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I've been writing in recent weeks
about the apocalypse of American life,
caused by the coming shortage of oil.
But I wrote a diary last week,
between IK diaries,
Seeds
I'll get a rake,
and maybe a hoe,
and break up the clods,
and break them up some more,
and rake out the fine grain soil,
and feel so good.
Then,
Oh then!
I'll plant the seeds,
just deep enough,
and water the seeds,
just wet enough.
Then I'll become a small child,
checking the plots,
looking for sprouts,
with no patience,
and so excited
at each sprout I see.
and I got this reaction:
It's so William Carlos Williams! (2+ / 0-)
Recommended by:
RiveroftheWest, bigjacbigjacbigjac
I love it.
by estreya on Fri Apr 26, 2013 at 02:36:26 PM CDT
[ Reply to This ]
I looked him up:
William Carlos Williams
The Red Wheelbarrow
so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.
William Carlos Williams
But here,
in this explanation of his poetry,
you can read the explanation of mine:
The breaks in the poem search out a natural pause spoken in the American idiom that is also reflective of rhythms found within jazz sounds[....]
Bingo!
I'm simply hitting the enter key
to bring about a pause for the reader,
at each point in the essay
where I would pause
if I were speaking to the reader
face to face.
That's what he,
William Carlos Williams,
a poet recognized
as a pretty good poet,
did,
and that's what I do.
Makes me feel good,
as if I'm on to something!
Well,
I've done a little more research
into our fossil fuel situation.
But I'm not in the mood
to get into the details today.
I'll tell you a little more
about our back yard garden,
since the point of my apocalypse essays
is to point out our trap
of depending on fossil fuels
to grow our food,
and our back yard garden,
and the ducks we plan to raise
are symbolic of what Americans may be forced to do,
someday:
grow our own food,
raise our own livestock,
feed ourselves,
directly,
from the land.
My Tonia just told me
she wants six plots planted,
each plot 4' x 4',
four in the back,
two in front.
The house faces West,
so the back yard plants
would be shaded by the house itself
in the summer afternoons,
so Tonia said
those plants that need more sun,
we'll plant in the front.
Last night,
I bought a bag of 80 yellow onion bulbs,
for $1.58,
at the Walmart where I work.
Tonia said,
one plot just for the onions.
I also bought a bag of strawberry plants.
I remember picking strawberries from the garden,
and eating them on the spot,
when I was a child,
in my Grandma's garden in Missouri.
Doing that makes you a gambler;
most of the strawberries
are not sweet,
just as most of your lottery tickets
are not winners.
But the rare sweet strawberry,
and the hope for more,
makes you keep picking,
makes you keep eating;
a hopeless gambler.
We also have seeds for
tomatoes,
green beans,
wax beans,
cabbage,
turnip greens,
carrots,
cucumbers,
and watermelons.
I want to plant the watermelons out front,
to show off to the neighbors,
and make their mouths water.
I hope they don't steal all the melons.
Before I end this diary,
I want to clear up one thing:
For years,
I've been advocating contraception,
specifically,
surgical sterilization.
Doing the math,
and deeply worried about famine in America,
I'm advocating surgery for four out of five couples,
and one child from the fifth,
and then that couple has the surgery,
so we have one child from ten adults,
to reduce the population quickly,
before it's too late.
But one point is very important:
I'm advocating that the American people
do this themselves,
as a grass roots movement.
I'm hoping that young Americans,
when they read what I'm writing here,
or other words by other writers,
I'm hoping those young Americans realize
that my sig line is true:
Bringing a child into this world,
at this point in history,
is a crime:
the crime of child endangerment.
Thanks for reading.
P. S.:
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or any Tuesday in the near future.
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Looking forward to your poetry!