novaBBS - alt.arts.poetry.comments - Re: Fountain of Youth / Will Dockery

Fountain of Youth

Smokers sat outside on the porch
wit, wisdom and conversational drift.
Watching the parade
of tourists, buskers and artists.

I'd sit with the painter
sketching my notes.
A truly perfect street
to compose jazz poetry.

Saint George Street
leads straight to the Spanish fort.
Now a tourist attraction
of Cosplay settlers.

On to the Fountain of Youth
down a long road
of cotton fields and peanut patches
as far as the eye can see.

Take a sharp right
down into Florida.
Over the black water
of the Suwannee River.

Over the blazing miles
the shimmering white light glows.
The red clay country roads
become white silver sand.

Down south on Saint Augustine Beach
near the oldest city in America.
Crumbling coastline on 1997
before they paved it all.

Sand lions
snap up ants.
Minnows eat
mosquito larvae.

Cut across some dry yards
to the beach.
Stop and look
at the abandoned sailboat.

This happened then
and I expect it happens now.
Wrapped a bandanna around my head
to ease my feverish brow.

This was the scene
the reality.
I was soon welcomed in
to the party.

Connected to a scene
but it did not last.
A complicated dream
too heavy to transcribe.

Went down South
near the Fountain of Youth.
Where the gypsy lady
told Ponce the truth.

Once they met
and he looked into her eyes
Ponce was interested
in finding the surprise.

I'll see you
I'll be seeing you
if I use my head
I could make
more changes.

You need more than luck
in this rank affair.
Out of the blue
straight from thin air.

Going back in time
back a little ways.
Back to 1997
and those glory days.

I'll be there
watching her on the rocks
an angry old man
in a motor boat.

He was there
we were all there.
Working in the little store
seemed to suit him.

I have a role
looking into the past.
Those days I thought were over
since I knew they wouldn't last.

Ever since
I don't know when
she was getting the habit
smoking cigarettes again.

Don't take your heart away
such inclimate weather
in your charm.

I poured us both
a Captain Morgan.
We toasted each other
sad and warm.

Rode down with Danny B.
in a U-Haul truck.
With a few extra dollars
feeling filled with luck.

Going down to see the
Fountain of Youth.
To look around
for the slightest bit of truth.

Interview with the poets
on Flagler radio.
The reading for the deaf
with Miranda signing the poems
as I read them.

The school or the deaf and blind
was down on San Marcos Avenue.
Miranda had been both
a student and a teacher.

I walked by any times
but never did go inside
the Ripley's "Believe It Or Not!"
which was also on San Marcos.

Riding down
that old country road.
Danny B. pointed out the window
and gave a quick history lecture.

Between 1513 and 1763
Florida was a Spanish colony.
No place better displays
that lingering reality.

Across and then down
through the blood soaked fields
reminded me of Manassass.
Killing fields
man's natural occupation.

Where a seasonal battle
was fought.
Once a year one side
would attack the other.

As we rode past the field
Barfield explained the history.
English against Spanish
control stayed intact.

Don't make confusion
change of weather
comes a change of heart
now take a new space
don't go away.

Never decide until
looking back on it in hindsight.
Laughing crocodile
least of his concerns.

There begins a psychological
brow beating.
Not many can or will accept this
life is too short.

The walk to the beach
was just a few blocks.
Passed through every day
like a youth in the dark.

Up to watch high tide
up on the deck.
Writing down the scene
the sea a crashing wreck.

Back at the reading
liberal hearts were bleeding.
Nag Champa and weed smoke
floated in the breeze of the deck.

To look for miles across
the Atlantic Ocean.
Watching for the high tide
to come in.

Then he describes the
avaricious predators.
Listeners in the tent
feverish in the Florida heat.

Spacious daylight
in the courtyard
in the center of town.
First sight to be seen
crossing the Bridge of Lions.

On top of the world
watching high tide.
The world started
so when will it stop?

Back then we lived
down on the beach.
Music from the seaside bars
drifted across the dunes.

I used to walk by
the wax museum
walking over to see the
blind painter
Sherwood King.

Sherwood could turn out
about two oil paintings a day.
Sometimes three
when he was hyped up on whiskey.

His lovely wife
was quite a muse.
She drank and swore
was a lit fuse.

Down a few side streets
to the poetry gig.
At Behind The Forest Pub
hippies laughing
dancing a jig.

