Poem from Luciole friend/contributor Scott Wannberg: "my so called thanksgiving riff for 2009"

Posted by kluciole at 11/26/2009 1:23 AM
Categories: Poetry,National,Friends,History,love,Luciole Press,Hope






my so called thanksgiving riff for 2009



irregardless that the origins of such are controversial
and one can easily upend the myth of happy pilgrims and indians
coming together to a luau
(well the pilgrims might have eaten the indians)

i myself am here on a loquacious tuesday night
listening to the blind robins' origin of the wasteland
to mumble what i am thankful for
as of november 24 2009

i am thankful i still am "alive"
i've had numerous health issues(as most of us will if we haven't already yet)
and i physically relocated my frame of reference from
a huge sprawling metropolis i called home for pretty much all my life
to a quieter tinier little village
but a year and some four months change later
find emotionally i've adapted well
and am enjoying my days

i am a garrulous pessimist
yet an indefatigable optimist
i yin yang my tail up and down daily
i give thanks for my fleeting ability to discern bullshit from common sense
and know that the heart forever is a working pump
which is a slight paraphrase of the great late bob flanagan

we are imperfect mounds of clay
remodeled by the dictates of weather's vicissitude
we can only strive
to make our clogged throats a little clearer
when it comes time to stand up and sing who and what we are

i give thanks for the hearts and minds
of the struggling humans of love
that parade across my meandering consciousness
every day and night
whether here on the cyber hoedown
or in the immediate flesh

the world indeed is an insane playpen
and many of our toys do break easily
yet i give thanks for that stubborn marrow
that completes our orbit

there are dancers in the wheelchairs
and there are towers rising up from upheaval

i turn 57 feb 20 2010
i pride myself on becoming less knowledgeable
as i chronologically stumble forth

i don't know the name of the huge art that hangs on our skin's mural
i don't know what time our final plane will land
i just know when i stub my toe on the moment
it seems to hurt less when i know all moments are not glued shut

i give thanks for my teeth
i don't yet require dentures
i give thanks for my empty brain
it means i have much room for the music
you bring

i will continue to whittle variations of my name
in pieces of noise
as the ongoing outlaw atmosphere
will permit
i will continue to try and keep the dislocations
to a minimal purr

i give thanks for the way the shadows bounce
when you orbit my sun
on your way to the
next piano bar of the soul


have yourselves
an agreeable enough
holiday


strum
well



scott
florence,oregon
11/24/09
the blind robins
origin of the wasteland







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