Ode to the Shepherd and the Fisherman

I have gathered all the flocks.
That were left. The great beyond calls
The versifiers away from home.
Wolves call to the distressed with
Simple songs. Caterers mingle amongst
The vigilant observers waiting out the tryst.
Why dispose of the daily bread we cannot
Consume when jackals call out names
Of troubadours long gone to shallow graves
Unsatisfied in content, context or style?

We cast our nets out on the sea
Once more walking toward the weary fish
Unresponsive still in their routines,
Searching for the less impure.
What gallops across the waves this way
To smooth our brow, forgetting the tide
Follows and what is left is silt,
fodder that nourishes what remains.

Published by William Cowan

I'm from the East Coast, have lived in SoCal and now Northern California for some years. I've been writing quite awhile, published in 1992 in a literary quarterly: "Suspicious Humanist," vol. 2, #2, (20 pages.) Best job: fm on air personality on a now defunct station, "Evening Eclectic" music show, and a weekly poetry reading show. I played jazz and free/improv I enjoyed. Read Wallace Stevens, John Ashbery, Kenneth Koch, etc. and commented on the poems. I have read once at a local coffee house. Love the Bay Area, wouldn't want to be anywhere else. I am going to appear in an east coast anthology of best new poets of 2010 by the end of the year, published in Pennsylvania. I'm reading once a month at a brewpub in Marin with a group of fellow poets. We read to each other our work, and personal favorite poems of authors we enjoy. It is a pleasure to share with a community of fellow enthusiasts.

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