Sugar Mama
set her sights on me.
One more way
to make it happen.

Too much of the drink
and too much debate.
Brought an end to the scene
it was a matter of fate.

They had the big volume of poems
up on the shelf.
Carl Sandburg in the combat zone
poems about that toddling town.

Sipping slumgullion
on the porch of the pub.
Just over the hill
we could see the lights of the town.

I got a telephone call
that was undelivered.
It was an important message
that was not brought to me.

This was 1997
my first year in town.
I left with my tattered suitcase
on the bus
homeward bound.

-Will Dockery 2020

-------------------------------------------------
From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/03/fountain-of-youth.html

On Friday, August 26, 2022 at 6:11:59 PM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
> Fountain of Truth
>
> Donkey sat outside of the shed
> dug hole, shat, odoriferous drift.
> Watching the parade
> of pissbums, drunkards and hos.
>
> He'd shit in the back yard
> picking his nose.
> A truly perfect time
> to troll poetry group.
>
> Drunk George Sulzbach
> camp down by Chattahooch.
> Busking tourists with sketches
> of monkey people.
>
> On to the Chattahoochee
> down Riverwalk road
> of porta-johns and homeless campers
> as far as the eye can see.
>
> Took a sharp right
> down into Zod's camp.
> Tarp over tree branch
> by the Chattahoochee river.
>
> Dropped acid, eight mile high
> the shimmering pretty light glows.
> The red clay country roads
> became white silver sand.
>
> Down south on Chattahoochee banks
> Missy and LoHo pedal their goods.
> Truck stops become bike stops
> drug swaps don't pay at all.
>
> Bedbugs, lice
> scabies, cooties and fleas.
> Maggots eat
> campers and hos alike.
>
> Dove into some dumpsters
> near the beach.
> Stopped and looked
> at Zod and Dirty Mike.
>
> Mike schtupped Zod then
> and one expects he schtups him now.
> Wrapped a bandanna around his balls
> to ease his feverish thoughts.
>
> This was the scene
> the reality.
> Donkey soon welcomed in
> to the party.
>
> Connected to some blow
> but it did not last.
> Psychedelic dreams
> too heavy to transcribe.
>
> Went down on Zod
> near the camp on Chattahooch.
> Where a gypsy lady
> told Dirty Mike the truth.
>
> Donkey and Zod met
> and he looked into his eyes.
> Dirty Mike stumbled on the scene
> getting a big surprise.
>
> "I'll see you dead
> I'll be seeing you dead
> if you give Zod head
> I could make you dead
> and do more things!
>
> "You need cash to fuck
> his rank and scrawny ass.
> Out with those balls of blue
> Now vanish in thin air."
>
> Donkey going back in time
> back a little ways.
> Back to 1997
> and those glory days.
>
> He'd be there
> staring, beating off his rocks.
> A dirty old man
> in a dirty coat.
>
> He was there
> staring at little boys.
> Working in the pizza shop
> seemed to suit him.
>
> Donkey had a role
> looking into the past.
> Those days he thought were over
> since he knew they wouldn't last.
>
> Ever since
> he didn't know when
> he was getting the habit
> smoking cigarettes again.
>
> Don't his hooch away
> T-bird and waffles
> by the pound.
>
> He took a swig
> of Thunderbird.
> He toasted his memories
> sad and warm.
>
> Rode by Danny B.
> in a U-Haul truck.
> Made a few extra dollars
> felt filled with spume.
>
> Went down to pee in
> the old Chattahooch.
> Sprayed Zod and Mike
> swimming there nude.

< Donkeyspew snipped >

> -Will Dockery 2020
>
> -------------------------------------------------
> From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
> https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/03/fountain-of-youth.html

REPORTED AS SPAM.

