a place with trees and brooks and hills
there was a festival of writers
poets, dreamers, thought-igniters
and we went too, like moths to flame
for words and torches burn the same.
Eden Mills so faire
I left my place on Sunday morn
nonchalant 'til I was warned
by a bag lady sitting on a rock
that the subway sleeps 'til 9 o' clock
I took this news in decent mood
until the cab driver, a nice enough dude
decided Union Station was due west
"It's my second day," he would confess.
Thirty buck meter told me I was late
I paid the fare, ran to the gate
and saw a sign that made me surly
I was half an hour early.
Our publicist, Laura Houlihan
the lady who lays the best of plans
showed up and we were on our way
to Burlington, hooray! Hooray!
Our intern Lindsay, she drove down
from her home in the Steel Town
and carried us on the final course
to Eden Mills - oh look, a horse.
A challenger appears
The Festival was kicked off in style
as the Town Crier cried for a while
about the attending literary stars
and how our cell phones would have no bars.
The Crier brings dire warninge
The sun was bright, the sky was blue
for the reading by Hélène Rioux
and Jonathan Kaplansky, too
from a great book that's coming soon!
Hélène Rioux, author of Wednesday Night at the End of the World
Jonathan Kaplansky, translator of Wednesday Night at the End of the World
Charles Pachter read to the youth
about several Canadian truths:
butter tarts are our nation's own
and moose should sit atop our throne.
Charles Pachter, be-bubbled
The afternoon walk back to the car
was one of the prettiest by far
to keep these vistas in my brain
I think I'll mount them in IKEA frames.
And so I end this doggerel
Was it a good idea? Time will tell.
But one thing I can safely state:
For next year's festival I can hardly wait.
Fin
there was a festival of writers
poets, dreamers, thought-igniters
and we went too, like moths to flame
for words and torches burn the same.
Eden Mills so faireI left my place on Sunday morn
nonchalant 'til I was warned
by a bag lady sitting on a rock
that the subway sleeps 'til 9 o' clock
I took this news in decent mood
until the cab driver, a nice enough dude
decided Union Station was due west
"It's my second day," he would confess.
Thirty buck meter told me I was late
I paid the fare, ran to the gate
and saw a sign that made me surly
I was half an hour early.
Our publicist, Laura Houlihan
the lady who lays the best of plans
showed up and we were on our way
to Burlington, hooray! Hooray!
Our intern Lindsay, she drove down
from her home in the Steel Town
and carried us on the final course
to Eden Mills - oh look, a horse.
A challenger appearsThe Festival was kicked off in style
as the Town Crier cried for a while
about the attending literary stars
and how our cell phones would have no bars.
The Crier brings dire warningeThe sun was bright, the sky was blue
for the reading by Hélène Rioux
and Jonathan Kaplansky, too
from a great book that's coming soon!
Hélène Rioux, author of Wednesday Night at the End of the World
Jonathan Kaplansky, translator of Wednesday Night at the End of the WorldCharles Pachter read to the youth
about several Canadian truths:
butter tarts are our nation's own
and moose should sit atop our throne.
Charles Pachter, be-bubbledThe afternoon walk back to the car
was one of the prettiest by far
to keep these vistas in my brain
I think I'll mount them in IKEA frames.
And so I end this doggerelWas it a good idea? Time will tell.
But one thing I can safely state:
For next year's festival I can hardly wait.
Fin
No comments:
Post a Comment