| Poetry Hope Eternal |
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| Written &
copyright by John Good Graphic design by Mark Foshee |
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Lost Causes Growing up, as I think of it, is in one respect, a process of putting aside childish things. But try as we might, some things are and should be kept, even if they appear to others as human foibles or childish. |
| Listen to John's take on the poem.
Alternately Lost Causes. |
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Here and There (A Poem in the Shape of a Song) Maybe it’s my age or the age we all live in, but It’s not easy to look to the future without at times finding myself in a negative mood and, the self-fulfilling prophesy that it is, to never be surprised by disappointment. But when able to look forward with an open mind, disappointments are rarer and I’m more often pleasantly surprised. |
| Listen to John's take on the
poem. Alternately Here and There. |
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Becoming After many years of searching for some kind of permanence in life, I eventually found it in the realization that change is certain to come. As they say, you can take it to the bank. Nothing, even if it takes a thousand years, remains unchanged. Perhaps not so strangely for an incurable optimist, I take solace in this. I was greatly helped in my revelation by the I Ching, aka The Book of Changes! |
| Listen to John's take on the
poem. Alternately Becoming. |
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Ashen Solace There’s a fine line between accepting the inevitable and taking a stand against the often negative, yet impersonal forces in life that seek to take us down. This seems particularly relevant at the moment, with the pandemic raging around our once perhaps complacent, everyday activities. Reality can’t be avoided, but surrender is not an option. |
| Listen to John's take on the
poem. Alternately Ashen Solace. |
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The Talisman It would seem strange to find reassuring permanence in the desert of the Southwest, in an environment that can be brutal and unforgiving. Just stand out in the noonday sun in June for 10 minutes and watch the buzzards circle, or listen to the rushing wave of a flash flood carrying trees, boulders and once rugged vehicles along a recently dry wash. Or imagine the hunger in the eyes of the coyote, owl, mountain lion or rattle snake as they set out under a crescent moon to hunt and survive. But strangely enough, there is a permanence of sorts in this harsh cycle of life, death and rebirth. It just takes a little while to show itself. Photo: Daniel Tuttle at
Unsplash.com.
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| Listen to John's take on the
poem. Alternately The Talisman. For another Arizona desert poem, try The Driver. |
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Dramaless Day The I Ching tells us that there is no such thing as a motionless state. Thoughts, philosophy, people, the seasons, Celestial Spheres, even the rock we casually take for granted and stand on, are all in motion. If not increasing, they are decreasing; if not slowing down or cooling, they are accelerating and heating up. The ancient Celts knew this and celebrated the Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year. Their priests, the Druids, are said to have called it Alban Arthan (Beacon of the Little Bear). They knew that the darkest day had no choice, but to give way to ever brightening light. |
| Listen to John's take on the
poem. Alternately Dramaless Day. |
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On some cold dramaless crossroading day Dove and pigeon scratch out a living from Winter-yellowed rye grass seed But seed and shoot, taproot and tuber Sunday-silent as a ruined abbey’s altar light Darkly wait their growing Future inflorescent crowds Solstice hay-high on seasonal hysteria Outflowing vibrance in zenith’s verdancy Though growing itself never makes a sound Greening is deaf as a grandfather clock that Taps its old foot marking idle hours Is color blind to gray days and heydays alike Woven deeply in the fabric Built in the bricks of our floors and walls Earth and sky In every changing heart Every signal from the hands and All sightings of masked mystery’s eyes For there are no standstills not manmade Neither timeless wastes nor child out of reach Just frame-frozen thoughts Picture postcards scribbled Never meant to be sent of Dove and pigeon scratching out a living on Some cold dramaless crossroading day |
| Listen to John's take on the
poem. Alternately As If.... |
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This poem
was written at the time of the expected, yet
devastating premature, passing of my brother Alan.
The music is my arrangement of the traditional
song of parting, sang at the quayside in
Wales, when people left for lands oversees
often--as in my own case--never to return. As to
the appropriateness of using flutes? Alan gave me
my first lessons in flute playing and those hours
spent in the front room of our childhood home in
Sandfields are still a vivid memory 60 years
later.
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