Invitation to virtual poetry reading featuring Doug von Koss - Saturday, April 8 from 10:00 to 10:30 AM (Pacific Time)

[Larry Robinson]

Warm your soul, feed your spirit and allow yourself to have a good time with sage, poet and performer Doug von Koss as he  shares wit and wisdom from his book of poetry, Gratitude Goulash. He has taught and presented up and down California and around the world, always in a “perfection-free zone.”  Doug is a founding member of Rumi’s Caravan. It will not be an ordinary zoom.

This reading is free of charge and you do not need to pre-register.
Just click on this link: https://us02web.zoom.us/j/87684171689?pwd=ejl5Ly93TlE5UldweXpNMFpPbVhDdz09 <https://us02web.zoom.us/j/87684171689?pwd=ejl5Ly93TlE5UldweXpNMFpPbVhDdz09>
And enter this passcode: 760317
 

Cleaning Up After the Poetry Salon                      

It's not always easy.

Proper nouns are manageable.   
They stack well.
Biggest on the bottom - 
The Great Plains, Idaho, Mt. Rainier -
then the smaller stuff left behind - 
boxcars, photographs, you know.

Adjectives are remarkably tough to clean up.
The dry ones catch on the furniture, 
bury themselves in cracks
hide in the pocket of an old sweater.
They crumble to awkward, ungainly, 
unmanageable, yes fragile 
pieces …that somehow cunningly avoid 
the shedding broom some poet has 
left behind.
And wet ones like sticky and slimy - yikes!

Cleaning up the leavings of Wendell Berry  -
It's a grange meeting hall,
rich black dirt everywhere, 
corn stalks, the lingering thick odor of 
compost and just a hint of cow manure 
on your shoes and your best carpet. 

And Jesus!  Those poems about stars - 
the poets have no idea.
      Whole constellations left behind -
	Watch it with the Pleides, they have sharp points
	And the Dog Star bites.

My rule would be - 
you brought 'em, you take 'em home.

Food is good.
Mom's apple pie and romantic dinner's for two
Are usually digested by the salon - no leftovers.
 It's the ethnic dishes with strange names 
	luedafisk, sauerkraut, gefiltafish
	and anything made with hot peppers
	Well, you know.

Poets - a little consideration - 
slip in some sponges, maybe
A mop or really - just a mouthful of food, 
a spoonful -
yes, spoons for everybody.

Oh I could go on…
mixed metaphors sliding 
down the walls and tangled
In the drapes.

Cliches hiding their heads in the corners. 
Shy, embarrassed marmots standing by dead seals.
Stinking sea weed	 and sharks behind the sofa
And fish - fish beyond number - 
flopping on the floor.	

Verbs are easy - they move around 
so much - just
open the door and they 
take care of themselves.

But poets, 
It's the birds left behind…
	Robin, wrens, a flock of seagulls,  
a murder of crows…
For God's sake leave a window open.

But eagle, oh my friends, the eagle
He glowers there 
from the chandelier
Royally pissed!
A moment in a poem
	Then forgotten
		In the closed room.

I know, I know.
I'm making a new mess now -	
I'll need some help here with 
Idaho and that eagle.

For the rest
I brought 'em.   
I'll take 'em home.

			- Doug von Koss	


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