I am in a cathartic state of mind. So let's begin with a search and rescue tale.
In '79, I was plucked out of a secretarial pool after rocking the boat as an AFL-CIO union organizer. Encouraged, endorsed, enrolled, I became an undergrad with a ticket to ride: a Scholarship to the Robert Frost Poetry Workshop held in Franconia, New Hampshire.
Upon arrival at the East Coast workshop, a New Yorker identified me as a fish out of water. "Do you know the difference between yogurt and California?"
He smirked. "Yogurt has culture."
Well, that sent me sprinting into the woods behind Frost's historical cabin. Meandering tearfully over the trails surrounded by white birch a posted Frost poetic line captured attention: Two roads diverged in a wood and I—I took the one less traveled.
Over the next three decades, I have taken the road less traveled, stopping at intersections frequented by artists, poets and writers. Thus, I've made a decision to devote this column to a public plunge into revealing my Central Coast poetics and photographs.
Metamorphosis
I am an insatiable writer, thoughts pleated
in black 'n white: hard news, soft features.
Addicted to newsroom's roar:
police monitors,screaming phones,
managing editor's toss of assignments.
Low pay, high on passion.
A new quest: teach, reached , intrigued
by the smell of magic markers swiping over
wipe boards. Power Point lessons shedding
light on poor transitions, fragmented phrases.
I'm satisfied with occupational changes. |
Sweet Springs – Los Osos
We wander into wetland;
spider webs laced with dew
stretched between weeping
branches. Upstage, dunes
cradle a back bay. Landing
on a solitary bench, reminiscing,
inhaling aromatic eucalyptus. |
Speaking of alarm, here is a timely revolutionary tune by Cambrian songwriter/musician of his band Ranchers for Peace, Charles Duncan and daughter Ray. Song: "W.A.B." Reverbnation "The song is our response to the Trayvon Martin tragedy — our contribution to what we hope will be a consciousness raising process that will lead to a time when this kind of shit just doesn't happen anymore." – Charles Duncan (copyright 2012).
In closing, I offer two of my grandfather's Scottish sayings: "He who is wettest let him go to the well" to indulge "Little by little, as the cat eats the fish."
