after William Stafford

My father could take off in the woods
following the dance of the bee until
he found the hive. He never
harvested the honey or hived the bees.

He simply was one who
knew where things were. He would
find the bee and stroll big strides
across fields and woods. I am waiting

until I can spot the dance
so I can follow.

I was reading Dylan
which seemed to me
like words sprawled
across a page
until they root
like some common
farmer’s seeds
and we keep
waiting for the harvest.

I thought I could do that
and started hurling
words at the street
signs until they started
to vine like common weeds.

I read them to my son
and he tells me songs
vary the rhythm and more—
that there is a rising
and a falling action
along with a climax.

After the harvest,
words stroll hand-
to-hand and finally
pepper the strange
landscape with a
singular song.

by Robert Otlowski 2011

Ideas can stand as firm and wise
As a forest's eldest tree
Or buzz and fly from every nook
Like a swarm of killer bees

Some as old as Earth herself
Others here then gone
One alone can change the world
'Til another comes along

They tried to kill an idea once
With all the army's might
Their bullets went right through it
The bombs flew out of sight

So they put it in a prison
Wrapped up in all their chains
But when the chains came off they found
The idea had spread again

Missiles cannot touch them,
Wardens can nought but beg
Step on one and soon you'll find
Five crawling up your leg

Sometimes a cynic on Tuesday, sometimes Monday,
sometimes every day of the week, I read everything

including a sign taped behind the commode at Troy Library:
“Please do not flush anything but toilet paper.” What it

needed to add was: “Like the library, the community, literacy,
like the children’s programs, cultural events education.”

My son Bobby said we probably have already lost that battle.
Asked why he said, "Next time just leave a pile on the floor.”

Then there is the internet and worldwideweb—look at our symbols
folks. Sometimes after a computer session I feel like an insect trussed

up in spider silk crying, “Help, Help, Help me because the sun
has long ago sunk below the horizon and I’m not exactly riding into it.”

And the fashion industry with their “One size fits all.” Ha, the only debate
here is between “highly unlikely” and “don’t believe a word of it.”

Ever notice how there is a pill to cure everything but with possible side
effects like severe kidney, liver damage, and in some cases sudden death?

Let’s see, can I live with depression or do I want to play Russian roulette?”
Russian roulette is probably on the list of the “not politically correct.” We have

an entire wardrobe of things not to say but have never addressed
the problems of unequal opportunities and unequal education. Add

outsourcing, downsizing, and will the silent majority ever speak up. When
will enough be enough?

Finally, while the sheer volume of what I don’t know astounds me, why am
I surrounded by experts?

this year the coyote
howl iced over
with a lemur wind
a drizzle of weevils

blizzard of peacocks
halts jackrabbit
flow of melting lightning
nearby a gorilla drought
scatters an avalanche of fleas

the hurricane left
a cloud cover of bobcats
with a humid lobster wind chill
a fog of wolverines play
against the polar bear glaciers

thunderwind mules
jetstream a blackwidow
flood while northerly rabbit

sunshine sleets iguana snow
past a tornado mule
caught in an updraft
of millipede tradewinds

gecko thunder decks
out a tropical armadillo

shady rain drifts
howling frost and volcanic
downpours as salmon
sleet forms dragonfly ice crystals

a minnow tsunami
temperatures shadows

giant cockroach mudslides
at zebra miles-per-hour
hit an ostrich precipitation
cause a piranha twister and that is why

this year the coyote
howl iced over

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