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I write the poetry
of every day life
of chance encounters
with people
with plants
with birds
Magpie wandering
through our house
Wind
Waves
Clouds
Reach out
and touch
Write out
and share

 

                                                          Gum tree

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22 September 2017

Poetry on the Move, the festival of poetry sponsored by the University of Canberra ended yesterday.  A week of poetry and poems and poets… Delicious.

In between poetry readings, I wrote two very short poems. The first one was just after I left an evening session and was walking through the campus back to my car.  The second was right after a poetry reading.

•  •   •  •   •   •   •   •

talking to myself

walking to myself

thinking to myself

looking to myself

watching to myself

singing to myself

jumping to myself

leaping to myself

speaking to myself

asking to myself

learning to myself

telling to myself

forgiving to myself

•     •     •    •    •   •   •

Pamela at Boodoree National Park, ACT, Australia

•   •   •   •   •   •   •

time jumping

space splitting

heart thumping

mind shifting

head shaking

breath escaping

word singing

poetry emerging

 

 

Nature Reserve

 

The gate signing

what can and

cannot be done

Walking on

path rutted

shaped by many feet

Scraggly natives

Yellow strawflowers

Grey green shoulder

broken by embedded stone

Piercing red rosehips

Screaming noisy miner

birds signal invasion

Swinging head

back and forth

Kangaroos watching

waiting, then

fleeing from unknown

Arriving at summit

Grey clouds open

slivers of gold

above blue ridges

defining the end

     Sunset      Red Hill Nature Reserve                     Canberra Australia

 

Thinking of my brother Lon Hutchison.  His birthday is 22 June.  He would have been 62 years old.  He was hit by a bus and killed in Mazatlan Mexico 5 May 2014. 

 

Rounding a bend

something shiny

glinting in the sun

a car

Intruder

in a forest walk

that should go on forever

OHHHHklahoma

where the wind comes

sweeping down the plain

Invaders of territory

promised

in perpetuity

to displaced Cherokees

Snatched away

leaving only the washed up

migrants

failed elsewhere

to wait on the border

wagons lined up

the pistol shot

signaling

race to take over land

repossess the stolen

broken promises

unstable

unwelcoming

environment

to raise a family

divorce

extreme cruelty

three young children

barely beyond teen age

mother

not promising soil

for raising a family

constant migration

mostly men

moving moving

looking for work

handouts

jumping on and off freight trains

not belonging

anywhere

outliers

rough camaraderie

no questions asked

ethical code of hobos

persuade runaway children

return home

he refused

age 13

jumped a freight

joined the hobos

on his way to California

Ohhhklahoma

Thoughts while ill and not ill with mystery virus

January, February, 2017

                                                                     Photo by Gabriel Collett

 

Living in a soup

Daily survival

Minimal activity

No motivation to do more

Strange illness

Mystery virus

Late afternoon

in bed

too tired to sleep

Staring at

brick wall

Noting

whiteness of some bricks

the pattern they make

Not motivated by hunger

Not wanting to cook

Lack of respect for the body

Betrayal of the body

Unreliability of the body

Living in limbo

Nothing much matters

Everyday life holds no interest

Real life dulled

By a sickness that seems almost imaginary

If I think hard enough

If I just try harder

Surely it will go away

Yet it drags on with no real focus

And I am not

What I want to be

 

 

Watching

cars go by

So many people

encased in metal

Do they put it on

like a new outfit

Slip into something

that gives them a

different personality

a different way of being

Feeling self assured in my BMW

My Audi tells me who I am

Why sacrifice

being human

to get places faster

In a car we are

no one

non caring

non communicative

in motion

to nowhere

 

I have been writing

short pieces

reflections

research

notes

Scanning books

upon books

upon books

Living in a different reality

that of my father

But not of my father

I am living it intellectually

He was living it viscerally

Emotionally

Painfully

I feel phantoms

of pain

awareness of

suffering

confusion

disgrace

stigma

being shut out

being kicked out

a reject

Yet with tremendous will

to be different

in his own life

using the template

of Christian Science

 

I have to start over

I will go through his life

again

with more depth

more understanding

Organize the research

get back into the routine

of writing

 

In a university seminar

a transitional community

with people

thinking of

talking about

practicing

writing

stimulating

like a jump into a cold river

on a hot day

 

Narrative joins the dots

between facts

The story of my father

Connections to find meaning

Calling out to my father

Come home, come home

it’s suppertime

Character development

a man chooses hope

a man chooses a template

a way of life to climb out of the depths

of the snake pit

Lon Hutchison young man

 

Lon with wife Olivia, stepdaughter Josefina, 2000

Lon with wife Olivia, stepdaughter Josefina,            Mazatlan, 2009

I can remember

learning through facebook

in Nairobi Kenya

The death of my brother

in Mazatlan Mexico

two years ago

 

In Mazatlan

on the corner

standing with his bike

Waiting for

the traffic light

to change

Just waiting

while a bus

cut the corner

 

He had gone out

on his bicycle

to run errands

His step daughter

and her grandmother

waiting for his return

 

Someone came yelling

Lon’s been hurt

His stepdaughter ran

to the clinic

Too late

He was gone

 

We miss you Lon!

 

Dinner In Mazatlan, my mom Bette, Olivia, Lon, Jim, me, 2004

Dinner In Mazatlan, my mom Bette, Olivia, Lon, Jim, me, 2004

Lon Hutchison at the Celebration of our mother Bette Hutchison Silver's life, March 2011

Lon Hutchison at the Celebration of our mother Bette Hutchison Silver’s life, March 2011

My brother Lon Hutchison and me 2011

My brother Lon Hutchison and me 2011

 

 

 

 

 

The weight of

tradition

on my finger

between

middle and little

A golden ring

an amber stone

from my mother

 

Today wearing

her Egyptian gold necklace

her gold and jade bracelet

her gold bangles

and the heavy weight ring

 

A couple from Perth

I offer to take their photo

No selfies please

in front of the red and white

recycled, solar lit

Year of the Monkey

sculpture

at the Australian National Library.

They commented

on my jewelry

I was pleased

someone noticed

 

My mother left it to me

knowing I had none

Influencing my behavior

from beyond death

No grave

Cremated

and a wind sculpture

memorial to her

in a Kansas City park.

I wear her jewelry

in her memory

 

The Chinese woman

from Perth told me

Treasure that bracelet

Jade plus gold

Unusual

 

Back at home

I remember her words

as I remove the

gold and amber ring

from my finger

with soap

Mom Golden jewelry
                        My mom, some years ago,                                                                   wearing her amber and gold jewelry

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