Oops, Still Carving


By Dennis Lantz


The story goes that someone asked the great Michelangelo how he had made his famous David statue so perfect. He replied that he simply removed all the stone that wasn’t David. 

I am not comparing myself or my work to Michelangelo, nor am I implying that stories exist in some unseen form until they are revealed. But let’s say I found a wonderful chunk of stone and chiseled away at it for a time and I thought it was magnificent. I said it was finished. Then I realized it needed to be polished, chiseled some more, cleaned and polished again.

I was wrong when I declared MERIMAR’S MIGHTY MUTATIONS finished. I was wrong to say it would be difficult to reduce the number of words. Now I am working diligently to remove the excess stone that is not the story. I cannot give an estimated completion time because it is not a speedy process. All I can tell you is that the finished product will be much better for the revision.

Thanks to Christy for being supportive and patient.  Thanks to Annette for mentioning revising.

As soon as there is some news I will share it. Until then, here are a couple older poems.

The following started out as song lyrics, but I have forgotten the tune:

Do you want me to cry
Over broken down daisies?
Do you think I should bleed
For the crosses you bear?
Well, I’ve tried hard to stare
Through my yellow-lensed glasses,
But the winter is bitter
And I’m starting to fade.

So I learned I could lie
And call all mushrooms roses-
Now I wish I could fly,
But the dreams are forgotten.
Did you notice the house
And the courtyard are barren?
Did you see that the garden
Sprouts nothing but weeds?

Do you think all the wine
Has gone sour in the cellar?
Do you think all the birds
Have flown south for the winter?
If I sigh for the rain
And the brown muddy river-
Should I claw through the ashes
To search for an ember?

There’s a star in the sky
And it flickers uneven-
I pretend it’s a beacon
That’s sending a warning…
I pretend it’s an angel
In a blue-colored dust storm
And she’s holding a candle
That fills me with longing.

My poems had two or three common themes. If they weren’t about dreams or dying, they declared my belief that humans were actively destroying the earth and nothing good could come of it. While I still strongly oppose pollution and poisons, my ideas on human frailty, our plight and the earth’s rehabilitative powers have been tempered by experience.

The following is one example of my dire earth poems. I have others, but they are a bit depressing.

Alone with God   1/7/93
Look into my eyes, my love
And tell me what you see…
A sparrow dies from poisoned seeds
While timbers curse that man offends.
The deer pursue the starved coyote.
Lilies wilt when rabbits weep.
Our ground is torn, the crickets steal
The seed that’s scorched and will not grow.
From Mother’s throat the water swells
And gurgles in a bloody pool.
The moon and stars in heaven’s perch
Do choke on vapors from the marsh.
The ivy strands wrap ivory
And vultures thrive in ecstasy.

So look into my eyes, my love,
The tears you see are shed for these…
The earth is old and so am I.

Until next time,

Read, Learn, Live

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