Ending

Cold

Drips echo
Off Steep
Sandstone
Cliffs

Cold
Silence echoes
Off Clean
Painted
Walls

Chill
Saturates air
In shadowed
Dark

Ravine

Chill
Empties air
In indifferent
Uncaring

House

Blackness
Consumes light
Of Chasm's

Darkening
Night

Blackness
Consumes spirit
Of heart’s
Darkening
Light

Ken Goree

The poem about the rope swing reminded me of another story about “The Falls.”  When I was a kid there was a teenager who took his life in the ravine at the base of the waterfall.  I don’t know how he ended up in such a painful, dark place.  I wonder where he would be today if someone had been able to light the candle he needed to guide him out of his darkness.

Swing Time

Swinging ‘cross a valley

On a little, tiny rope
That it doesn’t snap for me
Is what I truly hope

Rushing wind goes through my hair
It makes a little whistle
If I fell to ground from here
I’d explode like a missile

Pouring sweat, it slicks my hands
and stings into my eyes
Not planning now to lose my grip
I clamp down with my thighs

Finishing my turn I drop
most heavy to the ground
It’s good I finished then, I think
For the rope became unbound


Ken Goree


I hope everyone has had a chance to take a ride on a rope swing.  The one I am remembering for this poem was in the Lake Hills area of Bellevue, at a place we called “The Falls.”  The water flowing out of Phantom Lake had formed a forty-foot deep ravine.  Someone had fastened a rope to a tree that hung out over the cliff.  We were kids, and the fact that it was a forty-foot drop to jagged rocks and twisted stumps didn’t even register as a reason not to use the swing.  

Bad Dog

What do you do with a dog that won’t stop
Chewing on things that he shouldn’t?
I like my molding, my chair and my stair
I felt I should beat him, but couldn’t

I bought him some chew toys, and ones that he liked
But somehow they all have got hidden
I bet that he hides them, so to have an excuse

Didn’t matter that chewing’s forbidden

So, I have no good answers to this problem mine
He usually’s a fun canine angel
But when he starts chewin’ on things that are keepers
His hide, I think I could strangle


Ken Goree

I cannot believe Orion chewed the molding.  It’s right in the entry hall where he likes to sprawl out on the cool oak flooring.  I didn’t see it happen, but I can imagine him lazily, without much thought or real interest, taking a chew here and there through the afternoon. 

It would be like you or I leaning on a porch rail on a hot, still, summer afternoon.  We have a good friend nearby, as we spend time talking about nothing in particular, or of much importance.  As we chat, we absent-mindedly notice a loose chip of paint.  Our fingernail tests the edge of it and the chip comes up.  As we listen to our friend drone on in a sleepy voice, our fingernail finds another loose edge, and another, and another.  Suddenly we really notice what we’ve done.  There is a large, foot-long patch gone from the white porch rail, and the bright blue of the railing’s former color announces its presence vividly. 

The difference is, with our opposable thumbs and debit cards we can get the supplies to fix what we have done before anyone notices.  Orion isn’t so lucky.

One Stick

One
Stick of
Solid hickory wood
Split, cut to length
For a man of energy

Smooth
Strong wood
Giving itself for
A tool of necessity
Life giving protection for man

Man
Using self
Mind and strength
Calling forth from wood
Artful tool of useful invention

Arms
Push, shape
Back and forth
To bring form to
Fruition as a new bow


Ken Goree


I was looking at my wall … doesn’t everyone, and I started thinking of the decoration that hangs there.  It is a hickory bow, which I made last summer.  I have to give credit to my friend Katie Johnson.  She gave me the gift certificate to the bow making class. 

I had a wonderful time over two days.  I started with one straight, unformed piece of wood.  It was hickory.  I pushed, scraped, carved and stretched the wood until it took form as a bow.  In the end, I ended up with a graceful decoration for my wall, possibly an exciting object of imagination and sport for my grandchildren, someday … hopefully, not too soon.  

Firelight

Firelight

Warm calming firelight

Dance patterns around the room

Relax tired man

Ken Goree