I never was a tourist; in New York
I walked the streets at night and thought of work
And rode the subway train and bought a pipe
And found it like my home town, only bigger.
The movies get there first, I caught a Western,
And found the women fat and safe from me.
The dirt upon the streets and racing taxis
Make all the cities very much the same;
In Ottawa, in fact, our cab was faster.
But I was glad I went, I got panhandled;
The upper state was pastoral at night;
Returning in the dawn along the Delaware
Made me Ulysses rowing it for home.
My history of New York help make respected
My visions in Alexis Creek, told later.
The files are full, the magnitude of art
That's mine weighs golden on my striving soul,
The pen's at work and typewriter keys are poised
And projects loom like the mountains to be won;
And all the world shall know my ringing truth
Shall feel the victory of my years of toil.
Saturday, January 31, 2015
Thursday, January 29, 2015
From a Guest Poet
As literary executor I have been going through Ken's papers, finding lots of poetic notes and even some finished poems and thought I would have a "guest" poet for a bit as my poetic well is very dry these days.
A Poem for Judas (and me) by KB Lamb
When will Judas die?
Why is he always near,
So slick, and sharp, and clever
Catching every ear?
So pleasing to the eye
So reassuring in his strength,
So quick with solid answers,
So free to speak at length?
Today he leads the Reds
Tomorrow it's the Whites
Every side of mortals questions
Finds him in the right
He's never at a loss
He's a leader with aplomb
He moves the masses tranquilly,
They always find him strong.
Judas is the golden man
He's the head of every class
I think he ran for Cambridge
And I know he wasn't last
Judas is a raconteur
And when the need appears
He writes poetry for causes
And moves us all to tears.
He's never even faltered
He knows the virtues off by heart
And he's so good at imitation
That it gives you quite a start
To realize that in all his life
He's not been at a loss
Except when Someone asked him
To bear, and love, his cross.
A Poem for Judas (and me) by KB Lamb
When will Judas die?
Why is he always near,
So slick, and sharp, and clever
Catching every ear?
So pleasing to the eye
So reassuring in his strength,
So quick with solid answers,
So free to speak at length?
Today he leads the Reds
Tomorrow it's the Whites
Every side of mortals questions
Finds him in the right
He's never at a loss
He's a leader with aplomb
He moves the masses tranquilly,
They always find him strong.
Judas is the golden man
He's the head of every class
I think he ran for Cambridge
And I know he wasn't last
Judas is a raconteur
And when the need appears
He writes poetry for causes
And moves us all to tears.
He's never even faltered
He knows the virtues off by heart
And he's so good at imitation
That it gives you quite a start
To realize that in all his life
He's not been at a loss
Except when Someone asked him
To bear, and love, his cross.
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