Tag Archives: park

November 19, 2014

The Biographer

By Alex Longstreth
The Biographer
61 Biographers don’t have to write
to paint a picture clear.
And that’s good news for aging men
whose sight fades by the year.
65 An elder man sits in the park,
a sculptor of the phrase.
He chisels, carves, and blows at dust,
unfolds a hidden face.
One day he sits beside two boys.
70 He’s seen both kids before.
They run around, play make-believe,
throw real life out the door.
Old man decides to join their fun.
He paints a world from scratch.
75 All three discuss and come alive,
their fairytale unmatched.
The mother of the boys stops by.
She walks her golden dog,
which storytellers turn to fey :
80 a slimy pet green frog.
And while this fam’ly laughs and plays
the old man spies abroad –
across the park he briefly sees
a mute ideologue.
85 A lonely sight, if truth be told,
the sole man strides away,
but not before he yearns to hear
the old man’s group’s parley.
Biographer then starts to craft
90 that young man’s sorry tale:
a life of outside note taking
devoid of zest, just stale.
The story formed in old man’s head,
a plan develops quick.
95 He waves goodbye to boys and dog,
and heads off with a skip.
Next day the stealthy old man waits
until he spots his prey.
Then he confronts the thinker man,
100 who plainly shies away.
“Tell me what you’re thinking, sir.
Please share with me your thoughts.”
But ponderer, as you might guess,
just answers he will not.
105  “Oh come now, sir, don’t steal your mind.
Please, any thought will do.”
The young and thoughtful target says:
“No one’s as strange as you.”
At this the old man has his in,
110 a gauntlet, if you will.
He spins out tales of modern knights,
and stranger men yet still.
The younger man snaps at the bait.
A conversation blooms.
115 The men compare the men they know,
each detail well-exhumed.
Biographer’s plan did succeed.
The two men speak at ease.
A thought alone cannot do much
120 But shared, it’s limit-free…

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November 17, 2014

The Wonderer

By Alex Longstreth
The Wonderer
1 A wonderer can lose his aim
if left to wonder long.
Here one such man walks in a park,
his thoughts a jumbled throng.
5 He thinks about the men who pass.
He plots their varied tales –
from pirates stranded all alone
to businessmen in sales.
A sleepy man lets out a yawn
10 His night must have run late
A gamer, thief, or bartender?
A driver hauling freight?
A reader bumps the thinking man,
exchanges no regrets,
15 and shuffles off to nearby school
to rack up endless debt.
“It serves him right for bumping me,”
The wonderer perceives,
for he himself is lawyer, judge,
20 and jury naturally.
The wond’ring man sits on a bench
to ponder ever more.
Some joggers pass; they wave; he smiles –
to them he looks quite bored.
25 But thinking is this man’s great quest,
discov’ry is his right.
His thoughts may be disorganized,
not every one is bright.
But private thoughts are private thoughts.
30 Who cares what’s in his head?
Those joggers wouldn’t stop to talk;
he wouldn’t if they did.
Across the park, another bench
holds a loquacious man
35 whose hat and vest and wrinkles deep
betray his age advanced.
Two children share the old man’s seat,
their mom stands with their dog.
The old man speaks as all eight eyes
40 convey they are enthralled.
“I wonder what that old man says.”
The thinker’s head contorts.
“He’s got a captive audience,
a ringmaster of sorts.”
45 The wrinkled man just talks and talks.
The thinker man then sees
a twinkle in the old man’s eyes,
a knowing glance that flees.
The wonderer, now curious,
50 departs his bench of rest
to walk on by, to overhear
the knowledge so expressed.
The old man speaks of men he sees,
the thinker hears with stealth.
55 “His stories are a lot like mine,
but I keep to myself.”
He wanders on and wonders on,
and he’ll return next day
to swim in thoughts, alone, in peace
60 with no need to explain.

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