Lost Things ( decorating with)

They said keep what you like, within reason.

But my backyard is too small for tank like ankylosaurus and the great

stegosaurii with spear backs and spiked tails.

So I settled for a single giant sloth who is nibbling the unruly

caragana bushes by the passenger pigeon’s dovecote.

The kitchen is raucous with Carolina parakeets who perch more

comfortably on the high backed kitchen chairs than I ever could.

The tub enclosure is given over to Labrador ducks and countless

anonymous orchids so it’s showers from now on.

My living room is much improved by an aquarium of paisley trilobites

(who said they were black),

and the little rodent guy asleep in his terrarium

(who  is after all family) .

I am sure given a proper nurturing environment the

Tasmanian wolf pups will learn to coexist with carpet.

In the library the dodo (over by the Lewis Carroll) helps me shelve scrolls from 

Alexandria , early episodes of Dr. Who and the remaining verses of Kubla Khan.

And on Saturday nights you and me and the australopithecine, resplendent in his

bright red jersey, will be in the den watching a Red Wings game.

                                                               Guy

I took the photos from of a series of books I have

by J . Augusta illustarted by (the great) Zdenek Burian

Night Geese

Calling geese swept up the years.

Blossoms, snow, discarded days

joy strains forward, memory interferes.

Seasons morph despite our fears

of the bald man the mirror displays.

Calling geese swept up the years

that saw our plans reduced to tears.

When every dream so slightly strays

joy strains forward, memory interferes.

Despite every efforts it disappears

all things leave and nothing stays

calling geese swept up the years.

When someone lost suddenly appears

a chance resemblances that quickly frays

joy strains forward, memory interferes.

On a cold autumn night as winter nears

or spring’s first blossom suddenly cheers

calling geese swept up the years.

Joy strains forward, memory interferes.

Guy

So Much Unknown

So Much Unknown

But who shall so forcast the years

and find in loss a gain to match?

Or reach a hand through time to catch

The far-off interest of tears

Alfred Lord Tennyson 1850 In Memorian

Riffling photos so much unknown;

unasked, the dog’s name, the smell of the park

the colour of a hat lost now, no eyes to see,

when so many days lay ahead; but

the tunnel ends, alone now with cast off bags

no one spoke, when there is time to hear

your friends name, the make of the car

All orphans to the world suddenly alone

Questions for empty rooms, empty mirrors

but who shall so forcast the years.

A legacy of things holds freight

a story of a first this or that

weddings, service, gifts cold things

warmed by a breath of life

Held now as your absent hand

For memory, words, stories meaning attach

to the humblest thing, the simplest occasion.

Identity itself is risked in every loss

and life itself will clutch and snatch

and find in loss a gain to match?

Or in gain a loss to hatch

For each day is not a puzzle to unravel

And some nights, peace is best

Every occasion is not greater

Then the sound of dice in your hand

Sometimes from the present we detach

new memories for old a warm touch for cold.

Like a child with a favourite book reread.

Striving with every moment to stretch

Or reach a hand through time to catch

a moment once wasted now wanted.

It seems that age can only embrace

what comes it’s way regardless.

Each loss, each parting

each cold alone awakening.

Those unanswerable fears.

change callow youth to miser

hoarding half remembered days.

Some long delayed reckoning nears

The far-off interest of tears

Guy

This version Sept4/05

Glosa