Sunday Poetry

Thursday’s post had me thinking of my favorite poet. His name is Ron Padgett.

Here he is.

That picture always reminds me of the father-in-law in the movie Fargo.

“Didn't even finish his dinner. He's going to MacDonalds. What do you think they do there? They don't drink milkshakes, I assure you.”

Anyway. I say “favorite poet” as if there is a long list of poets I read and he is my favorite. No. He’s like the one poet alive that I know. But it’s good to say you have a favorite poet. It makes you sounds smart. And it’s just good to have “favorite” things in general. Favorite comedian. Favorite band. Favorite director. Favorite author. That allows you to approach life in a manner where you are looking for things to appreciate.

I’ve posted one of his poems before. Here it is again..

Here are some others that I enjoy…

The Japanese Garden

In 1958 or ’59 when I was sixteen
I came up with the idea
of replacing my parents’ backyard
with a Japanese garden –
this in a middle-class neighborhood
of Tulsa, Oklahoma.
I even showed a design to my mother,
who tried to imagine her smooth green lawn
replaced by rocks, gravel,
and, somehow, a stream.
Even before she said diplomatically
I’ll show this to your daddy
I saw that the whole idea was unrealistic,
and I put out my hand for the drawing,
relieved to be denied.

But what if my parents had gone on
not only to put in the garden
but also to demolish our house
and replace it with a Japanese one,
donned kimonos and learned Japanese,
my dad strutting among the pines like a samurai,
mother on bended knees, head bowed?

The house stayed the same, the grass grew
and got mowed, I went away to college,
my parents divorced.

Now someone else lives there,
happy among the cherry blossoms that never fall.

✿✿✿

This one’s too long to post here. It’s called, “How to be Perfect.”

✿✿✿

This final one is my favorite. I see in it an approach to life that I embrace.

The Love Cook

Let me cook you some dinner.
Sit down and take off your shoes
and socks and in fact the rest
of your clothes, have a daiquiri,
turn on some music and dance
around the house, inside and out,
it’s night and the neighbors
are sleeping, those dolts, and
the stars are shining bright,
and I’ve got the burners lit
for you, you hungry thing.