Saturday, May 15, 2010

My Gods

Sunday, April 16, 2006

The Ghost of Woody Guthrie

winter fog on ice


The fog of January is back again
Brings me back to then
When I walked along the straits of Detroit
Shrouded in the unknown of choice
where the darkness could not penetrate
the white blindness of there
Only there
There and nowhere else

A strange break of the unseasonable
Mists that obscured my vision of freedom
Of who we were and what we wanted
My vision of them
An illusion that all would be warm and indistinct
And unknown a few yards ahead
I chose then in my prayer
To know

-Ed Sweeney

The River

I walk to the river often these days
Early Spring brings the gliding ice floes
Serene change of crystal and water
The river ignores the preoccupation on its shore

The white moon tags along for the ride tonight
Above the Casino on the other side it lags with curiosity
A shiny quarter ready for the slot

"How deep is the river right here?", a Carribean accent asks.
"If I brought my children here and they fell in, could they be saved?"
I offer a guess at its fathoms
I recommend Belle Isle Beach for the family

These straits move fast

A bat investigates the stroll of an attractive couple
Moving against the flow
I pick up a stone waiting to test its radar

Tossing it away I start my walk up 12th St.

-Ed Sweeney

Monday, January 09, 2006

Mick Vranich at McCarthy's