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Week Ten Blog Post, Poet Larry Bourland of Durango Colorado.

Updated: Mar 12

The adventure continues, and what an incredible couple of weeks we've enjoyed in the poetry and writers' art community here in Southwest Colorado. With Old Man Winter sneaking out of the area, there's more activity happening above ground: Poetry Open Mics, Storytelling, Film Festivals, Writers Groups Meetings, Poetry Gatherings, Poetry Readings, and Poetry Exhibits. And Springtime is going to be crazy active!


Brooke Smith's Writer's Group, "TYPESET: No rules, just writing," meets on the first Monday of the month at the Pine River Library in Bayfield. This past Monday's meeting was excellent, with a great topic, lively discussions, and members sharing their work with the group. This group is open to all who are published, unpublished, interested in becoming published, love writing, want to start writing, or just want to listen to writers sharing their experiences in their profession.


On Wednesday, March 6th, in Durango, the Word Honey Poetry Writing Workshop took place at The Hive on Main Avenue, Downtown Durango. It was well-attended and lively, offering a great opportunity for poets and authors to share their creative ideas. Meetings occur every other Wednesday. On March 20th, the meeting is held during the annual Durango Library Poetry Open Mic Event. If you haven't experienced this exciting happening, it's not to be missed! Talk about talent to be shared with our community. Sponsored by Durango Public Library and Word Honey at The Hive and Hosted by Spenser Snarr and Alex Vick. The two always put together a great event! I'm definitely going! Hope to see you all there. Listen to the Poet – Be the Poet… Your night to shine!


Thursday, March 7th, marked the second Storytelling Event at the Cortez Cultural Center, where all Storytellers and Story Listeners were welcomed. This was just ahead of the Raven Narratives presented in Cortez on the 8th and Saturday the 9th in Durango, but both shows were sold out.


March 14th, Thursday, hosts the Still Poets Society Poetry Workshop at Fort Lewis College, Education Business Hall, Rm 113. This is one creative group of poets who are welcoming and provide guidance in poetry building in a safe and comfortable environment.


March 20th is the monthly meeting of the 4 Corners Writers Group at the ZU Gallery in Downtown Cortez, another well-attended and represented writers' group. All are welcome regardless of genre or level of writing experience. 6-8pm, 48 W. Main Street.


MARCH 20TH DURANGO LIBRARY POETRY OPEN MIC. BE THERE!!!!!


March 21st is Ally Rennell's next Poetry Open Mic at Sustainable Good, Downtown Durango. What an event this is becoming, Last month it was Standing Room Only, but so worth it! As we get closer, I will give you details. Just plan to get there early for seating.


Word Honey and the Durango Library are arranging a Poetry Exhibit all month long in April. The theme: "Personal Identity. Who are you? Who have you been? Who do you want to be?" Poetry submissions are due no later than March 20th. Submit your one-page, typed piece to Spenser Snarr at Durango Library spenser.snarr@durangoco.gov or to Alex Vick at The Hive alex@hivedgo.org. Come be a part of this really creative event for the community!


LISTEN TO THE POET – BE THE POET.


Week 10 Poetry Releases:


 

REFLECTION


Larry Bourland Poet Durango Colorado

I looked in the mirror today

just to see what I could find.

Where once a tanned, young face stood

now stared back the grizzled battles of life.

 

Mariana’s Trench wrinkles

and crow’s feet winging their way

into bird’s nest temples.

 

Gray hair had grown at supersonic speed

often waking me at night

with the roar of their screaming engines.

 

I practiced smiling.

You cannot practice smiling

because you either smile when you’re happy

or you can’t.

 

I practiced frowning

and the muscles of my face

frowned with delight and comfort.

The same comfort

as sliding my feet into toasty warm slippers or

wearing my favorite old Jeans. Or

the memories

of you.

 

I’d frowned for so many years

my face rejected

every attempt at anything else.

