Saturday morning readers share:
David Radavich and Richard Allen Taylor
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Birthday
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Every year a leaf falls,
one at a time, hands,
days full of raking, scattering
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and I come to see
the bare tree
of us
against the sunlight
strewn in branches, shimmering
naked against all
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those colors you give me
tumbling free
within a small space,
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a time together
walking in woods
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David Radavich
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For a possible Saturday poem I have selected Birthday, which strikes me as a quintessentially autumn poem. It was first published in my book, By the Way: Poems over the Years (Buttonwood, 1998).
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The picture shows me ensconced in a park in Champaign, Illinois when my hair was not yet silver. As for a curious factoid about me, I enjoy reading German philosophy (in German), especially Schopenhauer and Cassirer. Also, casting horoscopes. Go figure.
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Additional poetry by David Radavich at Verse and Image:
[April every year? David always contributes to our special EARTH DAY posts.]
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Blessed Are
+++++ After “Ode on Inheritance” by Kate Partridge
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Perhaps there is no inheritance worth having
+++++that does not include a narrative of water—
++++++++++ a river, a lake, an ocean
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pounding on the beach below the open windows.
+++++My father bought a farm
++++++++++with a white house on a hill, a pond
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at the bottom. My mother inherited. She later sold.
+++++All of it was (shall we say) liquidated.
++++++++++Gone, the tiny lake
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fed by a stream tumbling over my father’s modest
+++++ambitions. Just as well. My brothers and I sought
++++++++++ neither the view nor the serenity.
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We were reaching elsewhere, for something
+++++less pastoral, more hopeful,
++++++++++something more highway
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than country road. But even a cave can elicit hope.
+++++The torch goes out, we keep thrusting our hands
++++++++++ forward, groping the walls,
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feet following our blindness. As if a hole could lean
+++++against its sides. All it takes is the will
++++++++++ to swap adjectives.
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Trade wet for slick. Choose briny over soaked.
+++++ Here we go again with that
++++++++++narrative of water. Snow, hail,
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ice melting in your palm. Later, when the drought
+++++squeezes the pond dry, the spark catches
++++++++++ and fire climbs the hill,
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everything promised burns. The difference between
+++++bold and meek becomes a matter of timing.
++++++++++Bold when we rush forward
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to extinguish the blaze. Meek when the flames
+++++ force us back to a place
++++++++++where faces do not melt.
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When rain comes, finally, we inherit the memory
+++++of blackened hills, even if no lawyers or signatures
++++++++++ attend. When grief follows, we console ourselves.
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We say the trees bury their seeds under layers of ash.
We say the trees dream of resurrection.
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Richard Allen Taylor
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This poem first appeared in Sheila-Na-Gig Online, and received a Pushcart Prize nomination. It is now part of a book-length manuscript, Geography of One, that will be published next year if all goes according to plan.
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This is my habitat but not necessarily the only habitat or even where I spend most of my time. But I don’t have a picture of me typing at my desk. That would be my real habitat and that would be boring.
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Interesting tidbit: After retiring from my job as Regional Human Resources Manager of Hendrick Automotive Group in 2013, I earned an MFA in Creative Writing from Queens University of Charlotte in 2015.
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Additional poetry by Richard Allen Taylor at Verse and Image:
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Saturday Morning Submissions – Once a week on Saturday I feature one or two poems shared with me by readers. If you would like to consider having your poem appear, please see the GUIDELINES here.
V E R S E and I M A G E 
Thanks, Bill, for the honor of having a poem in this “new format” of Verse and Image. Having work alongside David Radavich’s poetry makes it even sweeter.
Richard Richard Allen Taylor Author, Letters to Karen Carpenter and Other Poems available here https://mainstreetragbookstore.com/product/letters-to-karen-carpenter-richard-allen-taylor/. Check out my website: Richard Allen Taylor, Poet https://richardallentaylor.com/
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This has been fun and it’s cool to get to know you and David better. Thanks! –B
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My childhood home burned while I was away. I can’t escape thinking of the memories that were burned away with it.
Richard and David are great guys and superb poets.
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Thanks for sharing, Les. —B
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