose! Live Verse can’t singlehandedly turn that around, but it won’t be a homework assignment, either.

THE PROSPECTOR

The tales he told on the trail for gold
Were, most of them, taller than tall
Funny and sly, with that twinkling eye
He dared us to swallow them all.

The toe he lost to Alaska’s frost
Was never a cause for doubt
But scars in his hair from a Kodiak bear
On that one the jury’s still out.

He told with a grin of a mine cave-in
He sputtered, “I damn near died.”
When he dug out, hungry wolves were about
Digging in from the other side.

He was larger than life and he walked like a bear
With a rolling, mukluk gait
Nobody knew why they called him “Sarge”
And they’d ceased to speculate.

He was everyone’s friend with the beard and the grin
But he played his cards close to the vest
His trail-worn secrets were carefully held
From even those folks he knew best.

He was born in Talkeetna, or so he said
And he liked to call Anchorage home
But early in spring along with the snow
He would vanish for parts unknown.

Now, Anchorage bars were open all night
And most with a similar aim
With Sarge away, the barflies play
The claim jumpers’ guessing game.

Each of his quotes and anecdotes
Were clues to the secrets he hid
Some didn’t doubt they would figure it out
But nobody ever did.

When days went gray and nights grew long
Our harbinger of Fall was Sarge...
He would blow in, unkempt as sin
With his legacy looming large.

And many a round that night went down
In the warmth of the Union Bar
He was in charge, drinks were on Sarge
So they toasted that trusty North Star.

Now, folks who keep track, when looking back
Counted a twenty-year run
He came and he went as though heaven sent
Till that gold-dust trail was done.

On a random date in ‘68
Mother nature misplaced her best friend
After waving goodbye to his plane in the sky
We never saw Sarge again.

Now, Anchorage bars are open all night
It’s the sourdough’s habitat
And there they extol our hero’s roll
And Sarge would have gloried in that.

2022

SIX-STRING LOVE SONG

Her voice was so sweet
And her shape, divine
And, wow, what a stunning blond!
Her family’s name, famous
And I, a black sheep
A ne’er-do-well vagabond.

With her in my arms
I could conquer the world
I said, as she sat on my knee
So all year long
With every song
She was there to accompany me.

But I fell on hard times,
And it tore us apart,
My beloved, my Martin guitar
Now, twenty years later
I walk past the pawnshop
And wonder, my love, where you are.

2014