The Drumming of the Woodpecker & Faded Over halls
When I was but fifteen-years old, my grandfather was a good, if not great hunter, a sportsman one might say, something I never quite acquire a taste for. That was around around l956, I suppose, take or give a little, a year here a year there. Now that I look back on those wondrous days [for times plays an interesting game with our memory banks, time, the commodity that once spent, will never return] for he is dead now, I wrote a poem to remember him by, possibly the only one my memories can recall as I’ve gotten older. Matter of fact, I wrote two poems, the first called, “The Drumming of the Woodpecker,” and “Faded Overalls,” I never shared them with anyone, but for you, especially for you, I shall:
The Drumming of the Woodpecker
The woodpecker’s dry hammering dims, draws out other sounds: --of the aged—,the dying away; —yet, the squirrels, pheasants, turkeys, bears and coons, the deer, running, running from the dogs, and their Masters of the night—: could hardly be heard on their last winter’s plight
[the old man sat by his friend]:
“Pour me another whisky!” said he [the old man] holding out a tin dipper [to his friend]; —sitting in a rocking chair. A quarrel then broke out about what? when they were to go hunting again. Being as young as I was [back then] I simply stood by the screened-in doorway, staring, staring –not knowing then, listening…
…scorned by the gloom of time—; decaying within, gutted like a dead fish of any healthy internal organs, —neither of them said a word, not one word [but they were both wishing]; for a commodity spent.
Faded Over-halls
Battered and faded over-halls, an old straw hat—the barn we, he and my brother and I lived in, and ma, a miniature lot of land, in this eternal restless city, is where we lived, way back when. I remember the eyes, the eyes of an owl, in the tree next door, staring at me, in the waking day—: blood, skin and bones, was nothing compared to the memories one puts down to rest for another
the lucid, unquenchable and not so thought through memories, left behind
now I know why he said what he said, for I remember, commit to memory him saying: “Once you show fear you are alone,” –“when you let go of everything to become lost, nothing in the world can harm you.” Now I understand…
Dennis Siluk see his 30 books on web sites allover the internet, such as http://www.Alibris.com or http://www.abe.com