Kindling is an eclectic collection. It begins with the curmudgeonly "Preface by Way of an Introduction, of Sorts": a cri du coeur triggered no doubt by staring too long at the modern world. It announces a search for "another way, another world" that may -- or may not -- be found as works are added in 2026.
Preface By Way Of An Introduction Of Sorts . . . .
One day I chanced to
Stop
Outside a shop
Of poetry,
Or so I thought,
For so the sign outside had read:
Poetry.
Just like that:
In black and white,
Or brown or tan,
Or maybe putrid green -- but anyway
there was a sign
And it claimed poetry all for itself.
Unthinking, unknowing,
I wandered in to seek a world;
And one -- of sorts --
I found.
Within were lights -- blinding lights!
Fluorescing in chaotic beat,
While from a maze of hidden vents poured out an Arctic air.
I squinted,: as on an empty glacier a Sherpa guide would do
To guard his sight from Nature’s deadly glare;
Then hunkered down to face the gale
And bravely soldiered on...
Until at last I found it, cantilevered on the void:
A solemn nook of Poetry.
There it was around me,
The real stuff,
Trim little tomes all beckoning.
Deeply I sighed,
Sweetly I delved,
And here is what I found:
The rocking chair
You remember it:
Danish modern
And how it rocked back and forth
Unevenly,
Like a peg-legged sailor drunk with rum in the room above.
For year upon year, decades on end,
Grating the ear more and more as the years went by.
And you and I we stumble back and forth
Unevenly
Through every year
With no more
Charm
Than
It
Hmmmm, said I.
Perhaps I’ll try another one,
Thought I in all my innocence;
And so I chose another tome, and turned another page:
untitled
against the sullen sky
the building leaned uneasily
oddly eyed the passersby
-- then crumbled in delight"
Hmmmmmmm, thought I.
Surely grander visions lurked nearby.
So I chose another tome, and turned another page:
Still Life
the crushed napkin lay on the breakfast table
where the salesmen rambled on about their woes
who closed that deal
who blew another one just yesterday
and who's going to make the Final Four
and who's not
and who cares anyway
since our guys got knocked off early on.
the crushed napkin lay on the breakfast table
where the couple from Kalamazoo
had the All American Special even though they really should be watching their cholesterol.
the crushed napkin lay on the breakfast table
where the hairy-legged waitress waited
and the…..
ARRGGGHHHH!
This is it?
This is what we've waited for?
Waited down dark millennia when only the Poet stood by the fire
to dare the sacred songs?
Hmmmmmmmmmm!
Sackacrap! Bunchadolts!
Enough’s enough:
Santa Claus in place of God;
Me in place of you;
Debussy and Haydn have been --
Caged.
And now in place of Poetry
We canonize the time of day
Or anything you damn well please.
Hmmm!
Perhaps there is another way,
Another world, where
Joying through rain-misted mornings of wonder
Cloud-dragons soar on wingtips of gold;
Where songs rend the soul with sweet barbs of sadness
From centuries past and eons foretold.
Perhaps there is;
Perhaps there's not;
Perhaps
Perhaps
May be…
* * * * *
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