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17 mei 2006
YPSIDIXIT'S courier de bois friend turned 40 today, not without understandable angst. She sent him this Ted Kooser poem, since he, like Y., feasts humbly and gratefully on every green moment.
A Birthday Poem
Just past dawn, the sun stands
with its heavy red head
in a black stanchion of trees,
waiting for someone to come
with his bucket
for the foamy white light,
and then a long day in the pasture.
I too spend my days grazing,
feasting on every green moment
till darkness calls,
and with the others
I walk away into the night,
swinging the little tin bell
of my name.
Posted by ypsidixit at 17 mei 2006 21:11
Comments
i actually mainly wanted to say congrats on starting on the gardening. im a cook who gardens and i find it frustrating.
luckily, my boyfriend is only turning 36. 40's right around the corner though. weee.
Posted by: violet at 17 mei 2006 21:52
I heard tell that you young'uns feel that forty is the new twenty.
I'd be mighty obliged if y'all would share a secret or two fer longevity's sake
Posted by: Jebediah at 18 mei 2006 00:38
Violet: It can be frustrating. I suppose the thing it's taught me is to do a little every day...don't let weeds pile up.
Posted by: Laura at 18 mei 2006 09:44
Jebediah, my dog is ancient and yet acts like a boingy puppy....her secret seems to be to live in the moment instead of in the future or in the past. Good philosophy of life I would say.
Posted by: Laura at 18 mei 2006 09:46
Nice, although I had to look stanchion up in the dictionary.
Posted by: Sandy at 18 mei 2006 09:59
Perhaps its the grubs that are keeping your dog boingy
An elixir of youth
Posted by: Hank at 18 mei 2006 14:03
Hank, as you may know, in Korean cuisine insect larvae are fried and sold as a popcornlike street snack.
Clover had a huge...thing...yesterday. I found it while digging up the ground and it startled me. If wasn't a slug, and it wasn't a grub; it was a.....slub. Or maybe a grug.
It sat there writhing on the ground for a moment. Bleah.
Posted by: Laura at 18 mei 2006 14:07
It's Ours
there is always that space there
just before they get to us
that space
that fine relaxer
the breather
while say
flopping on a bed
thinking of nothing
or say
pouring a glass of water from the
spigot
while entranced by
nothing
that
gentle pure
space
it's worth
centuries of
existence
say
just to scratch your neck
while looking out the window at
a bare branch
that space
there
before they get to us
ensures
that
when they do
they won't
get it all
ever.
Posted by: Charles Bukowski at 18 mei 2006 14:21
that kooser poem is particularly and elegantly apt since the gentleman in question is a taurus. nice selection.
Posted by: twinkletoes at 18 mei 2006 14:29
Sandy: I also like this poem and also had to look up stanchion. For some reason I thought a stanchion was that cleat thing on a flagpole or boat where you wrap the extra rope--nope. Vertical bar or strut; confining bars in cattle stall.
Live and learn.
Posted by: Laura at 18 mei 2006 14:33
My father's having a midlife crisis, so I would say that you can chalk his bad behavior up to the fact that 60 is the new 40. That must mean that 40 is the new 20 and 20 is the new 0 and infancy is the new -20.
Posted by: Anna at 18 mei 2006 16:11