Bobby's Blog...<br>        " Process Poetic " <$BlogRSDUrl$>

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Monday, February 09, 2004

" A closed mind is a dying mind "

--Edna Ferber, writer

No school for David today... which means little peace for anyone else for the better part of the day. No car seat left out for Gail to take Ashley ride-about in the van to tire our grandchild out for napping... no gas in the van if a seat was available.

Sunny cooool day today... I may take a walk.

Gail's pain still bad.

My entries... " Poetry in Motion" daily contest:

                         There... 'their they're'

                   Men stumble

                   soulless in darkness...

                   broken, lost

                   Shadows of the damned city

                   Desperation pulses

                   in its foundations

                   :Bobby Nichols 2-9-2004

              Ethereal Waterscape

        Dew'd fingers streatch nigh

        Toward rushing moonlit brook

        Tendral mists wander

        :Bobby Nichols 2-9-2004

Another warm fuzzy poem and warm fuzzy Haiku. The Haiku scene for inspiration an ethereal photo of a stream gliding past tree branches streatched out like fingers bathed in dew toward the rushing watercourse, itself steaming in mist, shined by moonlight. Actually... just another excuse to use the word DUDE ( Dew'd ) in another context... LOL ! . I just hope dew'd counts as one sylabibble... I found the spelling in a Tennyson poem, " The Lotos-Eaters ", a link !... I had thought the word spelled dewwed, but all my dictionaries failed me, in the poetic sense. I ended up googling the word 'dew'd' as I thought it must then be spelled, and found Lord Tennyson's poem... a surfing treasure found ! The photo must certainly be from Tennyson's
" Lotos-land ".

The poem " There... 'their they're'  "... another 'poetic noir'... I don't know if it conveys hell... or any number of large cities I've visited, perhaps both. The poem easier to write than title. Then I recalled a quote from yore...
" There is no there there " from Gertrude Stein when she referred to Oakland. The homeless, perhaps... a testimony to existence, however meager and nightmarish. I've gone through various permutations of the three words and grudgingly latched on to the title as it is ( now quit changing it... man ! ).

The grandkid's dad, Richard is home...

Yo manymak !!!

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