Can Man

I was recently in Dublin and, as with most cities bigger than Bozeman, I was exposed to more people begging on the streets than I am used to. I began thinking more about giving in situations where you don't know how the money is going to be spent (drugs, alcohol?) How do we reconcile Biblical stewardship (Luke 16) with generous giving to the poor (Luke 12)? This poem wrestles with that question in terms of the benefits to the giver and to the recipient of a gift. Maybe it doesn't matter how the gift is spent and the act of giving is the important thing. Is it right to only give to good stewards of money? Is it possible?

I like trying to deal with questions like this through poetry because it is so much a heart issue; reasoned arguments and line-drawing easily skew our conclusions. It's also easy to avoid drawing any firm conclusion with a poem, which can be a danger.

The form of this poem could use a little introduction as well. Each line is a single unit (usually a noun with modifiers). In general, the first and last words of each line rhyme. The words in between either use a similar "palindrome" rhyme scheme, or use assonance or alliteration. Mostly I was trying for palindrome sounding lines. The ear doesn't really pick up on the rhymes of words except the last one, so the rhyming is often not readily apparent. In some ways that was a good thing, because it forced me to spent a long time editing it trying to make it to sound decent. It was an interesting experiment that I probably won't be trying again any time soon. :)

Can Man? 1/16/12
a battered can rattled with pattered coins passers scattered
a line: "anything helps" scrawled on a small sign
a concrete seat beneath a can man's street feet

a town man making rapid rhythm walking sounds
a skeptical pair of staring eyes behind a pair of spectacles
a hurried soul in the worried wind's guilty flurry

a plink of a coin in the thirsty throat of an (almost) drink
a beggar warmed by a giver

a giver warmed by a gift
a hope that a coin well sent is well spent (on soup or soap)

a can drunk by a man. a man drunk by a can

a man warmed by his coin for a can. a can warmed by a coin for a man

two happy men then

-
a man's empty can. a can's empty man
a town man worried, hurried, still unstill, one coin down
two empty men again

another giver gives another

You should see him run

I had a bit of writer's block so I asked my sister what I should write about. She suggested (big surprise) ponies. The only time I've approached her appreciation and love for horses is when I've seen them run.
By coincidence (if there is such a thing), this poem and the previous one ended up with (almost) the same form.

For Rachel 12/19/11
An old brown pony stands like Alexander's steed
Now marble-made, bears weight and smells of dirt and feed.
How long has the neck held that head all wrapped in hair,
Stiff from the cold, solid in the open air?

But when it's warm, you should see him run,
Flesh transformed to wings taking flight
on feet, like the fleeting flight of the Great Heron
carrying might, brushing aside the grass like light,

A symphony of grace and muscles, all one.
I'm telling you, when it's warm, you should see him run.

The sun is a morning person

The Sun is a Morning Person 1/5/12
The sun is a morning person, you know.
Every day while all the other stars
are sipping coffee, coughing, moving slow,
and the moon is waltzing in from late-night bars,

he yells across the clouds in red and pink,
"It's morning! I'm here! Wake up sleepy heads!"
The other stars just blink their eyes and think,
"Really? Again?" and crawl back in their beds.


He would make an awful roommate mornings,
I mean talk about overdoing things.