I saw Ray’s poem at Woods Lot. I was scrolling down, and I ran across a picture of Dorothy Day. She would have been 109 years old today. Happy birthday. It’s a good picture, Dorothy seated, framed by the weapons of police officers, legs crossed, Dororthy serene, hands folded on her knee on the UFW picket line in Lamont, California in 1973, waiting. She was arrested. She was seventy-five years old.
I thought as I so often do that Mark Woods is the best. This picture of Dorothy Day by Bob Fitch really proved it again. What could equal this?
I scrolled down further and found
Monty please, Door Number Three
Ray SweatmanI am nothing more than the dreams that dream me.
Inventing games under the cover of innocent trees,
cashing a paycheck, working the latest gadget,
walking down the aisle, smiling for the cameras,
comparing the different boxes of instant rice
falling from the ceiling of the supermarket,
getting stung by bees, trying to cover my
naked bumps down an empty corridor
of footsteps and bells banging from
the inside of a locker Let me out.
… (more)
Just two of the dozen or so items Mark Woods presented today, November 8, 2006, two that were personally meaningful for me… and not a mention of Bush or Rumsfeld, Pelosi or Webb. How refreshing.
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