Saturday, August 12, 2017

Don't look back; Candlelight; Mosquito aide ode; Collection of one; Hanging on in quiet desperation it's the English way; Grandson Michael Dix, edge strider



Crossing the porch in the hazy dusk
to worship the moon rising
like a yellow filling-station sign
on the black horizon,
you feel the faint grit
of ants beneath your shoes,
but keep on walking
because in this world
you have to decide what
you’re willing to kill.
Saving your marriage might mean
dinner for two
by candlelight on steak
raised on pasture
chopped out of rain forest
whose absence might mean
an atmospheric thinness
fifty years from now
above the vulnerable head
of your bald grandson on vacation
as the cells of his scalp
sautéed by solar radiation
break down like suspects
under questioning.
Still you slice
the sirloin into pieces
and feed each other
on silver forks
under the approving gaze
of a waiter
whose purchased attention
and French name
are a kind of candlelight themselves,
while in the background
the fingertips of the pianist
float over the tusks
of the slaughtered elephant
without a care,
as if the elephant
had granted its permission.

"Candlelight" by Tony Hoagland from Donkey Gospel. © Graywolf Press, 1998


Mosquito Aid Ode
 Here’s a toast I want to give
To a dear friend
Calamine lotion

For mosquito bites and hornet stings
Folks think you’re just the potion
Your fame has spread
Just like a rash
From here to the great land
Of Goshen

To poo-poo your
over-the counter
Let no one take a

We swab you
On the part of us
That’s harmed by sting or bright sun
Then lay back and feel your chalky pink
Commence the soothing

How could we make it through
The summer
Without your balm
that someone
Way back when thought up for us
The extremist
Of all itching unction

So lift those glasses, yes
Lift them high
To Calamine you deserve rank
So thronely

We would in fact quaff a pink
Drink to you
If you weren’t for
External Use Only



Collection of One

The red veined thing I hold as in my hand
Was  hard to collect
involving  snags and cuts and cracked bones,
seasons of taking  it for granted
It brittled, turned in color,
 too soon to be approaching nature’s compost
It may be dying, but I am only 80.

Now, I see this single one
in a proper perspective
 as only one in a billion
But it’s my one in a billion
Standing out from all the others
 I ponder it, top and bottom
So radiant still,

beating all, beating
others in a fuzzy background
even at a pulse of only 2 pixtels
  it’s clear enough for me
to win a contest if I could get to it

I do hold it

the nurses and doctors
listen for signs of life
It reminds me of a fallen leaf
So fragile
I’d press it, if I had a big enough book
of gentle poetry

Ye shall find it still
flexing in this manger
A small but once mighty engine.
A leaf, a fire, my heart.

[David Dix, 2005]


Adventurer, with his KM buddies an Extreme Man,
 Grandson Michael Dix

Mike practices ski-board flip
with KMHS buddies


What's happening now
climbing in Utah where he lives

Mike ascending Utah mountain

Mike makes vertical climb

With his brother Chris Dix

salutes with friends

Mike and his mom
a very patient mother
Sue Peters-Dix

[Her father, mike's other grandpa,  was  Berlin WI's CRAZY RALPH
so Mike is multi-endowed with zane]

Mike wears seaweed

At brother Chris's Carroll graduation
with mom, dad and sister, Melissa

On family vacation in Colorado
Uncle Dick, David Jr., Mike, Chris

Mike and his Uncle Lee Dix
play with an early computer

Who knows to what other heights Mike will climb?

For sure he'll be with Us and Them:
the Dixes and his buds


Note card to Alaska Kari's sent 8-12-17