"Our first month of website and blog episodes has been an incredible success because of your generous outreach to the interweb, making folks aware around the globe of our endeavors! THANK YOU! EVERY ONE OF YOU! We could not be reaching the numbers we’re reaching without your help. As long as you’re interested, we will continue to serve up creativity and offer a platform for your written, recorded, video, and artistic work. Together, we’re proving this to be a viable service for the small town to the international community. Thanks for working with us!
In the next 2 weeks, we will be offering the highly anticipated Featured Poet and Guest Artist features. If you have connections with poets, writers, painters, musicians, advertisers who you feel would be the perfect fit for our (your) website, email me with info, and I’ll reach out to them (windward13@yahoo.com).
This week’s blog episode presents inspiration from the unspoiled world of childhood to the forgotten world of our cherished Veterans. I’ve included earlier works from my previous life that still influence my life today in a piece I’ve entitled “A Paddle Out.” If you’ve been there, then you know. You do not need to sit on a surfboard on a glassy fall day communing with nature or God to understand the importance of self-realization. You’ll understand. Fortunately, for me, I have a friend to thank for that very inspirational moment: a fellow Veteran who literally saved my soul, my dear friend Randy “Guzo” Re. We should all have a friend like Guzo.
I hope you enjoy this week’s previews as much as I have had writing them. Next week they will be moved to the Poetry/New Poetry sections with voiceovers. Try to determine if your interpretation of each remains the same after I relate my interpretation to you. Should be interesting. Enjoy!
As ever, Larry from Durango ❤️
Week 5 features the following poetry:
In The End -L. Bourland
Let Them Play -L. Bourland
Cheers -L. Bourland
A Paddle Out -L. Bourland
This Ain't Complete Unless You Spread Your Cheeks -A. Beadle
IN THE END (Dedicated to my fellow Veterans)
He was in his 82nd year
when life moved on without him.
He’d seen it coming and was ready.
Finding it an interesting challenge,
preparations were made
myriad donations well executed,
a life quickly becoming uncluttered.
A minimal ending,
becoming a burden to none,
leaving him sated with delicious
memories of his collected books,
art, antiques, photographs, memories of family,
friends (famous and infamous).
ahh, it was the memories he loved the most.
For his final adventure
he left himself one pair of thread worn Levi’s,
favorite sandals, trusty walking shoes,
a classic black tuxedo, with matching accoutrement,
2 cargo shorts, 3 Hawaiian shirts, sunglasses, dapper Panama
and his signature Blackthorn Shillelagh.
He was destined to go in style and comfort until it was time to go.
FAST FORWARD
Another lifetime after his departure
it was discovered he’d left behind a box addressed
To Whom.
Carefully packed back in his 24th year.
He spent his life reveling in the recollection
during his years reflecting
when he’d removed the medals from his uniform,
medals declaring his bravery,
his heroism, (which he always denied)
facing a forgotten enemy.
An enemy in desperate hatred to kill him
before he killed them.
Colorful ribbons destined to fade with time,
bright medals left to tarnish with age.
His memories, never
faded nor tarnished.
Memories, his true medals, of those he fought with side by side,
laughed with
buried,
never reunited with,
never forgot,
always cherished,
always loved.
60 years on
a forgotten uniform now faded,
outdated,
ancient-like yet
still neatly folded,
medals quietly tucked inside.
This private treasure may well remain hidden for
yet another 60 years on
only to be questioned
as to who was the warrior in this uniform
who earned these medals,
this hero of a forgotten war?
A forgotten hero
for such a short time in history.
And did any of it really matter?
It matters to us!
LET THEM PLAY
The wind was still
yet
empty playground swings
swayed in memory,
staying limber
for the after-school crowd.
Echoes of laughter
could be seen
playing hide ‘n seek
between the quietly
rustling leaves of the
hundred-year-old oak trees.
Those majestic playground sentinels protecting children
from summer heat,
autumn winds,
winter snow.
Joyful laughter never leaves this place
as this is where the seeds of imagination are sowed.
Children grow,
move away
taking with them memories of
laughter shared,
unbridled happiness of
adolescent imaginings played out
absent concerns of worldly ills.
A time of true innocence to
revel and rejoice in.
Here the world seen through the eyes
of a child without the
clutter of definitions,
pure, innocent, wonder.
Our world is still
a child’s playground.
Let them play.
Let them be children
for just one more day…
CHEERS
I visit a local tavern
every night.
I sit at the bar,
there’s always a drink waiting for me.
No one else
comes to this tavern,
tended by a barkeep whose black vest
name tag reads “William”.
Even though there are other bartenders,
there’s only one vest.
(who knew taverns had uniformed personnel?)
“William” polishes the bar top
as if it’s his own personal classic car,
never meant to be driven again.
Only for show,
not for go.
An unseen jukebox,
volume down low,
slow bye-gone-era dance music
barely fills the air.
Music meant to merely distract.
I need never order a fresh drink
and I never see tonight’s “William” fill my glass,
he’s continuously polishing
the chrome headlamps of the back bar.
My eyes begin to redden
from the inside out,
eyelids blink slower.
I need to be home
before they quit all together.
Drinks are always on the house
but I leave a customary tip and a smile.
As I leave
I look over my shoulder
telling “William”, “Nice car!”
“Thanks. It’s a Duisenberg!”
A PADDLE OUT…for my friend, Guzo!
A paddle out
on a glorious
glassy fall day.
Board gliding effortlessly
through the still morning tide.
Mother Ocean herself the guide.
Other days her torrential waves
swirling eddies, unforgiving riptides
leave me just as breathless.
Paddling into the storm of her heart
I feel her pick me up
(The Step)
she has me
and I her.
She allows me
her solitude
as long as I show respect
and proper footing.
There’s a sound to surfing,
beyond the waves themselves,
the gliding
heard only when in her arms.
Sunsets and sunrises
are countless,
ever changing
yet predictable
to time and season.
This is God’s house.
A valuable old friends’ mantra
resides forever in my heart:
“This is my church!”
This Ain't Complete Without Spreading Your Cheeks
On cold the floor I stood so bare,
In underwear, an unusual affair.
Left and right, men in undress they share,
In a line we wait, a curious stare.
Getting ready to perform, a ritual so odd,
For the doctor's verdict, the moment a facade.
Suitable for service, the decision from the god,
Duck walk we must, through time's strange prod.
From one side of the room, to the other we waddle,
Spectacle repeated, our bodies in a muddle.
Physical prowess, this ritual's bizarre puddle,
In our underwear, we riddle and befuddle.
Time is awry, in this eccentric play,
Night into day, as we go on our way.
Doctor's decree, in this peculiar ballet,
A test of the mind where eccentricities on display.
Literature from and around Cortez Colorado (S.E.O.):
Local literature Colorado
Open Mic
Poetry Cortez Colorado
S.W. Colorado
Poet Durango Colorado
Poetry Durango Colorado
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