It was a rather conservatively adorned day. Not too bright. Not too dark. "Just", as the baby bear is said to have said, "right". Oh, well, it wouldn't have been just right if you fancy a nice clear sky bright blue sun blazing kind of day. Today, however, I'd have felt even more depressed than I already was, had I had to suffer one of those glorious bright blue clear sky days. All I wanted, and perhaps all I needed, was some peace and quiet, some insulation from the spiritual -- or perhaps 'metaphysical' -- noise that almost invariably seems to pervade my subjective universe when I'm walking near where I work. And, it seemed like that is what I was going to get. At least until I rounded the corner and spotted him. That same fellow who has darkened my path many another day. That homeless street dwelling fellow loudly hawking the "Street Sense" newspaper on the street for "just one dollar". He is very loud and very invasive and makes you (or me, at any rate) feel as if I've committed some crime against humanity by passing him by without having contributed a dollar to him. I find myself having this conversation in my head in which he insists that it is my moral duty to buy this rag, this paper, even though I have not the slightest interest in what it is "reporting", for the simple reason that it costs "only" a dollar. And, then I feel bad and come up with a 'rational argument' in my head why I shouldn't have to buy it, and why he should get a job and why it is bothersome of him to stand in the driveway of the CVS and slow people down before they get to their cars in order to guilt-trip them into paying for something that 'no one' wants.

It doesn't matter whether I'm "right", whether he's "right", whether my imagination is over active or whether he's selling the next Pulitzer prize winning short story. What mattered to me, today, is that, instead of being left alone, I had to walk by his contribution to the metaphysical noise that I so desperately wanted to avoid.

Next time, when I first catch sight of Mr. Street Sense, I'll turn right around and walk all the way 'round the block in the other direction. That'll teach him!

Today is a new day. Of course it is. But, in particular, it is a new day for this, Magic Poet, blog. Up until now, I've treated it, more or less, as a neglected step child ... yearning for my attention, which I only sparingly meted out with the most stingy of dispositions. No wonder it never gave me anything back. And, in addition, I suppose I treated it like a disguise, instead of a river from which to wave to my friends and meet new adventures.

I'd quote some Emerson now, to the effect that I'm happy if I've changed one life for the better. But that would be entirely too erudite (and perhaps even using the word "erudite" is too erudite) and possibly pedantic (another one of those words) for this forum (or should I call it a "venue"?). And, it wouldn't be true. I won't be happy, at the end of my current life if all I've done is improve the life of one being, besides myself. A tiny little goal like that is a bit like admitting that you're a failure before you even get started. Goals were meant to be big. Life is meant to be lived. Not shyly diffident, but with head-high-chest-out-balls-to-the-wall-gusto.

Let me smell you
Let me have you
Let me eat you with my pie
Let me see you in the night
In my dreams
In the dark and glistening sky.

I am enamored of your soul
As much as I am intoxicated with your smell
Feeling my heart beat like a drum
When ever I chance upon your scent
Giving me ideas of wonders heaven sent

All that I am sometimes feels all that you are
And it then becomes nearly impossible
To know an unhappy thought, a moribund joy
To know anything that is not graceful and free
This having begun the moment I met thee.

13 November 2007.1
Copyright by Scott Weible
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