Where the Natural World Stood

'The Almighty Hand' by Rebecca Rebouche
Photo by Sarah Bonnette, Times-Picayune

The Unlikely Naturalist

by Donald G. Redman

Her magic was unveiled

on a warm night In November.

Twinkling lights led

along a wooded path

to a clearing

where gothic creatures are standing in for

humanity.

Birds and fish swarm together,

zebras fall from the sky,

foxes carried on the back of a buffalo.

I feel the beauty and the profound meaning

of the world,

her supernatural face
brightly colored.

I visualize swans at night

And stars falling to the ground;

The world in pieces,

pouring into the shore.

'The Unlikely Naturalist' was created by repurposing an article by Sarah Bonnette in the north shore edition of the Times-Picayune featuring the artwork of Rebecca Rebouche'.

The inspiration behind blackout poetry comes from Austin Kleon.

First draft attempt:

It was a night full of magic/with twinkling lights vodka and cocktails./Musicians/in the clearing/Waited./An ethereal scene/200 people Hanging/where the natural world stood./Creatures standing in for/humanity

dream-like,/birds and fish swarm,/zebras fall from the sky,/foxes carried on the back of a buffalo./I felt the beauty and the profound meaning/Of the world./Her supernatural face unveiled,/A brightly colored hand struck me,/the tip of each finger containing swans/Eyes all around but only two are visible/I visualize swans at night and all the stars falling/To the ground

And:

 It was a night full of magic/in the clearing/Gothic creatures are standing./birds and fish swarm,/zebras mingle with whales,/foxes carried on the back of a buffalo./I felt the beauty and the profound meaning/Of the world.

I observe her face and/can’t sleep because/I visualize swans at night and all the stars falling/To the ground

And:

Her magic was unveiled/On a warm night/in a horse pasture../Twinkling lights led/Along a wooded path/To a clearing./Musicians had been camping/And sharing/Food and vodka and stout./They were the reason/200 people had come to the woods./Gothic creature standing for humanity./Birds and fish swarm together,/zebras fall from the sky,/foxes in trees/A swan carried on the back of a buffalo./I felt the beauty and the profound meaning/of the world./Then the Almighty Hand struck me./I can’t sleep./I visualize swans at night/And the stars falling to the ground,/The world a piano turning into birds./Human existence gone/And I am better for it.

Copyright 2014 Donald G. Redman All Rights Reserved

Cowboy Sailor - a poem

E. Valjean Redman
1941

Cowboy Sailor

By Donald G. Redman

I found an old black & white of you -

You’re about twenty best as I can tell -

Cocksure in your Navy blues,

Hands on hips like a fashion model,

Bell bottoms tucked loosely

Inside a pair of cowboy boots.

A style of rebellion, maybe

Or just showing off those leather beauts?

Curls peeking under the Dixie Cup;

Puffing wisdom from a Canadian pipe.

You look ridiculous in that getup

And yet somehow rakish, the archetype

Of all young men off to war before

Knowing the horror of war.

An image of you so far-flung

From the old man residing in my mind -

My father, so incredibly young

And brash and unconfined.

I sift through time for your words

Like an archaeologist sieving

Sand dunes for ancient potsherds

Words of dismay, still disbelieving

The ravages of the relentless clock.

Having glimpsed your own reflection

You told me of your outright shock

Of having aged without detection.

The mirror reflected an old man;

You said that was impossible

For inside lived a much younger man -

A man still vigorous and vital.

I agreed with the mirror’s projection;

Standing before me was not a man of youth

But a relic from an ancient generation

How could you be so blind to the truth?

You’ve been gone for many years now

And I watch silently as time adds

New lines to my face as with a plow,

Carving up my youth with an adze.

I hear anew your lamentations

Understanding now that you had no choice

But to succumb to the depredations

Of time without consent or a voice.

The old man still lives large within -

I love the old you, I truly do -

But age has cleared my mind’s vision

And I can see the cowboy sailor, too.

You there, young buck in the photo,

With your arms akimbo

Like a comic book hero,

Where o where did you go?

Copyright 2014 Donald G. Redman All Rights Reserved.