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Poet Commentaries

butterflies, bumblebees, and the boogieman

Dana is among my favourite poets, it is hard to pick one to post here.  His beef with me is that I praise him too much or dissect his work trying to find out just why I like it.  I will not do this here.  Just enjoy and either love or hate.  

He has works up on Sound Cloud and it worth a visit.  See link below.

butterflies, bumblebees, and the boogieman

i walked up a glacier in matanuska,
in haines, in denali, i
walked up a glacier on hood.

i stared down at clouds
from the rim
on the north edge
of a crack so deep
it can be seen from space.

i listened to the braying
of a thousand thousand seals.
i watched a pod of orca turn a sea lion
into bloody soup,
and floating hide.

i trusted the limitless skyline
over the buckling sea
to see me home.

to let me live.

i waited in the hunting shack
till the wolverine went home,
and ran all the way back to the cabin
when the black timberwolf
turned his shagging head
to stare at me.

four corners holds the keys of time.
cochise stronghold fists the ground.
the colorado isn’t red.
the bend in baja
points to nowhere.

key west laughs at cuba
with her silly cigar-stained teeth.
and hemingway still warms the barstools.
kesey still drives the bus.
cassidy lets the snakes across the road
before he hits the gas
and turns the prairie over his knee.

the sequoia never ever nod at men,
and all saguaros grin you down.
paint pots bubble out their mud,
as geysers blister rocky grounds.

do not underestimate
the brown and speckled,
finning trout.
do not fool yourself into
understanding what the bullfrog’s
all about.

pike’s peak sells you oxygen.
copper canyon sells you beads.
ocalla sells the hippies grass
to plug their fucking knowing need.

i saw a giant squid on deck
forty foot, if not an inch.
and fifteen feet of hammer head,
and golden eagles in the ditch.

cougars work their magic
and you’ll never spot a single one.
sometimes a fully blood red moon
can put a sock over the sun.

the waterspouts upon the gulf
can pick your dory,
sweep it up.
the lightning flashing on the fields
of kansas
prove that God is real.

drive a chevy luv until
the tires melt away on tar.
go to every hot springs that
the rainbows wash their balls in.
give a dollar to the rushmore boys.
they will spend it on some paint.
superior and eerie know
what it all is,
and who it ain’t.

canada and endless pines.
mangroves swallowed up in vines
of kudzo that forgot to think
that it is running out of time.

watch for salamanders when
you travel to the blackest streams.
ask them if they want for dirt, or leaves,
or spangled sunlight beams.
the bullfrogs and the glow bugs
and the caterpillars in their
beds.

life will not be squashed so quickly.

life my friends,
is not quite
dead.

perspective is a funny thing.
you’ll know this when the
crickets sing.

take me with you,
take me now.

but only if it’s to the mountains,
so i can show you just how big
your weeping little spinning earth

really is.

 

 

Dana Jon St Mary

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