By Daniel Hess
Like Obi, I want the confrontation of words;
the solid smack, the concrete slapping and fact
inhabiting onslaught of meaning and sound.
Like Mr. Bultititude, my good friend Jer, and maybe you,
I want the pleasant resistances of things to crunch
and lick and worry. I don’t ask for breathtaking beauty,
sheer cliffs, pristine pools, or thundering falls.
Don’t have to have glistening dew or galloping stars.
Those are always nice, but it’s amazing how much
pleasure can be had from raw substance of sound
and cluttered corners of imaginative bounds.
A bit of moss, a cloud or two (or none), a floating leaf,
the idea of autumn, an alto apple, rich earth
or hardworking dust. Objects all for feast.
Size and rank are irrelevant. Greatest and least
need not apply. Beauty is blest, but not a must,
at least not in the flawless sense. A wart or two
is fine, nay desired, if first there is warmth
and even the tiniest window for soul to shine through.
It need not be finished, it had better not.
Totality is not the ticket, but if I’m going to attend
it ought to be real, like the velveteen rabbit
or the skin horse. It need not have real back legs yet.
I’d almost agree that it should not mean, but be.
Except that being is meaning, that is enough for me.
While often failing to find the right balance in time management and priorities, Daniel Hess delights in finding poetry in unexpected places and the joy of bringing it to life with words.
Photography by Kenneth Godoy