Monday, January 7<\/p>\n
\u201cSnow was blinding
\nand blowing from
\na fierce wind . . .\u201d<\/p>\n
Over these years of the Work Day\/Hard Time poetry list I\u2019ve learned to expect surprises. Strong poets almost never slip in an unnecessary word. \u201cFlint-hard language\u201d is how Joseph Brown describes a strong poet (he is one himself). Expecting surprises becomes a method of praying, of noticing what waits to be noticed. The mystic poet, Jim Janda, needs you to read him out loud, with pauses \u2014 better two reads too. What does he notice here: winter wind? bitter cold? grocery cart as one\u2019s closet? two dogs? warm enough? the social worker?<\/p>\n
Surprises everywhere in this poem with no title. JJ died ten or more years ago. I am one of many who miss his eyes, his ears, and his voice.<\/p>\n
Have a blest day,<\/p>\n
john sj<\/p>\n
Today\u2019s post<\/strong><\/p>\n Snow was blinding one of his dogs in the basket of and the snow kept another dog was slowly \u201cAin\u2019t no shelter that \u201cdon\u2019t worry lady \u201cI got all I need\u2014sure J. Janda<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Monday, January 7 \u201cSnow was blinding and blowing from a fierce wind . . .\u201d Over these years of the Work Day\/Hard Time poetry list I\u2019ve learned to expect surprises. Strong poets almost never slip in an unnecessary word. \u201cFlint-hard … Continue reading
\nand blowing from
\na fierce wind
\nalmost obliterating<\/p>\n
\ncurled up on
\nhis sleeping bag<\/p>\n
\nhis grocery cart
\nnext to the storefront<\/p>\n
\nblowing while<\/p>\n
\nwagging its tail
\nand looking up at
\nhim explaining to
\nthe social worker,<\/p>\n
\nallows dogs and I
\ncan\u2019t part with them<\/p>\n
\nthey plus the sleeping bag
\nkeep me warm enough<\/p>\n
\nis cold today, ain\u2019t it\u201d<\/p>\n