Michael Pendragon wrote:
> On Friday, August 26, 2022 at 6:11:59 PM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
>
> Fountain of Youth
>
> Smokers sat outside on the porch
> wit, wisdom and conversational drift.
> Watching the parade
> of tourists, buskers and artists.
>
> I'd sit with the painter
> sketching my notes.
> A truly perfect street
> to compose jazz poetry.
>
> Saint George Street
> leads straight to the Spanish fort.
> Now a tourist attraction
> of Cosplay settlers.
>
> On to the Fountain of Youth
> down a long road
> of cotton fields and peanut patches
> as far as the eye can see.
>
> Take a sharp right
> down into Florida.
> Over the black water
> of the Suwannee River.
>
> Over the blazing miles
> the shimmering white light glows.
> The red clay country roads
> become white silver sand.
>
> Down south on Saint Augustine Beach
> near the oldest city in America.
> Crumbling coastline on 1997
> before they paved it all.
>
> Sand lions
> snap up ants.
> Minnows eat
> mosquito larvae.
>
> Cut across some dry yards
> to the beach.
> Stop and look
> at the abandoned sailboat.
>
> This happened then
> and I expect it happens now.
> Wrapped a bandanna around my head
> to ease my feverish brow.
>
> This was the scene
> the reality.
> I was soon welcomed in
> to the party.
>
> Connected to a scene
> but it did not last.
> A complicated dream
> too heavy to transcribe.
>
> Went down South
> near the Fountain of Youth.
> Where the gypsy lady
> told Ponce the truth.
>
> Once they met
> and he looked into her eyes
> Ponce was interested
> in finding the surprise.
>
> I'll see you
> I'll be seeing you
> if I use my head
> I could make
> more changes.
>
> You need more than luck
> in this rank affair.
> Out of the blue
> straight from thin air.
>
> Going back in time
> back a little ways.
> Back to 1997
> and those glory days.
>
> I'll be there
> watching her on the rocks
> an angry old man
> in a motor boat.
>
> He was there
> we were all there.
> Working in the little store
> seemed to suit him.
>
> I have a role
> looking into the past.
> Those days I thought were over
> since I knew they wouldn't last.
>
> Ever since
> I don't know when
> she was getting the habit
> smoking cigarettes again.
>
> Don't take your heart away
> such inclimate weather
> in your charm.
>
> I poured us both
> a Captain Morgan.
> We toasted each other
> sad and warm.
>
> Rode down with Danny B.
> in a U-Haul truck.
> With a few extra dollars
> feeling filled with luck.
>
> Going down to see the
> Fountain of Youth.
> To look around
> for the slightest bit of truth.
>
> Interview with the poets
> on Flagler radio.
> The reading for the deaf
> with Miranda signing the poems
> as I read them.
>
> The school or the deaf and blind
> was down on San Marcos Avenue.
> Miranda had been both
> a student and a teacher.
>
> I walked by any times
> but never did go inside
> the Ripley's "Believe It Or Not!"
> which was also on San Marcos.
>
> Riding down
> that old country road.
> Danny B. pointed out the window
> and gave a quick history lecture.
>
> Between 1513 and 1763
> Florida was a Spanish colony.
> No place better displays
> that lingering reality.
>
> Across and then down
> through the blood soaked fields
> reminded me of Manassass.
> Killing fields
> man's natural occupation.
>
> Where a seasonal battle
> was fought.
> Once a year one side
> would attack the other.
>
> As we rode past the field
> Barfield explained the history.
> English against Spanish
> control stayed intact.
>
> Don't make confusion
> change of weather
> comes a change of heart
> now take a new space
> don't go away.
>
> Never decide until
> looking back on it in hindsight.
> Laughing crocodile
> least of his concerns.
>
> There begins a psychological
> brow beating.
> Not many can or will accept this
> life is too short.
>
> The walk to the beach
> was just a few blocks.
> Passed through every day
> like a youth in the dark.
>
> Up to watch high tide
> up on the deck.
> Writing down the scene
> the sea a crashing wreck.
>
> Back at the reading
> liberal hearts were bleeding.
> Nag Champa and weed smoke
> floated in the breeze of the deck.
>
> To look for miles across
> the Atlantic Ocean.
> Watching for the high tide
> to come in.
>
> Then he describes the
> avaricious predators.
> Listeners in the tent
> feverish in the Florida heat.
>
> Spacious daylight
> in the courtyard
> in the center of town.
> First sight to be seen
> crossing the Bridge of Lions.
>
> On top of the world
> watching high tide.
> The world started
> so when will it stop?
>
> Back then we lived
> down on the beach.
> Music from the seaside bars
> drifted across the dunes.
>
> I used to walk by
> the wax museum
> walking over to see the
> blind painter
> Sherwood King.
>
> Sherwood could turn out
> about two oil paintings a day.
> Sometimes three
> when he was hyped up on whiskey.
>
> His lovely wife
> was quite a muse.
> She drank and swore
> was a lit fuse.
>
> Down a few side streets
> to the poetry gig.
> At Behind The Forest Pub
> hippies laughing
> dancing a jig.
>
> Sugar Mama
> set her sights on me.
> One more way
> to make it happen.
>
> Too much of the drink
> and too much debate.
> Brought an end to the scene
> it was a matter of fate.
>
> They had the big volume of poems
> up on the shelf.
> Carl Sandburg in the combat zone
> poems about that toddling town.
>
> Sipping slumgullion
> on the porch of the pub.
> Just over the hill
> we could see the lights of the town.
>
> I got a telephone call
> that was undelivered.
> It was an important message
> that was not brought to me.
>
> This was 1997
> my first year in town.
> I left with my tattered suitcase
> on the bus
> homeward bound.
>
> -Will Dockery 2020
>
> -------------------------------------------------
> From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
> https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/03/fountain-of-youth.html

