Here is the link to this fund raising page—
https://cnam.org/civi/pcp/info/?reset=1&id=954
I plan to post one or two poems a week here and if you’re on Facebook, you can find them daily at this link— https://www.facebook.com/mike.macdonald.923724
I hope you’re all well and thriving,
Mike
Poem 11-1
Because Yer Mind, I Walk the Line
Walking a long corridor between—
then……..……………And………now,
footsteps stall to almost a crawl…
Walking hallway corridors between—
here……………………….Andhereafter,
laughter echoes through chapters
of a storybook love, between heart
in its beaten, but constant beauty.
and a mind’s riddle ridden knight....
poem 11-11
In Between the Scenes of Our Dream
Between the long and the short of it, between the assumption and the proof, between the investment and the return, between the outside, and the inside, and the inside out of it, between the stab in the dark and the blood, running cold, between the instant impression and the thought decorations, between the moving urge and the movement, between the noise and the stillness, between the bits and pieces, and a whole ball of wax—
a grand piano hand descends from heaven to bring things together, to bind some seemingly separate strands of realized being— and the rhyme scheme of the universe is known and shown, and blown away again to begin again in a time and place where it’s needed…
Poem11-16
For the Layabout Gods of Infinite Leisure
I want to write a poem about who I am—who I was, and who I became, and who I may become. I’m sipping my morning coffee, and considering the horror-scope of such a project. It occurs to me that I often write such questionable stuff, stumbling about, because I seldom know much about who I really am, and I just take unwieldy stabs into the delicious darkness of this ongoing existence. But I don’t wish to postpone living, by becoming too busy writing it down.
Maybe when I’m done with it all, and I’m sent to an afterlife writing cell, and given a wide eyed horizon opportunity to intensely remember the hills and valleys, the chills and spills— I will then write, in undisturbed splendor, the sprawling historical, hysterical novel, to be published in the ever-after, for the late night reading pleasure of the layabout gods of infinite leisure…
