FootprintsintheWind.com

We are leaning things about ourselves and what life presents to us. There is some part of us which does not want to grow. When you resist you cannot get to the other side. How was I to know I would like gardening or beer or spinach?

:- Doug.

To whom might you offer your work, as unto a father or mother of your craft of millennia ago?

:- Doug.

See us into distance or
Hear us into presence
Touch us into intimacy

:- Doug.

Poet, around you feel the shape of the space in which you are working this moment: use that shape to sculpt your song, to hew your rhythms. Pat, push, and stretch spheroids out of cubes, toruses out of pyramids.

:- Doug.

opposites in tension
give us the thing to teach
but how do we find courage
to open our mouth?
heed the brook’s voice

:- Doug.

True growth is in mutating
standard cute baby becomes
engineer who makes, tyrant who imprisons

:- Doug.

Magnify and morph
Throw us off the cliff
Teller, we need you!

:- Doug.

Now I flow
Now I radiate
A teller’s two joys

:- Doug.

Make it large and demanding
Magnify worlds
O Poet!

:- Doug.

Withhold precision
fuzzy frees
imagination to get active
setting the peoples
on a journey

:- Doug.

Not only your characters but your images and the lessons you teach all need contraries, subtexts, struggles, and dilemmas. Otherwise how can they defy like life?

:- Doug.

You need to be a challenge to your reader.

:- Doug.

Water too can be particle and wave.

:- Doug.

The work of the teller and the poet is to start us on our journey, not to describe the inn.

:- Doug.

Nietzsche’s long-remaining cloud
am I
soon lightning

:- Doug.

Life must develop
poet: your work!

:- Doug.

of rocks and cloud
what is their
conversation?

:- Doug.

Our fear of heights is first a fear of falling, then a fear of death.

:- Doug.

Words of craft

:- Doug.

I read a book. I catch a term. I re-make it as mine. Such is my decisive act. I make.

:- Doug.

We might invite the generations into creative acts of story and poetry. Suggestions can travel, echo from mountaintop to hillside, unheard in some valleys. We may make our special language, a babble only we two know. What can I grasp of your ways and you of mine? Yet.

:- Doug.

Our times are soaked, perhaps obsessed, with visual images. Recognizing this we may expand our repertoire to other senses and thus aspire to converse across centuries with those of a different sensibility.

:- Doug.

What is common among us, I in this year, you 300 years on? What is humanity that we might speak together?

:- Doug.