> Spam

Absurd, poetry isn't spam.

Will Dockery wrote:
>
> Fountain of Youth

> Smokers sat outside on the porch
> wit, wisdom and conversational drift.
> Watching the parade
> of tourists, buskers and artists.

> I'd sit with the painter
> sketching my notes.
> A truly perfect street
> to compose jazz poetry.

> Saint George Street
> leads straight to the Spanish fort.
> Now a tourist attraction
> of Cosplay settlers.

> On to the Fountain of Youth
> down a long road
> of cotton fields and peanut patches
> as far as the eye can see.

> Take a sharp right
> down into Florida.
> Over the black water
> of the Suwannee River.

> Over the blazing miles
> the shimmering white light glows.
> The red clay country roads
> become white silver sand.

> Down south on Saint Augustine Beach
> near the oldest city in America.
> Crumbling coastline on 1997
> before they paved it all.

> Sand lions
> snap up ants.
> Minnows eat
> mosquito larvae.

> Cut across some dry yards
> to the beach.
> Stop and look
> at the abandoned sailboat.

> This happened then
> and I expect it happens now.
> Wrapped a bandanna around my head
> to ease my feverish brow.

> This was the scene
> the reality.
> I was soon welcomed in
> to the party.

> Connected to a scene
> but it did not last.
> A complicated dream
> too heavy to transcribe.

> Went down South
> near the Fountain of Youth.
> Where the gypsy lady
> told Ponce the truth.

> Once they met
> and he looked into her eyes
> Ponce was interested
> in finding the surprise.

> I'll see you
> I'll be seeing you
> if I use my head
> I could make
> more changes.

> You need more than luck
> in this rank affair.
> Out of the blue
> straight from thin air.

> Going back in time
> back a little ways.
> Back to 1997
> and those glory days.

> I'll be there
> watching her on the rocks
> an angry old man
> in a motor boat.

> He was there
> we were all there.
> Working in the little store
> seemed to suit him.

> I have a role
> looking into the past.
> Those days I thought were over
> since I knew they wouldn't last.

> Ever since
> I don't know when
> she was getting the habit
> smoking cigarettes again.

> Don't take your heart away
> such inclimate weather
> in your charm.

> I poured us both
> a Captain Morgan.
> We toasted each other
> sad and warm.

> Rode down with Danny B.
> in a U-Haul truck.
> With a few extra dollars
> feeling filled with luck.

> Going down to see the
> Fountain of Youth.
> To look around
> for the slightest bit of truth.

> Interview with the poets
> on Flagler radio.
> The reading for the deaf
> with Miranda signing the poems
> as I read them.

> The school or the deaf and blind
> was down on San Marcos Avenue.
> Miranda had been both
> a student and a teacher.

> I walked by any times
> but never did go inside
> the Ripley's "Believe It Or Not!"
> which was also on San Marcos.

> Riding down
> that old country road.
> Danny B. pointed out the window
> and gave a quick history lecture.

> Between 1513 and 1763
> Florida was a Spanish colony.
> No place better displays
> that lingering reality.

> Across and then down
> through the blood soaked fields
> reminded me of Manassass.
> Killing fields
> man's natural occupation.

> Where a seasonal battle
> was fought.
> Once a year one side
> would attack the other.

> As we rode past the field
> Barfield explained the history.
> English against Spanish
> control stayed intact.

> Don't make confusion
> change of weather
> comes a change of heart
> now take a new space
> don't go away.

> Never decide until
> looking back on it in hindsight.
> Laughing crocodile
> least of his concerns.

> There begins a psychological
> brow beating.
> Not many can or will accept this
> life is too short.

