found this old poem about found letters
9-24-05
I watched him drag his foot
'cross two lanes of swarming traffic
and with no fanfare place something
on the double yellow lines
I moved my truck to the side of the road
watched him limp out of sight
his movement as sad as his dirty white trench coat
I ducked car and buses
made my way to the center of the road
feeling like a voyeur
I picked up a single opened envelope
the postmark still visible
through layers of greasy fingerprints
June 12, 1943
from a Miss Katie Mallory
curiosity prevailed as I stood in harm's way
time stopped.....traffic did not
I began to tremble as I pulled out a sacred yellowed paper
from its oft-handled jacket
Dear Billy it read
I could feel the heartbreak from those two lonely words
This war has taken it's toll on you soldiers
in ways unimaginable to Majors and Generals
Do they know of the casualties at home
away from their battlefields
Do they feel lives destroyed with no weapons
from over that vast sea
I regret I can no longer honor my pledge to you,
but know my love with always be deep
Our relationship is no longer practical, but
know I am grateful for your contribution.
Billy Doyle
Billy Doyle
If you do not change your direction
you may end up where you are heading
you may end up where you are heading
Re: Billy Doyle
"grateful for your contribution".....
cold....
A writer & translator of poetry (Russian in particular) lives a few miles from me, much closer if you bushwhack through the woods. There's a little side trail off the RR grade I take the dog most afternoons, which I explored solo one bitterly cold winter day a few years back. I discovered that he had not only blazed the trails, but had laminated gems of poetry and nailed them to random trees. It was like an Easter egg hunt. One in particular so caught my fancy that I pulled off my gloves and laboriously copied it down by hand:
cold....
A writer & translator of poetry (Russian in particular) lives a few miles from me, much closer if you bushwhack through the woods. There's a little side trail off the RR grade I take the dog most afternoons, which I explored solo one bitterly cold winter day a few years back. I discovered that he had not only blazed the trails, but had laminated gems of poetry and nailed them to random trees. It was like an Easter egg hunt. One in particular so caught my fancy that I pulled off my gloves and laboriously copied it down by hand:
- Word of a Tree –
(Jean-Pierre Rosnay)
A tree speaks
others listen.
The blackbirds murmur,
the shrubbery sings with half-closed eyes.
The tree tells an old story
about a bird
long dead
on the topmost branch
where he waited in vain, winter and summer
the return of the chosen one.
The tree speaks of the friendship between a squirrel
and a tree
murdered one day by woodcutters.
The tree speaks
with the movement of leaves
about the little squirrel who died of grief.
The tree speaks of the sky
and of the shepherd who watches clouds.
The tree speaks of the sea
he tells his regret
for never having approached it
then adds that winds often bring
unexpected messages
from faraway voices.
The tree raises the tone
says that he has no use for mankind
that he prefers turtles
rabbits, boars
and that he has heard nothing but good
of elephants, giraffes, hippopotami
and even crocodiles
who are at home in the river
and very patient.
(Jean-Pierre Rosnay)
A tree speaks
others listen.
The blackbirds murmur,
the shrubbery sings with half-closed eyes.
The tree tells an old story
about a bird
long dead
on the topmost branch
where he waited in vain, winter and summer
the return of the chosen one.
The tree speaks of the friendship between a squirrel
and a tree
murdered one day by woodcutters.
The tree speaks
with the movement of leaves
about the little squirrel who died of grief.
The tree speaks of the sky
and of the shepherd who watches clouds.
The tree speaks of the sea
he tells his regret
for never having approached it
then adds that winds often bring
unexpected messages
from faraway voices.
The tree raises the tone
says that he has no use for mankind
that he prefers turtles
rabbits, boars
and that he has heard nothing but good
of elephants, giraffes, hippopotami
and even crocodiles
who are at home in the river
and very patient.
.
"Falsehood flies, the Truth comes limping after it." - Jonathan Swift, ca. 1710
"Falsehood flies, the Truth comes limping after it." - Jonathan Swift, ca. 1710
Re: Billy Doyle
wow ...thanx for sharing sasha ( and for taking the time to copy it down ).....these are the real gems in life, and perhaps they were aimed for us to discover, if we are willing and able.....when I was doing carpentry, particularly rehabbing, i began to find things, and messages inside walls...behind baseboards, ....coins...newspaper clippings, old bottles....so in that tradition i began to do the same....I also left dates and the names of my children in the hope that some day, someone will remodel again and find it, and who knows....maybe contact one of them, or one of their kids.....who knows
I did it a lot....so there is a shot
I did it a lot....so there is a shot
If you do not change your direction
you may end up where you are heading
you may end up where you are heading
Re: Billy Doyle
I've been back to the Preserve on several occasions - here's an Easter egg on one of the later hunts. Click on the images to enlarge.
. .
This is the 1st one I found, next to a balancing boulder
.
I like the austerity of this one...
.
This one needs to be read zig-zagging from left column to right column back to left - confused me at first
.
There are more - one about barred owls I liked - but I can't seem to find them......
.
"Falsehood flies, the Truth comes limping after it." - Jonathan Swift, ca. 1710
"Falsehood flies, the Truth comes limping after it." - Jonathan Swift, ca. 1710
Re: Billy Doyle
cool, I may steal his efforts and bring them to Maryland
If you do not change your direction
you may end up where you are heading
you may end up where you are heading
Re: Billy Doyle
The corner molding of my bathroom still has the tick marks we made of our growing daughter's height - and that around the door to the basement of the house I grew up in (long since reoccupied) probably still has the marks showing my "little" brother's height.... treasures worthless to all but those who lived them....saw wrote: ↑November 13th, 2019, 10:30 am.....these are the real gems in life, and perhaps they were aimed for us to discover, if we are willing and able.....when I was doing carpentry, particularly rehabbing, i began to find things, and messages inside walls.......so in that tradition i began to do the same....I also left dates and the names of my children in the hope that some day, someone will remodel again and find it.....
.
"Falsehood flies, the Truth comes limping after it." - Jonathan Swift, ca. 1710
"Falsehood flies, the Truth comes limping after it." - Jonathan Swift, ca. 1710
Who is online
Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 23 guests