Some nights are more poetic than others
Like tonight
Because I hadn’t checked with my daughter
To see if she was going to see Buddy Wakefield
As I was
But when I parked a block away and found the end of the line of ticket holders
There she was with a few friends
So I fell in
Like the line I wish I’d written
Watching poets and poet lovers
Crowd the sidewalk like it was a Hollywood opening
When, on cue, up comes a disheveled character
Bleary eyed wanderer
Who picked us to stop beside to cease perambulating
Who started orating a tale of psilocybin topsy
Wearing a crown of pussy willows, feathers and broccoli
There used to be a dandelion
He said when questioned
But I ate it
Do you know how many dandelions you should eat each year
A whole fucking lot he said
He told us he was from New York and babbled on
Then said he’d been in prison just recently released
Seemed plausible to me
Then he claimed to be from Trinidad
Which seemed less so but you never know
Until he said he’d just returned from Egypt
And that was the next place we should go
Taking a swig from a bottle of Mighty Milk
Which wasn’t at all milky but everclear
Shining moonbright against the darkening shadows
So when his shadow became too dark to bear
I sent him on another orbit
Which made our wait a little brighter
Until the doors opened on a night of poetry
Spoken word revelry
With the buzz of creation echoing down through starlight
From eternity to now
The now where I have witnessed the slow motion replay
Of the big bang in reverse
Watched creation unwinding through a mind’s eye
Voiced into our consciousness like stone tablets tumbling down a mountain
Creating shards of truth that shatter reality
One small piece at a time
One small peace
Finding small pieces of peace
Amidst cacophonies of language waterfalling
This is just a little of the mist that settled at the bottom
And though I’d like to represent the torrent
I can’t
Except to say
Oh my God
It was Buddy Fucking Wakefield
On fire with words
Living in the moment and dancing the only dance worth putting on shoes for
And it was never just a dance
But a sure footed display of verbosity
Words pulled into fleshly existence
Words that kissed and slapped us on the ass
Words that went in one ear and out to wonder
Words spoken with a lightness that makes gravity a fiction
Some nights are more than just poetic
Some nights stand vertical time on its head
Like tonight where the truth became words
Words inside
Words outside
Colliding and sliding
Into poetry
David Trudel © 2013