Shipwreck Home Poetry

I'm shivering in my bed Avoiding eye contact With the arctic mist tent Outside my window Getting coffee in the kitchen I see a rush of grey feathers Black eyes, yellow beak Stagediving on and off my backporch railings I trundle garbage to the curb Two immense hares Mosh pit across the street Spring is a concert I realize Like that time in Montreal Lollapalooza 1994 The mist tent is needed For the crowds violently alive At the foot of the stage as sound erupts Where I thrashed and sang And drank from water bottles thrown by the singer Nowadays I'm like the people at the back Of Ile Ste-Helene Looking through a lens Not strong enough for the heat Not tough enough for the throng That needs an arctic mist tent

 Hi. Like an old sailor after years at sea I find myself standing on the shore I left so long ago. My old poems are like a duffel bag I carry, full of gifts to disperse to old friends, family, and strangers here. I will build a small home and garden of poetry here on this rocky soil, and hope you will come along on the journey. TED