ROB GANSON : A Thousand Paper Umbrellas
JOEL L. YOUNG : A Thousand Roads To Wander
REID BAER : Increasing Talents
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A Thousand Paper Umbrellas A Thousand Roads To Wander Increasing Talents


ROB GANSON
A Thousand Paper Umbrellas
I folded you a thousand paper umbrellas, but the acid     falls like stars, painted multitudes of flowers in myriad magic hues,     flew them to the moon     to cushion the stone Buddha, to entertain the toad with     the jejune spirit of gentle time, but they bear the scars of the evening news, the bloodlust     for empire, rising from the pews, the brunt of the grand exit of vinyl daises and micro-busses,     bound for unrealized futures.   I blew you a million reverent kisses, mailed them on the wind,     but anthems speak louder than rhymes,     and sin pays better than love.   I far-flung adjectives across the academic divide to stem     the tide of Dick and Jane, doing their numb pirouettes     across the journals of fools, but the schools perpetuate the notions of business, the     dumbing-down of language,     force-feed the children     the potions of kings.       - Homeless parents, urchins in the lurch,     singin' for their supper in the baptist church     preachers in the government, disaster looms,     Cardinals want to rule our wombs -   I sent rivers, flowing through the internet like living ropes,     to tie your eyes to clouds and gardens,     but they turned the rivers into borders,     issued marching orders,     and they even bombed     the moon,   planted seeds of sympathy in the loam of human minds,     beseeched my kind to softer deeds     in service of those with deepest need,     wrote metaphoric bridges between those who follow,     and those who lead, breadcrumbs on the path     to a land beyond greed.       - one love is all we need, you see,     and money won't buy happiness     Just feed a brother or sister in need,     make paying it forward your own test,     and watch joy grow from simplest seeds -      When cold winds blew my little roofs astray, another smile     would fade away, like joyous dreams of yesterday,      like warrior's hearts that fade away     when the demons come out     to play.      I mailed you shivers, derived from the very throes of ecstasy,     but they arm hands crafted to caress     with weapons invented to secure     excess, and lips designed to kiss and smile     bark infernal orders. Tired feet     march another mile in soldier's shoes,     and another mother mourns     another son, as we lose     another moment in the sun,    forgetting that in the eyes of the sky,   we are all one.     I molded longer verses into a kite of sorts, an umbilicus,     trailing from whimsy back to earth,     a sibilant sort of message,     whispering psalms of     silent mirth, festooned the wind with hymns of laughter and glee,     despite modern trends to prosy mediocrity,     crafted a sea of words to float awry,     a raft to Xanadu,     a boat that floats     on the wings of verbose     butterflies     in the face of concrete nouns and verbs,     and set it free...to fly.       - Words are not like stones or sticks,     not blood of ink to spill from pens,     but language made of song, to affix     higher meanings to the reader's lens,     to leave his eyes and heart transfixed -    I chased the faces of many gods across the girth of thought,     bought into temporary dalliance      in dogma's open arms,     but harm is wrought of blind compliance to men who rule from behind a curtain woven of scripture,     from behind gates of steel and judgement,     behind the vault of burgeoning     tithes, and they all abide     in the softest silk     the milk of human kindness     can buy,     and they reside in mansions.   It is not in these umbrellas to lie, to cheat or steal from you,     but only to spew beauty across     an unforgiving landscape     where the path to understanding is obscured     by too much stuff, enough stuff     to kill the very concept     of enough.   I mailed a manifesto of mercy like a vast paper bird,     constructed to gird the minds of innocents,     herds of simple trusting folk,     against the crescendo of bombs bursting in air,     to mend the heart, pummeled     by calls to arms,     demands to harm others     to glorify nations and empires     of fools and merchants.       - Nations come and empires grow,     bombs make distant cities glow     Children starve in distant lands,     while guns fill all the wealthy hands       - My little notes are meant for the meek,     the simple souls my wee rhymes seek     I will not waste my words on kings,     because these little songs I sing     emanate from a throat      where an albatross     clings -      I shouted electric stanzas from Walt's deep Ameriky,     shouted the secrets stored in storied Rockland,     echoed the primal howl, the great yawp     of sighted singers in the kingdoms     of the blind, aligned phrases     to cease the rage with     the flutter of peaceful     pages,   but armies march, oil rigs drill, and the citizens swallow     the bitter pill of progress because the road     to armageddon is paved with gold,     and my little umbrellas ring hollow     where Dick and Jane are sold     by the keepers of the word.   This little umbrella is built on a foundation of pain,     because meek missives melt     in the thunder of     acid rain.
POETRYREPAIRS 13.04:037
I have many things to write unto you but I will not write with pen and ink
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materialists make the trivial and transitory appear true and enduring; the proper stuff of literature demands courage and sincerity -- Virginia Woolf

A Thousand Paper Umbrellas A Thousand Roads To Wander Increasing Talents


JOEL L. YOUNG
A Thousand Roads To Wander 
-Annotating Thomas Wolfe
If you look backward angel you've wandered a thousand different roads travelled a thousand more made a million promises and lived a hundred lives took to dreaming in technicolor. Still, all the roads led back home. You can go home again, go! Stay, visit, see the roads in the ol' hometown where chapel floors creak of gospel hymns and bottom rivers soak mud into memories made fresh daily in the spring of your youth. You might find something new. Sure there were pretty girl flirtations mud fights, and fisticuffs, laughs on the paths beer runs, and camp-outs looking at the stars. Drag racing, football games, and odd jobs, and prom night fiascoes falling asleep under the bleachers. Okay, not all the memories were good. Yeah, you followed different trails, traveled a thousand of them wandered their highways & byways tasted pie from a thousand different window sills spent nights in muggy motels writing notes from a million lives you met each with a poem or a story to tell. Look homeward angel, come back home stay for a while, see the folks, look up old friends drop by the old schoolyard, and share a memory or two. Say hello to the girl next door, who loved you. Maybe you'll have something in common now. There'll be a thousand more roads to wander Thomas Wolfe still in your head telling you where to go. He didn't say all the roads lead back home. Nothing's ever the same, the town's still got dreams to give with inspiration, love and hope to spare. The door is always open, Greyhound station down the street with busfare for two, a lifetime to dream again and wander a thousand different roads. Write about them this time. Inspire more angels to wander as they inspired you. Their roads will lead back to you.
POETRYREPAIRS 13.04: 037
Poetry endangers the established order  of the soul - Plato

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A Thousand Paper Umbrellas A Thousand Roads To Wander Increasing Talents


REID BAER
Increasing Talents 
It will be counted an immeasurable sin if by the time the morning breaks we haven't committed our own fair share of mistakes.
POETRYREPAIRS 13.04: 037
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ROB GANSON : A Thousand Paper Umbrellas
JOEL L. YOUNG : A Thousand Roads To Wander
REID BAER : Increasing Talents

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