Ladle. [Poem]

Pre-dawn crickets telling tales of the evening’s revelry 

Ghoulish parties in the wood

Mocking, the Jay banters and catcalls the Titmouse

Rough coffee, home-smoked bacon
Frittata in the oven

A walk through the trees
Wizards and witches finishing touches on

tomorrow’s hallow’d garments

with little more than chocolate and striped corn

we bid adieu to October, all Saints are we.

Happy, Haunted, Sunday.
DJDawson 

Published by Dar Dawson

Never pictured myself leaving Lawn Guyland (if you want to say it like some do) but I did, July 2016. For adventure, but mostly for Love. Love, with his incredibly fine mustache, broad, rough hands, and a heart bigger than all the Blue Ridge. He also tells the *worst!* Dad jokes - all the time. So, I laugh every day. This is a good thing. Here in the middle of Beautiful Nowhere... where stay-at-home Mothers shill limited edition Spandex leggings from their cookie-cutter custom homes built upon former farmlands, driving Japanese pick-up trucks and Jeeps to Walmart and McDonald's and the local "country kitchen" foodery. Surrounded by hard-working ranchers, dairymen and un-tied government contractors, the treasured Blue Ridge mountains, and a lot of livestock. No shoreline, no sailors, no metropolis within an hour's drive. DC is the closest thing to 'big city' and that's over two hours away. I am an adopted person. A long time ago, I used to joke, "I was adopted... guess I still am since they haven't given me back...(yet)." One of the byproducts of this is that I love people-watching and have a marrow-deep fascination with the relatedness of things; how objects and people subtly and overtly change each other. Relationships between people and places are fundamental yet taken for granted. Humid summer air versus the chill-bite of the ocean; the way newspaper ink stains your fingers; trusting and naive child accidentally reaching for the wrong adult hand in a crowd. Most of my life has been spent looking at faces to find anyone related to me. Anyone. I also love to eavesdrop. Studying dialogue and character while appearing to be doing something else. Discreet, subtle. My adoption was always known to me, no surprises there. But my search did not begin until my early 20s and culminated in 2004 with finding my natural mother, among other things. Now, years later, I am finally beginning to examine what my story has to say and deal with the aftermath of a life that started by not being wanted at all. Driving everything: Curiosity. Why are some people valued while others are discarded? What compels someone to lie or cheat or heal? Take care of each other. Keep in touch, and be kind.

NaPoWriMo, poem, poetry, prosery, Witchy, writing

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