tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1925213851425388322011-11-27T18:46:29.054-05:00The Rattle BagThe poetry and music of life chronicled by someone who learned to walk twiceGene Myershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01274581070565978754noreply@blogger.comBlogger81100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-192521385142538832.post-43625442330672097272011-08-14T10:01:00.001-04:002011-08-14T10:01:00.434-04:00The Rise from Forever & a Day 1 bone 1 scratch on the bone 1 cave 1 dead crow pointed to with the scratched end of the bone 1 token 1 taken away North A building with a roof that points up Need The distance covered by God in a year A shining cityGene Myershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10779163584572687841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-192521385142538832.post-79758140031137499652011-08-13T10:04:00.000-04:002011-08-13T10:04:00.711-04:00Myself Left Over from Yesterday I used to be in asbestos abatement, not a bad racket for a hologram to be in. Then, one day, the law enforcement came along and it was conscious love against the aging all over again. King David was quoted as saying, “Life is a bowl of cherries⎯Some in; some out.” A young nurse was the only thing to keep him warm. And, so now, a man is what he sets out upon. And a nurse in the arms is worth Gene Myershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10779163584572687841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-192521385142538832.post-75071594302593369812011-08-12T10:00:00.001-04:002011-08-12T10:00:09.798-04:00The first poem I wrote.... The machinery of the universe is humming-- The night sky hints blueprints.Gene Myershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10779163584572687841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-192521385142538832.post-9612951771980906152011-08-11T09:59:00.000-04:002011-08-11T09:59:00.944-04:00Poem: [We are a rebellious house...] We are a rebellious house.Rebellion is in our blood. Not mad rebellion, But the kind that sits on a mountaintop.Gene Myershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10779163584572687841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-192521385142538832.post-50186484258977288322011-08-10T09:58:00.001-04:002011-08-10T09:58:00.222-04:00Seeking an immediate response... Seeking an immediate response I tell her we are salted with fire. She said nothing all night… Then, because it was cold, I told her The police and slaves have made a fire Beneath the laurel tree. And it went nowhere, all night… Growing tired, I finally suggest that we return to the well. I look outside and see the road has disappeared. She knows me…Gene Myershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10779163584572687841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-192521385142538832.post-81862830358905533022011-08-09T21:55:00.000-04:002011-08-09T21:55:00.290-04:00"A Sort of a Song" By William Carlos Williams Let the snake wait under his weed and the writing be of words, slow and quick, sharp to strike, quiet to wait, sleepless. – through metaphor to reconcile the people and the stones. Compose. (No ideas but in things) Invent! Saxifrage is my flower that splits the rocks.Gene Myershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10779163584572687841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-192521385142538832.post-88847898272706177872011-08-08T22:08:00.000-04:002011-08-08T22:08:32.905-04:00Ruth Yarrow reads at Haiku North America remote village                                                             after the camera's click                                                             her smile                                                                   - Ruth YarrowGene Myershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10779163584572687841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-192521385142538832.post-80720569474737921102011-08-08T21:55:00.000-04:002011-08-08T21:55:17.456-04:00Progress Report By A.R. Ammons Now I’m into things so small when I say boo I disappear Gene Myershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10779163584572687841noreply@blogger.com0