Dec 5 2023

Murphy’s and the geese

Hi everyone,

My thanks again to BOB STEPHENS for arranging the reading last night and to NATHAN P. MURPHY himself for hosting the event. I’ve been on stages before but none with the same blue-light ambiance. My thanks to KAREN CRAIGO for taking the picture after she finished her own reading. There were nine Bards there last night so it turned out to be quite a reading.

On other matters, I have talked about how hostile the geese of Goose Lake were when we first moved here in 1989. Here’s a poem from my one and only e-book, Goose Lake, A Year in the Life of a Lake, artfully illustrated by SLADJANA VASIC.

Meeting Our Neighbors



When we moved here in 1989, we were not welcome. As I stooped in the driveway for my first morning paper, a delegation of geese hissing like punctured tires flat-footed it toward me across the grass. This was not a social call. My new house squatting on their land beside their lake was an outrage. Indignant to their pinfeathers the geese closed ranks and delivered their ultimatum in a furious chorus:



Bills hard as chisels,

tails aquiver,

necks recoiling like missile launchers

firing off fierce glares

the posse bristles pigeon-toed

to enforce goose law: 



Trespassers

will be hissed  

until

they learn their lesson.

The geese of today have taken to different tactics, perhaps influenced by modern society’s penchant for staging demonstrations. Trying to leave my driveway the other day to make an appointment, I was confronted by this attitude of geese.

Begrudgingly, they eventually allowed me to pass. But on my return home a little later, they remaned vigilant.

They’re no longer hissing, but this silent treatment may be worse.

Jan 22 2023

A second poem from GOOSE LAKE

Hi everyone,

When I went out for the paper, I smelled skunk in the air, which reminded me of another poem from GOOSE LAKE. Here’s another page from my one and only Amazon book, 2011. The illustration is by SLADJANA VASIC.

The lake behind our house entertains me. In, around, and above the water a cast of swimmers, flyers, hoppers, chirpers, croakers, honkers, quackers, and hissers comes and goes, lives or dies, eats or is eaten, each a valuable member of the lake’s community.

If only you could be here to share my binoculars when I look out my kitchen window or lounge beside the water at dusk. There are so many sights I would love to show you! Since you cannot join me in person, I’ll do the next best thing. I’ll bring Goose Lake to you. 

Sometimes skunks cross our yard
when it’s too dark to see black fur.
Their white bands jiggling up and down
seem to glow like skeleton bones
out to trick or treat.

This summer we saw
a mother of seven
doing her best to keep her kids
from wrestling in the street.

I wonder how many
passed their babyhood lessons,
advanced to mischievous youngsters
who may, as I sit here sniffing the air,
be target practicing
at a horrified
neighborhood cat.

(c) 2011 David L. Harrison, all rights reserved

Jan 21 2023

Goose Lake, the book

Hi everyone,

I’m reading through a book of mine published in 2011, the only one I’ve ever published on Amazon. It’s called GOOSE LAKE, A Year in the Life of a Lake and was the result of many years of living near the lake and observing its moods and cycles. The book was illustrated just right by SLADJANA VASIC. If you want a copy, it’ll cost you a buck ninety-nine for a Kindle Edition.

Each spread has a prose element followed by a poem. This poem is called “Fog on the Water.”

Fog on the Water

This morning Goose Lake holds a cloud on her lap white and thick as a down comforter. Pity a Mallard lost on the water surrounded by Canadians -- a tug boat bobbing blindly among freighters. In an hour the fog will vanish. Like a magic trick its mist will freeze on trees, flashing diamonds on every bony finger, but now Goose Lake is a mystery lady covering her secrets in a white wrap.



Yard lights on the far bank
wink like fireflies probing the fog
for safe passage.

My hackberry trees
raise leafless arms,
prisoners surrendering
to an invisible foe.

Somewhere a duck without a body.
quacks to itself a lone note
that stirs no interest.

Mornings like this,
Goose Lake avoids company.
Her pulse slows.
Little moves or mutters.