> The walk to the beach
> was just a few blocks.
> Passed through every day
> like a youth in the dark.

> Up to watch high tide
> up on the deck.
> Writing down the scene
> the sea a crashing wreck.

> Back at the reading
> liberal hearts were bleeding.
> Nag Champa and weed smoke
> floated in the breeze of the deck.

> To look for miles across
> the Atlantic Ocean.
> Watching for the high tide
> to come in.

> Then he describes the
> avaricious predators.
> Listeners in the tent
> feverish in the Florida heat.

> Spacious daylight
> in the courtyard
> in the center of town.
> First sight to be seen
> crossing the Bridge of Lions.

> On top of the world
> watching high tide.
> The world started
> so when will it stop?

> Back then we lived
> down on the beach.
> Music from the seaside bars
> drifted across the dunes.

> I used to walk by
> the wax museum
> walking over to see the
> blind painter
> Sherwood King.

> Sherwood could turn out
> about two oil paintings a day.
> Sometimes three
> when he was hyped up on whiskey.

> His lovely wife
> was quite a muse.
> She drank and swore
> was a lit fuse.

> Down a few side streets
> to the poetry gig.
> At Behind The Forest Pub
> hippies laughing
> dancing a jig.

> Sugar Mama
> set her sights on me.
> One more way
> to make it happen.

> Too much of the drink
> and too much debate.
> Brought an end to the scene
> it was a matter of fate.

> They had the big volume of poems
> up on the shelf.
> Carl Sandburg in the combat zone
> poems about that toddling town.

> Sipping slumgullion
> on the porch of the pub.
> Just over the hill
> we could see the lights of the town.

> I got a telephone call
> that was undelivered.
> It was an important message
> that was not brought to me.

> This was 1997
> my first year in town.
> I left with my tattered suitcase
> on the bus
> homeward bound.

> -Will Dockery 2020

> -------------------------------------------------
> From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
> https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/03/fountain-of-youth.html

Quite excellent..... one of best....

