poems in passing

It's been a good week for what I'll call texts-as-gifts.

First it was not one but two copies of Chicago-born Shel Silverstein's Where the Sidewalk Ends (1974), one from a family member, one from a writing mentor.

Silverstein's poems and drawings were some of the first poetry I was exposed to and its loopy vulgar humour probably informs my personality more than I'd like to admit...

Flipping through the pages, I came across the following poem that seems to suit both my present circumstances and that of writing poetry in general:

It's Dark in Here

I am writing these poems
From inside a lion,
And it's rather dark in here.
So please excuse the handwriting
Which may not be too clear.
But this afternoon by the lion's cage
I'm afraid I got too near.
And I'm writing these lines
From inside a lion
And it's rather dark in here.

Then a fellow poet dropped by with the latest copy of the Whitby, Ontario lit mag Lichen.

Though perhaps I should have been more philosophically drawn to Allison Baggio's story Spilt Milk (sorry...couldn't resist at least one bad baby joke, now that Aa has arrived), I found myself highly engaged with Canadian poet Kathy Mac's poem Ghuts.

I'll take the liberty of reproducing the second part of the poem that again seemed particularly apt...

2. Tranquil Bull

Stop every time there's time
to watch Sea Cow Bay's
locomotive-sized bovine
sway daintily in the heat,

movement arising from
the slight impetus of cud
chewed. Swallowed. Brought
back, a vaguely green shadow

moving up and down
his massive, muscular throat

Thanks all, for all your kind words throughout this process - or is that a process within a process? - it's been much appreciated, even if I didn't always have the time or the wherewithal to thank you directly in something approaching a timely fashion.