 

Gray hairs erupted from my eyebrows

like the vine of a Wander Jew with no

green thumb to guide its progress.

Here too, the rusty screams in my ears

always stunned to harvest two-inch renegade

hairs from my drooping lobes.

 

So, sad and paranoid filled fears of other

failing body parts put me on a path

of stark discovery: standing naked,

my reflection terrifyingly sad to bear;

time,

weather,

gravity,

battles won and lost along my path,

irreparable scars of a fading life

are of such little consequence.

No longer trophies of conquest or loss.

 

Where once a mighty chest stood proud

now making its escape for the floor, realization

setting in

to be taut,

and impressive

as it once was, to me, has deserted us

seeking glory elsewhere.

My 6-pack,

now a barrel.

 

My youthfully proud broad shoulders

sag under the weight of

Wednesday’s wet laundry

drying on the line.

 

Somewhere,

somehow,

every joint in my body

had been invaded by

arthritic termites

eating away at the

shell of my core.

 

I move slower.

There’s no reason to run, or stoop down

leaving the lucky penny for someone else

to wish upon.

 

But I miss

the most

is dancing

with you.

We embraced upon

dance floors

around the world,

falling in love

all over again,

every night.

But I still have the music

and the memories of you

and that makes me

smile


 

POACHER 


Larry Bourland Poet Durango Colorado

You made the mistake of injecting

our relationship with a spearhead

of jealousy just to see what would happen.

 

I was your prey, out of season

selfishly stalked,

unsuspecting game.

 

I was the game

of your unwarranted hunt.

 

Never giving you doubt of the depth

of my feelings for you still you took aim

letting fly that poisonous spearhead

striking its mark…

thus, beginning a slow agonizing death to us.

Your tearful apology could not

keep our collective soul

for its unwarranted demise.

 

When you fired that shot you couldn’t stop it

your moment of realization struck home!

There you stood over the dying carcass

of a once fulfilling love affair.

 

You made the mistake of injecting

our relationship with a spearhead

of jealousy just to see what would happen.


 

NOT A STRANGER TO ME



Larry Bourland Poet Durango Colorado

I saw him standing

looking (staring)

into the storefront display,

he wasn’t window-shopping

more introspective.

 

His fashion sense belied

the showcase before him,

long hair, a haunting reminder

of the ’60’s,

yet, standing straight

almost arrogant

not interested in impressing anyone.

 

What did the smirk

on his face reveal?

A smile?

Indifference?

He looked up – Inquisitive!

 

Keeping his back to the public;

Trusting?

Disbelief?

An enigma!

He didn’t look unfriendly

more…unapproachable.

I could almost see his mind at work,

feel what he was feeling.

 

Suddenly, a child ran to his side,

picking up the child tenderly in his arms…

Then I looked into the store window

at my grandchild

in my arms.

I saw my whole world.


 

A MURDER OF CROWS


Larry Bourland Poetry Post

Contemptuous

caws, a murder of crows.

Timely insults thrown between

telephone poles skirting country roads.

 

Dares,

double dares

casually bantered about

challenging each other to be

first to feast on the freshly departed

squirrel ceremoniously splattered on the

asphalt who failed to heed the grammar school

street crossing lessons and speeding school busses.

 

Looking left,

looking right, failing

to look left once again the

errant squirrel met its fate so

quickly and unexpectedly it still

thinks it is crossing the road in search

of buried pine seeds on the other side of the lane.

 

There should be

signs posted warning

drivers “Caution: Oblivious

Squirrels Ahead. Reduce Speed!”

 

The gathered

crow community

found this not only

entertaining but also

an oasis of road kill that

pleased their ravenous palates.

 

Why such discussion

of first dibs for fresh meat?

Logistically whichever crow is

first to feed it runs the chance of

his brothers in feathers failing to warn

of oncoming perpetually speeding school buses,

something the crow community longingly revels in.

After all, a good prank is priceless, even to the seriousness

of a murder of crows.






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