On Sunday, August 28, 2022 at 5:20:15 PM UTC-4, vhug...@gmail.com wrote:
> Will Dockery wrote:
> >
> > Fountain of Youth
>
> > Smokers sat outside on the porch
> > wit, wisdom and conversational drift.
> > Watching the parade
> > of tourists, buskers and artists.
>
> > I'd sit with the painter
> > sketching my notes.
> > A truly perfect street
> > to compose jazz poetry.
>
> > Saint George Street
> > leads straight to the Spanish fort.
> > Now a tourist attraction
> > of Cosplay settlers.
>
> > On to the Fountain of Youth
> > down a long road
> > of cotton fields and peanut patches
> > as far as the eye can see.
>
> > Take a sharp right
> > down into Florida.
> > Over the black water
> > of the Suwannee River.
>
> > Over the blazing miles
> > the shimmering white light glows.
> > The red clay country roads
> > become white silver sand.
>
> > Down south on Saint Augustine Beach
> > near the oldest city in America.
> > Crumbling coastline on 1997
> > before they paved it all.
>
> > Sand lions
> > snap up ants.
> > Minnows eat
> > mosquito larvae.
>
> > Cut across some dry yards
> > to the beach.
> > Stop and look
> > at the abandoned sailboat.
>
> > This happened then
> > and I expect it happens now.
> > Wrapped a bandanna around my head
> > to ease my feverish brow.
>
> > This was the scene
> > the reality.
> > I was soon welcomed in
> > to the party.
>
> > Connected to a scene
> > but it did not last.
> > A complicated dream
> > too heavy to transcribe.
>
> > Went down South
> > near the Fountain of Youth.
> > Where the gypsy lady
> > told Ponce the truth.
>
> > Once they met
> > and he looked into her eyes
> > Ponce was interested
> > in finding the surprise.
>
> > I'll see you
> > I'll be seeing you
> > if I use my head
> > I could make
> > more changes.
>
> > You need more than luck
> > in this rank affair.
> > Out of the blue
> > straight from thin air.
>
> > Going back in time
> > back a little ways.
> > Back to 1997
> > and those glory days.
>
> > I'll be there
> > watching her on the rocks
> > an angry old man
> > in a motor boat.
>
> > He was there
> > we were all there.
> > Working in the little store
> > seemed to suit him.
>
> > I have a role
> > looking into the past.
> > Those days I thought were over
> > since I knew they wouldn't last.
>
> > Ever since
> > I don't know when
> > she was getting the habit
> > smoking cigarettes again.
>
> > Don't take your heart away
> > such inclimate weather
> > in your charm.
>
> > I poured us both
> > a Captain Morgan.
> > We toasted each other
> > sad and warm.
>
> > Rode down with Danny B.
> > in a U-Haul truck.
> > With a few extra dollars
> > feeling filled with luck.
>
> > Going down to see the
> > Fountain of Youth.
> > To look around
> > for the slightest bit of truth.
>
> > Interview with the poets
> > on Flagler radio.
> > The reading for the deaf
> > with Miranda signing the poems
> > as I read them.
>
> > The school or the deaf and blind
> > was down on San Marcos Avenue.
> > Miranda had been both
> > a student and a teacher.
>
> > I walked by any times
> > but never did go inside
> > the Ripley's "Believe It Or Not!"
> > which was also on San Marcos.
>
> > Riding down
> > that old country road.
> > Danny B. pointed out the window
> > and gave a quick history lecture.
>
> > Between 1513 and 1763
> > Florida was a Spanish colony.
> > No place better displays
> > that lingering reality.
>
> > Across and then down
> > through the blood soaked fields
> > reminded me of Manassass.
> > Killing fields
> > man's natural occupation.
>
> > Where a seasonal battle
> > was fought.
> > Once a year one side
> > would attack the other.
>
> > As we rode past the field
> > Barfield explained the history.
> > English against Spanish
> > control stayed intact.
>
> > Don't make confusion
> > change of weather
> > comes a change of heart
> > now take a new space
> > don't go away.
>
> > Never decide until
> > looking back on it in hindsight.
> > Laughing crocodile
> > least of his concerns.
>
> > There begins a psychological
> > brow beating.
> > Not many can or will accept this
> > life is too short.
>
> > The walk to the beach
> > was just a few blocks.
> > Passed through every day
> > like a youth in the dark.
>
> > Up to watch high tide
> > up on the deck.
> > Writing down the scene
> > the sea a crashing wreck.
>
> > Back at the reading
> > liberal hearts were bleeding.
> > Nag Champa and weed smoke
> > floated in the breeze of the deck.
>
> > To look for miles across
> > the Atlantic Ocean.
> > Watching for the high tide
> > to come in.
>
> > Then he describes the
> > avaricious predators.
> > Listeners in the tent
> > feverish in the Florida heat.
>
> > Spacious daylight
> > in the courtyard
> > in the center of town.
> > First sight to be seen
> > crossing the Bridge of Lions.
>
> > On top of the world
> > watching high tide.
> > The world started
> > so when will it stop?
>
> > Back then we lived
> > down on the beach.
> > Music from the seaside bars
> > drifted across the dunes.
>
> > I used to walk by
> > the wax museum
> > walking over to see the
> > blind painter
> > Sherwood King.
>
> > Sherwood could turn out
> > about two oil paintings a day.
> > Sometimes three
> > when he was hyped up on whiskey.
>
> > His lovely wife
> > was quite a muse.
> > She drank and swore
> > was a lit fuse.
>
> > Down a few side streets
> > to the poetry gig.
> > At Behind The Forest Pub
> > hippies laughing
> > dancing a jig.
>
> > Sugar Mama
> > set her sights on me.
> > One more way
> > to make it happen.
>
> > Too much of the drink
> > and too much debate.
> > Brought an end to the scene
> > it was a matter of fate.
>
> > They had the big volume of poems
> > up on the shelf.
> > Carl Sandburg in the combat zone
> > poems about that toddling town.
>
> > Sipping slumgullion
> > on the porch of the pub.
> > Just over the hill
> > we could see the lights of the town.
>
> > I got a telephone call
> > that was undelivered.
> > It was an important message
> > that was not brought to me.
>
> > This was 1997
> > my first year in town.
> > I left with my tattered suitcase
> > on the bus
> > homeward bound.
>
> > -Will Dockery 2020
>
> > -------------------------------------------------
> > From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
> > https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/03/fountain-of-youth.html
> Quite excellent..... one of best....

Thanks again for the nod, Zod.

