I don’t write in a journal everyday, but I have accumulated many entries over the past 50+ years beginning in 1966. Some items evolved into longer works. Among the leftovers little pieces survived. I thought a collection of these with a piece culled from the same date in a past year would make an interesting yearbook. The consistencies and inconsistencies of mind, skipping back and forth across time, provide varied perspectives. It is difficult to remember the context of the past we’ve lived; we also make suppositions about times that predate ourselves.

The few alterations from original drafts were to improve clarity. The worst of my work is not included. There remains enough mediocrity and immaturity to make me feel humble and you feel smart. There are also moments of accidental insight and incidental humor.

Author Stephen Crane referred to his little pieces as pills…apparently they were small and somewhat hard to swallow, but good for you.


Comments Welcome!

Thursday, January 21, 2021

The Ballad of Iron Mike

 

from this week in 2018  (I was 73)

 

     The Ballad of Iron Mike

 

Iron Mike in the cold dark night

climbed from the hole to walk the town 

In a cloud of breath he might be death

or so thought the wailing hound

         The ore I sold set him free

         and me, I’m homeward bound

Any who saw doubted their sight

A miner phantom out from the ground 

striking his pick like a walking stick

Twelve times I heard the sound

         The iron I sold set him free

         and me, I’m homeward bound

I could not call, my lips sealed tight

my knuckles white my chest did pound 

What he struck made my luck

He left for me what he had found

         The steel I sold set him free

         and me, I’m homeward bound

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