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Ashland, Oregon is a community awash with creative people: writers, actors, musicians, painters, sculptors, etc. How could I stand out here? What could I add? And then it came to me…of course! I would form a dance company! And so The Caraher Modern Dance Company was born. Like most kids, it had long been...
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Photo by Scott Olson I end this month of poetry with the lyric to a song I wrote years ago. It is unrecorded and I’ve rarely performed it. I thought of it on a recent trip back to Iowa. Although much has changed since I left, there is something about the vast skies and horizons...
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Abu Malek, chemical attack survivor, in the Ghouta town of AinTarma, Syria. Photo by Reuters. Words In full throat we once cried plaintive notes that lift the tide and mothers coo and fathers weep and all we do is steal their sleep And then we astound and form a word a more precious sound...
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Jesus and Satan Out on the Plains Jesus and Satan out on the plains both of them living on long-ago fame They got off their horses, holstered their guns And talked turn of course to Thy Kingdom Come “I brought the light and the world was saved.” “Yeah, but I brought the right to...
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Travelin’ Boy – Part Two Previously on “Travelin’ Boy”: About to accede to the Lord’s employ I was seized and tossed like a toy Upon the water I saw sweet bliss fade and die Did not resist is how I survived I was lifted, drifted, mystified What tomorrow would offer I landed in the...
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Travelin’ Boy – Part One I grew up in Iowa knew I was a guy in love with any place the other side of the country So I stuck my thumb out Luckily Luck left a crumb out But funds and fun done run out in Kentucky I can confidently assert this:...
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The Atchison Topeka The Atchison Topeka – midnight round farm girl sleepin’ she hears the sound slips into dreams, she’s the engineer locomotive steams to a wild frontier sails the prairie, rhythm of wheels rails carry her through moonlit fields sits on a pillow (she’s only ten) sounds the whistle, “Here I am!” Picks up...
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The Obituary Poet There once was an obituary poet Took the prose and sorta rewrote it Those honored in verse went too soon to the hearse (though a few voluntarily chose it) All lives (he guessed) were precious But few deaths stopped the presses But if you’ve made The Times You’ve done something sublime Or...
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Thomas A. Turkey 2017-2017 We grieve Tom Turkey, my what a shame Richly deserving of much wider acclaim We say goodbye, with a prayer sacred, stately: “No, it’s not dry, I just really like gravy!” He knew from the start like Papa and Mama He’d play his part in the white and dark...