Will Dockery wrote:

> On Sunday, August 28, 2022 at 5:20:15 PM UTC-4, Zod wrote:
>> Will Dockery wrote:
>
>> > Fountain of Youth
>>
>> > Smokers sat outside on the porch
>> > wit, wisdom and conversational drift.
>> > Watching the parade
>> > of tourists, buskers and artists.
>>
>> > I'd sit with the painter
>> > sketching my notes.
>> > A truly perfect street
>> > to compose jazz poetry.
>>
>> > Saint George Street
>> > leads straight to the Spanish fort.
>> > Now a tourist attraction
>> > of Cosplay settlers.
>>
>> > On to the Fountain of Youth
>> > down a long road
>> > of cotton fields and peanut patches
>> > as far as the eye can see.
>>
>> > Take a sharp right
>> > down into Florida.
>> > Over the black water
>> > of the Suwannee River.
>>
>> > Over the blazing miles
>> > the shimmering white light glows.
>> > The red clay country roads
>> > become white silver sand.
>>
>> > Down south on Saint Augustine Beach
>> > near the oldest city in America.
>> > Crumbling coastline on 1997
>> > before they paved it all.
>>
>> > Sand lions
>> > snap up ants.
>> > Minnows eat
>> > mosquito larvae.
>>
>> > Cut across some dry yards
>> > to the beach.
>> > Stop and look
>> > at the abandoned sailboat.
>>
>> > This happened then
>> > and I expect it happens now.
>> > Wrapped a bandanna around my head
>> > to ease my feverish brow.
>>
>> > This was the scene
>> > the reality.
>> > I was soon welcomed in
>> > to the party.
>>
>> > Connected to a scene
>> > but it did not last.
>> > A complicated dream
>> > too heavy to transcribe.
>>
>> > Went down South
>> > near the Fountain of Youth.
>> > Where the gypsy lady
>> > told Ponce the truth.
>>
>> > Once they met
>> > and he looked into her eyes
>> > Ponce was interested
>> > in finding the surprise.
>>
>> > I'll see you
>> > I'll be seeing you
>> > if I use my head
>> > I could make
>> > more changes.
>>
>> > You need more than luck
>> > in this rank affair.
>> > Out of the blue
>> > straight from thin air.
>>
>> > Going back in time
>> > back a little ways.
>> > Back to 1997
>> > and those glory days.
>>
>> > I'll be there
>> > watching her on the rocks
>> > an angry old man
>> > in a motor boat.
>>
>> > He was there
>> > we were all there.
>> > Working in the little store
>> > seemed to suit him.
>>
>> > I have a role
>> > looking into the past.
>> > Those days I thought were over
>> > since I knew they wouldn't last.
>>
>> > Ever since
>> > I don't know when
>> > she was getting the habit
>> > smoking cigarettes again.
>>
>> > Don't take your heart away
>> > such inclimate weather
>> > in your charm.
>>
>> > I poured us both
>> > a Captain Morgan.
>> > We toasted each other
>> > sad and warm.
>>
>> > Rode down with Danny B.
>> > in a U-Haul truck.
>> > With a few extra dollars
>> > feeling filled with luck.
>>
>> > Going down to see the
>> > Fountain of Youth.
>> > To look around
>> > for the slightest bit of truth.
>>
>> > Interview with the poets
>> > on Flagler radio.
>> > The reading for the deaf
>> > with Miranda signing the poems
>> > as I read them.
>>
>> > The school or the deaf and blind
>> > was down on San Marcos Avenue.
>> > Miranda had been both
>> > a student and a teacher.
>>
>> > I walked by any times
>> > but never did go inside
>> > the Ripley's "Believe It Or Not!"
>> > which was also on San Marcos.
>>
>> > Riding down
>> > that old country road.
>> > Danny B. pointed out the window
>> > and gave a quick history lecture.
>>
>> > Between 1513 and 1763
>> > Florida was a Spanish colony.
>> > No place better displays
>> > that lingering reality.
>>
>> > Across and then down
>> > through the blood soaked fields
>> > reminded me of Manassass.
>> > Killing fields
>> > man's natural occupation.
>>
>> > Where a seasonal battle
>> > was fought.
>> > Once a year one side
>> > would attack the other.
>>
>> > As we rode past the field
>> > Barfield explained the history.
>> > English against Spanish
>> > control stayed intact.
>>
>> > Don't make confusion
>> > change of weather
>> > comes a change of heart
>> > now take a new space
>> > don't go away.
>>
>> > Never decide until
>> > looking back on it in hindsight.
>> > Laughing crocodile
>> > least of his concerns.
>>
>> > There begins a psychological
>> > brow beating.
>> > Not many can or will accept this
>> > life is too short.
>>
>> > The walk to the beach
>> > was just a few blocks.
>> > Passed through every day
>> > like a youth in the dark.
>>
>> > Up to watch high tide
>> > up on the deck.
>> > Writing down the scene
>> > the sea a crashing wreck.
>>
>> > Back at the reading
>> > liberal hearts were bleeding.
>> > Nag Champa and weed smoke
>> > floated in the breeze of the deck.
>>
>> > To look for miles across
>> > the Atlantic Ocean.
>> > Watching for the high tide
>> > to come in.
>>
>> > Then he describes the
>> > avaricious predators.
>> > Listeners in the tent
>> > feverish in the Florida heat.
>>
>> > Spacious daylight
>> > in the courtyard
>> > in the center of town.
>> > First sight to be seen
>> > crossing the Bridge of Lions.
>>
>> > On top of the world
>> > watching high tide.
>> > The world started
>> > so when will it stop?
>>
>> > Back then we lived
>> > down on the beach.
>> > Music from the seaside bars
>> > drifted across the dunes.
>>
>> > I used to walk by
>> > the wax museum
>> > walking over to see the
>> > blind painter
>> > Sherwood King.
>>
>> > Sherwood could turn out
>> > about two oil paintings a day.
>> > Sometimes three
>> > when he was hyped up on whiskey.
>>
>> > His lovely wife
>> > was quite a muse.
>> > She drank and swore
>> > was a lit fuse.
>>
>> > Down a few side streets
>> > to the poetry gig.
>> > At Behind The Forest Pub
>> > hippies laughing
>> > dancing a jig.
>>
>> > Sugar Mama
>> > set her sights on me.
>> > One more way
>> > to make it happen.
>>
>> > Too much of the drink
>> > and too much debate.
>> > Brought an end to the scene
>> > it was a matter of fate.
>>
>> > They had the big volume of poems
>> > up on the shelf.
>> > Carl Sandburg in the combat zone
>> > poems about that toddling town.
>>
>> > Sipping slumgullion
>> > on the porch of the pub.
>> > Just over the hill
>> > we could see the lights of the town.
>>
>> > I got a telephone call
>> > that was undelivered.
>> > It was an important message
>> > that was not brought to me.
>>
>> > This was 1997
>> > my first year in town.
>> > I left with my tattered suitcase
>> > on the bus
>> > homeward bound.
>>
>> > -Will Dockery 2020
>>
>> > -------------------------------------------------
>> > From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
>> > https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/03/fountain-of-youth.html
>> Quite excellent..... one of best....

