A thought, or is it two? About love and poetry

Poetry/Love


Poetry would be
One fifth less without sight
Less what is said
With words, than the intention.

Love would be
One sixth less without sight
A precious ingredient
What unnamed sense, the addition?


Ken Goree

The Fifth Poem

There may be a story behind this poem to my daughter.

Princess

To my Sweet Princess,

Years ago you asked me to call you Princess.
Because you are my princess, I did, and still do.

I smile when I hear you sing along to music in the car.
Your voice is becoming beautiful.

You make me proud, when I take you to important events;
Weddings, Bat Mitzvas, school events.
You can be taken “out in public.”
Everyone comments on the elegant lady you are.

Your beautiful caring spirit shows through
Everyone comments on the beautiful woman you are becoming.

I see your strength
your empathy
your loyalty.
You are a true friend, and those around you are blessed
Blessed to boast that you are their friend.

You see the hurt your friends feel
And help them mend, help them smile again.
When I’m feeling hurt
I picture your face,
Remember the music of your laughter, and
I smile again.

My life is more fulfilling
because you are in it.

Years ago you asked me to call you Princess.
Because you are my princess, I did, and still do.

Dad

My experiences that gave rise to "Goose Food"

The poem Goose Food is grounded in my memories of time spent in Eastern
Washington in the late fall and through the winter. The air is dry
and cold, and the bare surface of the highway is the only thing not blanketed in a hard white crust that will linger until spring. The harsh Kittitas Valley wind whips snow in a whirling, twisting dance, like ghost snakes writhing over the aged and worn grey surface of the pavement.

“V” after “V” of Geese in formation drop into fields until there are thousands gathered together. A few stand guard as the flock talk, quarrel and grumble among themselves, while working to wrest sustenance from the frozen soil.

The Third

Goose Food

While driving through the country
I passed a snowy field
What was in the summer bountiful
Has given up its yield.

A thousand black shapes on there
I see them from a far
Grow in size, grey, black and white
As I approach them in my car.

They prod and poke with long neck and beak
For what is left behind
For the farmer, feeding geese in winter
Was not on his mind.

A seed or two they pull from earth
Some juicy bugs there, too
The frozen earth so hard gives up
A worm they'd not eschew.

I sip from my warm coffee cup
And those geese I watch
I aim my brand new camera
And freeze them with one shot.

I appreciate their beauty
As they seek out frozen stem
Their courageous struggle awes me
But I wouldn't want to be them.

K.G.
Brandon Myuse