Somewhat Wandering Ode From Bumbler to Rumbler (Me to Brian Miller–NOT a would-be)
Oh you, who wander into trees mumbling,
counting feet on fingers, toed-sort bumbling–
Oh you, you would-be poet, you’re my kind.
Paths crossing, I used to send a secret sign–
a pantomime of Prufrock’s trousers rolled,
a shoulder shrug of Byron’s cloak’s unfold–
only my gesture, never adequately bold–
fell, I fear, quite flat, as you (of my same mold)
chanted unheeding by–pen, like mine, tracing
indecipherable squiggles, eyes facing.
either ground or sky, not even caring for
the proper shape of L’s–Hell, it’s more
than enough to walk, count feet, chew words–
saluting a fellow would-be seemed absurd!
But then all changed! With the coming of
a single line of hair that hovered above
a single head–Okay, Claudia helped too–
Kerry at her end–but he’s the ‘hawked who
manages a bee-line to one and all,
whether they post day or night–who hears the call–
dear Brian Miller–I send this ode to you–
though you don’t wander into trees mumbling,
and don’t like counting feet–(prefer rumbling)–
Thank you, poet, writer, family man–
for feats that far excel what counting can–
giving warmth, balm, light so very freely
even to those who still bump dark and treely.
Here’s a very belated ode to a poet for the dVerse Poets Pub three-year anniversary–
Thanks to the other poet sites, that I’ve not been such a part of, but that are wonderful resources for bumbling, mumbling solitary poets, like Poets United and Poetry Jam and The Mag.
But the energy, indefatigability and plain old embrace of Brian Miller, who posts wonderful poetry and prose (at an incomprehensible rate) at Waystation One, are particularly incredible. Note the would-be poet of the first stanza is someone like me–the Ode moves then to a true life poet–Brian. (I’m a little worried this part of the poem is unclear, but for now will leave as is!)
The pic not fully suited–I’m a little jammed to draw and wasn’t sure if Brian would really appreciate a portrait–but was taken by me earlier in the summer. All rights, as always, reserved.