Poetry 'n' Such With Paul Piatt

Gentle, yet heartfelt greetings to all of you discerning drinkers of the warm and aromatic coffee of life, that is the IWS website.

Renown poet and IWS Literary Editor, Paul Piatt here once again in order to share with you some of today’s finest in the world of poetry, prose, and people.

I was at odds as to what to pen for today’s literary repast, when while catching up on my scheduled reading, I intersected with Matthew-Man’s eloquent and deliciously ribald entry from Monday, which with exacerbated clarity, he spoke of his of his friendship with a woman who is neither his wife nor his girlfriend seemingly lovely muse named, Miss.

Upon completion of the reading of his witty musings, a spontaneous bolt of serendipity struck my creative juices and they began to boil over into a bisque of beauty and beneficence that is today’s offering.

You see, I too, have a special friend…a friend that has for years, and will for years to come, be the pacemaker of my heart, the peacekeeper of my soul, and in more colloquial terms, my pal o' pals.

His name is Thomas Dylan, a more than spectacular poet in his own right, and we recently reconnected after weeks of painful, personal, and professional separation.

As the comical kismet of irony would have it, we ran into each other this past Monday which would have been Tennyson’s 203rd birthday, at The Lady of Sha-Latte Coffee House in Yellow Springs, Ohio.

Oh my goodness.  Only my haughty stoicism and introspective nature prevent me from publicly laughing with vigor and alacrity over the myriad of ironic vagaries that could be made as a result of our jocular concurrence.

Thomas Dylan and I have known each other for nearly fifty years, and get together often, however, recently there developed an abyss between us that was perpetrated by a deep and profound tragedy in Thomas’ life.

He at long last, graciously shared his feelings with me Monday in the form of a hauntingly beautiful, yet painful poem that he recently penned…

The Greyhound Has No Eyes

Somewhere between dusk and dawn,
lies the night.

The night.
Where underneath its ebony foulard,
lies the “me.”

The me.
A creature blinded by darkness and fear,
awaits the dawn.

The dawn.
Illuminates my heartache as I rise once again,
to catch the bus.

The bus.
Rabid, speedy, and clad in steel; which ran over my lover,
six months ago.

Six months ago.
The last time I laughed.
The last time I loved.
The last time I lived.

© 2012 Thomas Dylan

You can read more of my friend Thomas Dylan’s work in his new book, Life is not Fare.

Also, I will be back here next month with a few excerpts from my newest, soon to released book of poetry…

Crabcakes and Unicycles

And now gentle readers, I bid you adieu, and look forward to once again offering you the best of the written word.

For now, as I travel the road less traveled,

Paul Piatt

mattmaniws@ymail.com
@mattmaniws