. The Poet's Beat .

. The Poet's Beat .
"A working class citizen is apt to see this country for what it's worth... A miasma of interlocking variations on differing demographics and geographies unlike any other inhabited space in the world. The American Dream. The rolling footloose hills and the upstanding Apache badlands where criminals cut bread with priests and the children of Hollywood. I am no different. Yet I am still brazen enough to think that the world is a playground built by the rugged hands of a hard-working man in order that my fantasies be materialized." -- P.P. Vonnersdale

Sunday, February 21, 2010

This Ol' Mug

One of my earliest recorded poems. I wrote this one morning while working as a wrangler on a ranch deep in the San Juan Mountains in Colorado. I've never seen such beautiful solitude since, nor as many stars.

I woke up this morning
And couldn’t believe what I saw –
A hundred billion stars
stretching from one side of the valley
to the other.
Man, I thought,
that’s a lot of mugs!

The sun crept up over coffee,
over mountain peaks.
The steam from my cup
blinded me
as the mist lifted in the fields.

An eagle screamed
and because it was still early
the sound of his voice
went on and on and on.
I thought,
I could die in a place where eagle’s scream.

And I’d be happy,
happy as a mug.


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