It's A Cold Morning
I approach you from behind,
you with your hand axe,
another blow shaving wood.
Your hair escapes to hang loose.
January 8, 2012 5:15 AM
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The View From The Northern Wall
Some years ago my poetry took on a mythic flavor and I became a character in my own poems, a mage, "the man of the Northern Wall". This apellation is not completely fictional. My middle name is Noordwal, a Dutch term for north wall, though in current Dutch it mainly means north bank as in riverbank. I was told that an ancestor, a Portugese Jew escaping the Inquisition, settled in a small Dutch town and took this name from where he settled, near the north wall of the town. I have thought for a long time that -wal meant wall, think my mother told me that. A linguist might say that my usage is no longer common, is an older usage, but then the Inquisition happened in Portugal a few centuries ago, right around the time the Moors lost control of the Iberian Peninsula and the Jews lost the modest protection given them by Islam. Now I write as this mage, my poetry persona.
About Me
- christopher
- Oregon City, Oregon
- Mechanical designer for industry, now retired, once a Bay Area Hippie, went undercover in 1972, I've been writing poetry for years. Contact: 3topper45@gmail.com
Over The Wall
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Names for Things1 day ago
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chopping water and hauling wood2 months ago
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O6 years ago
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Bye for now7 years ago
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Your narcissistic flower8 years ago
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The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.