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Bearings

I took my bearings from
a tattered map taped to a lamppost
turned left at the inside-out umbrella
propped against a dumpster
& continued straight past
the strip malls
& the self-storage units

until I reached open ground
contoured with corn stubble
a crow on pond ice
the blue trees of distance

I walked into the wind
sleet stinging my face
& shook my head at every driver
who pulled alongside & gestured to get in
this was where I’d been going
I was looking for a reason
to turn back

This entry was posted Monday, November 10th, 2008 at 4:23 pm and is filed under Memoir, Poems & poem-like things and tagged greatest hits.  Print

5 Responses to “Bearings”

1. dale says:

   November 10, 2008 at 6:05 pm

   This is haunting.

   Reply
2. marja-leena says:

   November 10, 2008 at 9:23 pm

   Haunting, yes. And with that spot of beauty in ‘the blue trees of distance’.

   Reply
3. Paul says:

   November 10, 2008 at 11:46 pm

   That’s a really well made gentle thought poem. It reads lovely out loud, great sounds a walking like rhythm.

   Reply
4. christine says:

   November 11, 2008 at 10:04 pm

   This one makes me smile. I love how close to the things and the lay of the land the narrator is.

   Reply
5. Dave says:

   November 12, 2008 at 9:40 am

   Thanks — I’m glad this resonated with y’all. I tend to think that understatement is the only way to approach this kind of subject.

   Reply

Welcome

This is the weblog of Dave Bonta, a poet, editor, and shutterbug from the eastern edge of western Pennsylvania. For background on the site, see the About page. For more about me, see my Google profile.

   

 

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  "On the whole I concentrated on things and people that I found charming and splendid; my notes are also full of poems and observations on trees and plants, birds and insects."
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• Smorgasblog

  • not native fruit
    i find them inspiring because they represent ordinary working-class people expressing their spiritual creativity in a free and exuberant manner. these folks allow their spirit and zest for living to spill out creatively filling space and air with color and sound. against the backdrop of an often grim and always gritty-gray environment they project an alternative.
    ----

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    ----

  • Clive Hicks-Jenkins' Artlog
    Sometimes the cold was such that I sat with my feet in newspaper-stuffed cardboard boxes to stop my toes from freezing. So there was rigour and hardship of a kind, which is what I wanted. I think perhaps over-idealising solitude might be a failing of creative people.
    ----

  • Velveteen Rabbi
    The sadness arises
    again
    and cuts my legs
    out from under me

    the monotony
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    ----

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    I wave at black windows as the orange bus sets. My son, where do you sit? Do you see? look?
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    One good thing about drawing snow scenes is you can leave a lot of space blank. Artists are basically lazy, or else you'd find us working down to the Ford plant or whatnot. Instead of losing appendages in machinery or listening to assholes say "How's that report coming, Taylor?" we get to sit around playing with paints, a skill we pretty much mastered in kindergarten.
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    ----

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