THE FABLE OF THE GULL

This little fable was published in  ROUND, EARTH, POEMS a chapbook published by Jim Sorcic and Jenny Orvino at GUNRUNNER PRESS, in Milwaukee, Wisconsin in an edition of 300 copies.  It was later included in CRUISIN' AT THE LIMIT published by Kirk Robertson at Duck Down Press, Fallon, Nevada.

THE FABLE OF THE GULL

Once a gull decided to fly to the moon.  He flew higher 

than the road maps, higher than the desk globes, for it is 

very far to the moon.  After he had been flying for a few

days, he met a king who was also traveling.  “Where

are you going?” said the king.  “I am flying to the moon,”

said the gull.  “Why don’t you come with me,: asked the

king.  “I am going higher than everything, where I shall

stay and be king.”  “No thank you,” said the gull, I don’t

think I shall.”  When the gull reached the moon he heard

the king shouting and looked up to see him.  his voice

was small, because far above everything is a long way.

“Look at me, silly gull.  I am king.  I am higher than

everything.”  “Yes you are,” said the gull, “but to remain

king you must stay there and no one can come near

you.”  And saying this the gull returned to earth and 

played along many oceans.

ABOUT THE TELLINGS

ABOUT THE TELLINGS

(from The Book of Days)

From the far North come

The Tellings.  They come so that

We may learn the many ways of others

Who live here in this place with us,

Even if their voices be small or their habits

Not what we may understand from our own knowing.

Those who travel, those who name, bring

The Tellings to us in Autumn.  For almost

A week we watch their fires come closer as

They move down from the distances.

When they reach the meadows just beyond

The villages we send the children to them.

For three days they speak only to the children.

This is because the children

Are able to see the magic of The Tellings

More clearly than others.  They will learn

The songs and find roles to assume in the

Ways of The Tellings.  They will show us

What the travelers and those who name

Bring back to us.  They will be the vehicles.

When I was young I was among the first

To see the ladders turning in the air;

The ones of flame, the ones of ice and the ones

Changing color.  My part was that of the long

Bell and I would make its sound often, for it

Was pleasure for all to hear this curious sound.

This was long ago and this Telling is old.

Now we have music and the changing of the forms.

We also know the dance that moves the places of things,

So that which was far away may be near and that

Which was lost or almost forgotten may be found again.

Each time the Telling brings

Us what we do not know.

It is like what you call morning

When all is once again before you and unknown.

One time, in a telling, there came

A great room, so great that mighty

Rivers were within it.  This lasted

Many days and all that was asked there received reply.

We wait now for the return of the children.

Their voices can be heard at the edge of the wood

Lands.  They sound excited.  We are able to hear

Songs we do not know.

I am telling you these things about how we are

So you may come to recognize travelers and those

We name should they come near you in dreams

Or should you, in traveling, come upon things,

Or songs, or places requiring Tellings.  We await you.

PRESERVING WORDS

PRESERVING WORDS

We’ve had some of them stored for years in that wooden pantry just below the cellar stair, where mom kept the plums and tomatoes and pickles.  They were the words.  The special ones we didn’t use everyday.  When guests came we would open some and they would spark conversation.  After dinner with a slice of pie and slice of cheese those deeper ones that stuck to the sides of the jars would be scraped carefully and served up.  The ones that mattered, like blood and its engines, famine and tumult.  They are gone now.  So much time has passed since childhood that even the pantry is difficult to remember, let alone those words.  Still they pulse through our bodies.  Unlike cells they are not replaced every seven years by a new one.  We hold them in our hearts and mouths and call to one another across time as if it were a fence between yards.