Thursday, November 06, 2008


"It's mornings like this;
The stingy sun trying to hold back
Even the warmth of its reflection
Flashing coldly In the lake.
When November leaves drop in sudden gusts,
Like a red and yellow flock of birds
Swooping at once to ground.
Or even nights:
When winds reach wet hands
To take you spinning with random paper
Down back street gutters, under straining bridges
To clogged rivers.
It's this:
The time of year, along with spring,
When poets must take care
Not to sing the same old songs
Stolen from tribal memory."
- Thomas R. Drinkard


Blogger Doug P. Baker said...

Lovely photo, lovely poem, lovely post.

9:59 PM  
Blogger KGMom said...

Ahhh--you have returned, with lovely photos and evocative words.

10:58 PM  
Blogger LauraHinNJ said...

Ahh... but those same old songs are sooo comfortable.


12:14 AM  
Blogger Sky said...

you are back!!!

4:22 PM  
Blogger Endment said...

doug p. baker
thanks for dropping by - really enjoyed brousing through your blog

thanks for the welcome and the encouragement

same old songs are good for cold afternoons

I'm trying -

4:44 PM  
Anonymous Cindy said...

I was just THRILLED to pieces to see your name on my journal today. I've surely missed you my friend. Welcome back! A lovely and very fitting verse- 'tribal memory' really rings a loud bell for me.
So good to read your words again :)

6:21 PM  
Blogger Sky said...

well, like cindy, i was thrilled to see you at cate's this morning. your photos, journaling, and the poetry you share always bring smiles. sometimes i have felt great envy at the extraordinary experiences with wildlife you have, hoping for my own one day. i hope you are back for a long time to come. i have missed you! :)

1:28 AM  
Blogger Tom said...

Thanks for posting my poem. It has been in several little journals. If you'd like a spring poem, contact me.


3:50 PM  
Blogger Endment said...

Thanks so much for stopping by. I tried to locate you to ask permission before posting but couldn't find any contact information

I would love a spring poem.

4:15 PM  

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