poetryrepairs #200 v14.05:053
DAVID BARNES : Reminiscence
ROBERT CRAIG : Going to California
BOB BRADSHAW : Where the Good Men Are
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It's another autumn as I drive down Mounts bay road, along the river Swan; trees, only a week ago that were summer-green had suddenly become a symphony of rusts and yellows. As a child and as a man, autumn, was always my favorite; a season of color, a warm sonata treasured: Yet now, it seems to me the saddest of times, a prelude to the inevitable winter that lies ahead. I pass by traffic, interspersed on the way to the beach; Matilda bay, and the boatshed subsist, tied to the elements, their reflections stilted, Shadowy. A few resilient swimmers, were at Cottesloe beach when I arrived. I sat on the grass, my back against the sandstone wall watching seagulls soaring overhead on wings that sweep through endless seasons - only to disappear... It's Saturday tomorrow, and then Sunday again; It fills me with reminiscence, a windswept sorrow - Autumn, was our favorite time.

poetryrepairs #200 v14.05:053

All the fine arts are species of poetry--Samuel Taylor Coleridge

poetry repairs your heart
even as it splits it open.
The Art of Reading

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Going to California
The next day the sun was back it layered itself like paint over the flat beach a long slow wave far out in the waters hardened in the light and sent a spear of bright- ness everywhere the light seemed different than the light in California it seemed somehow thinner colder less nourishing the wave out in the dark ocean melted away then hoisted itself up again a hard daz- zling streak of gold lepted across it then she turned away westerly as if going back to California.

poetryrepairs #200 v14.05:053

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Where the Good Men Are
Are they living in Manhattan? Or maybe they've fled over the border, and are riding horses in the dusty hills? Maybe they're raising glasses of tequila and lingering over the only Spanish they know: Senorita, Bella! Some no doubt have moved to the coasts of Baja and Monterey. A few have taken to Halifax and Maine. My heart is on furlough, I tell my friends, when asked about the men in my life. But I lie. My heart's idling like a getaway car, waiting for my future husband to burst from a bank, shots fired... OK, I confess. A leaky breast and the scent of milk in the air... I would trade my single life for something that simple.

poetryrepairs #200 v14.05:053

Poetry endangers the established order
of the soul - Plato

REPAIR: resort, frequent or habitual going; concourse or confluence of people at or in a place; making one's way; to go, betake oneself, to arrive; return to a place; to dwell; to recover, heal, or cure; to renew; to fix to original condition.
-- Oxford English Dictionary

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DAVID BARNES : Reminiscence
ROBERT CRAIG : Going to California
BOB BRADSHAW : Where the Good Men Are

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