[lit-ideas] Re: A Poem for Irene's black mood

So everything that goes on in the world is a consequence of my black mood?  
There's something Christian about that idea, one person dying for everyone's 
sins.  Andy the Almighty, has a ring to it.  Thanks for the poem.  Happy talk 
henceforth ...

Speaking of original sin, let me tell you about my snake.   I was walking down 
to get my mail and I see something that looked like a pretty long twig lying on 
the driveway, kind of like two twigs together parallel to each other.  I 
approached it and saw it was a snake.  It was all black.  It wasn't moving, so 
I gently poked it with my foot to see if it was alive.  It still didn't move, 
so I figured the neighbor's dog had killed it.  She's left me dead animals 
before to clean up.  (She also tore open a bag of used cat litter in my garage; 
I have to keep it in the laundry room now.)  Anyway, I went back to get a snow 
shovel and hoe to pick up the snake and throw it under a tree.  I positioned 
the snow shovel and hoe under the snake and started to ease the snake onto the 
shovel.  Just as I was doing that, the thing came to life.  I quick finished 
scooping it up and threw it on the lawn where it did a classic snake lunging 
pose at me, kind of standing up with its first six inches
  or so, kind of curled, and shooting its tongue out at me and hissing.  I 
think it was just sunning itself on the driveway and I woke it up.   I said, 
geez, that's gratitude for ya, I just didn't want you to get run over, that's 
all.  It just kept hissing, I guess it didn't like getting poked.  It's too bad 
that religion has us brainwashed that snakes are evil.  Snakes are good, some 
even think they're beautiful, and they keep down the rodent population.  I 
think in India the hunting of snakes for their skins caused an explosion in the 
rodents.  Cats are good for keeping down rodents too, and keeping down snakes 
...

Thanks for the poem, Lawrence.  I appreciate all your efforts at cheering me 
up.  What I need is a pair of rose colored glasses, that's all, to stop looking 
at all the reality, which I can't stop myself from doing.  Who really needs a 
poem I think is Julie ... 


----- Original Message ----- 
From: Lawrence Helm 
To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
Sent: 9/30/2006 12:42:06 PM 
Subject: [lit-ideas] A Poem for Irene's black mood


                                                                                
                                                    

                     Leg Kicking Dreams of a Mongrel Dog                        
                                                        5-21-86


                      It is so hard to take my meaningless dream
                      Out like this upon a page, trotting it out
                      Like some mongrel pup that doesn't quite mean anything,
                      But there it is staring back with utmost disregard
                      Of all propriety and dignity, quite capable
                      Of creating a stench before your very eyes:

                      The rose arbor of Banning Park shelters,
                      Now, napkins, cans, cigarettes and straws, 
                      And countless days bearing this abuse
                      Till I repudiate my roots and wrench 
                      Loose seeking a path where my boot won't
                      Trod upon another's print nor my steps be heard.

                      There is a violence in such tearing loose
                      (Bespattered fountains and litter-lined walks,
                      Though there be, and the click click of metal heels 
                      And challenging looks) ah what it would cost
                      To change it all  -- I could not pay.
                      It is better far to seek some other way:

                      There was a misting rain one day
                      High on Smith Mountain, and I ran
                      To see the center of a mild storm.
                      All was clean up there, and slick
                      Such that a rock that slipped away
                      Might lose itself in the sound of leaves.

                      I left it there in the deep coolness
                      Sending up steam to blend with the mist.
                      Running back then, I could not sustain
                      That purity, nor could it sustain me.
                      There must be another me treading upon
                      Some other path, ah me, down there.

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