I continue the archive with a photo from yesterday and a poem posted on Invalid's Workshop five years ago. Those who follow that blog will know why I am pondering the prairie or, as I like to call it, out standing in my field. Those who wish to know may click Fire-break [Earning My Keep!]. I am contemplating a chainsaw at my feet while stabilizing myself with a eucalyptus wand (those readers who, like I, fall down on uneven ground, please take note). After considerable reflection, I worked up energy to pick the saw up and carry it inside our west gate.
The photo is recent. Poem is archival. An ongoing battle to carve a wilderness out of the jungle has accessed something primal, protecting one's home from grass-fire. A margin is mowed and eucalyptus trees, which are full of oil and go up like Roman candles, must be cleared. At 65, I am too old for this. Yet, as I slash my way south, I have been bucking branches for next winter's wood, so I am also too much of an old cheapskate to decline this recreation. It is life serving life arriving at an archival poem about the universe, which exhibits all the qualifying signs of being alive:
Seven Words In Search Of Punctuation [Sunday, May 16, 2010]
What is created
My friend, Will, and I had a talk about it. He said, "I think either you've created a new poetic form or you've found one I
never knew about (and there are probably bazillions of those). In any
event your manipulation of these words makes entire sense to me, and I
like the 8-6-8 words/three verse format for its playfulness and balance."
To which I replied, "Say Willie, howzabout we call this form the Bazillion --7 words arranged into 3 stopless bazills?"
And that is how the Stopless Bazillion came to be.