“Purple Hearts”
Was it Atticus
who said,
“Shoot all
the blue jays
you want…”?
In Michigan,
you may now
aim your rifle
at a gray wolf;
but let those
rusty patched
bumblebees
be! I hiked
off trail and
cupped an ear
to capture
the busy buzz
of their bodies,
nature’s secret
password,
within the late
perennial asters
spread across
a clearing like
purple hearts.
Without notice,
a gunshot cracked
in the distance.
Then, howls—
a pack, but
no swarm.
Jan. 12, 2017
NPR: “US Puts Bumblebee on the Endangered Species List“
CC photo courtesy of mwms1916 on Flickr
https://www.flickr.com/photos/mmwm/
bumblebee on purple aster, 14 Oct 2014
WVPE 88.1 FM The Back Porch names World a top record of 2016
88.1 WVPE Public Radio‘s The Back Porch named my album A World That’s Bigger one of the top albums of 2016 on Sunday.
I wanted to thank them, Al Kniola and Norm Mast for the support last year. It was a bright moment during a difficult year. I was fortunate to make it to their station last October, hobble in on crutches, and share stories and songs.
Here’s a clip of the interview, telling the story of the title track and a live performance. Tune into The Back Porch from 7-11 PM (EST) on 88.1 FM or online.
“Twenty/Twenty”
I do not fear the doctor
—or his needle used to poke
Nor fear a vaccination
—that sting my skin bespoke
I do not fear the dentist
—can face a cavity
If I lose that rotten tooth
—still share a smile of glee
I do not fear prescriptions
—that’s fine, I’ll pop a pill
A visit to the pharmacist
—that syrup I will swill
I do not fear the surgeon
—nor fear her helpful nurse
I’ll breath their anesthetic
—it cannot cure my curse
See, I’m afraid of blindness
—my failed acuity
I hear the ophthalmologist
—but his chart I cannot read
I know not if one is better
—it seems the same as two
I make approximations
—and say the sky is blue
I feel my vision fading
—like a floater lost at sea
A sunspot on the surface
—the princess and the pea
I fall into the looking glass
—yet never find the hare
Nor face that sailed 1000 ships
—it’s impolite to stare
I walk within the forest
—where no fox is found
A trail that now is overgrown
—and tired is the hound
I’ll soon be on this journey
—only guided by my ear
I’ll listen for your footsteps;
—lead me away from here
25 November 2013
The Second Best Feeling in the World
My college roommate, Mark, told me, “The second best feeling in the world is finishing a song.”
I wrote what I consider to be my first (keepable) song in the summer of 1999, a recent high school graduate not only had a diploma, but turned songwriter.
After seventeen years of partaking in songwriting, completing a tune still feels like the second best feeling in the world.
The process of finishing a song (or poem) is my addiction; the ultimate antibiotic, an endorphin spike that I haven’t built a resistance to experiencing.
Yet the half-life of euphoria remains the same:
Finish a poem: 24 hours
Finish a song: 72 hours
The half-life of euphoria after completing a new work.— mikevial (@mikevial) January 3, 2017
If I seem on top of the world for a few days, I’ve probably finished a piece of writing that feels worth sharing. If I seem down in the dumps, I’ve probably haven’t written anything worth sharing in a long time.
Songwriters and poets, may 2017 be another year you take up the chase.
“New Year’s Day”
In forgotten clubs across America,
we pay tribute to the late great songwriter
who barely broke through
the consciousness of his occasion.
Lifting our mugs of beer and lowballs of bourbon,
we toast not only a man’s work,
but also a timeless story: a troubled poet,
whose words may imprint paper
longer than his footsteps tracked
the wintery ground to seedy towns
where he sang his songs to chairs,
until his voice grew hoarse.
Who needed whom more?
The song or the songwriter—
the audience or the entertainer—
the stiff hand or the drink?
By night’s end, all we will conclude is
Lefty needed Pancho,
and another unsettled poet
will take up the chase.
January 2, 2017