Click here to read the complete article

Zod wrote:

> Will Dockery wrote:

>> On Sunday, August 28, 2022 at 5:20:15 PM UTC-4, Zod wrote:
>>> Will Dockery wrote:
>>
>>> > Fountain of Youth
>>>
>>> > Smokers sat outside on the porch
>>> > wit, wisdom and conversational drift.
>>> > Watching the parade
>>> > of tourists, buskers and artists.
>>>
>>> > I'd sit with the painter
>>> > sketching my notes.
>>> > A truly perfect street
>>> > to compose jazz poetry.
>>>
>>> > Saint George Street
>>> > leads straight to the Spanish fort.
>>> > Now a tourist attraction
>>> > of Cosplay settlers.
>>>
>>> > On to the Fountain of Youth
>>> > down a long road
>>> > of cotton fields and peanut patches
>>> > as far as the eye can see.
>>>
>>> > Take a sharp right
>>> > down into Florida.
>>> > Over the black water
>>> > of the Suwannee River.
>>>
>>> > Over the blazing miles
>>> > the shimmering white light glows.
>>> > The red clay country roads
>>> > become white silver sand.
>>>
>>> > Down south on Saint Augustine Beach
>>> > near the oldest city in America.
>>> > Crumbling coastline on 1997
>>> > before they paved it all.
>>>
>>> > Sand lions
>>> > snap up ants.
>>> > Minnows eat
>>> > mosquito larvae.
>>>
>>> > Cut across some dry yards
>>> > to the beach.
>>> > Stop and look
>>> > at the abandoned sailboat.
>>>
>>> > This happened then
>>> > and I expect it happens now.
>>> > Wrapped a bandanna around my head
>>> > to ease my feverish brow.
>>>
>>> > This was the scene
>>> > the reality.
>>> > I was soon welcomed in
>>> > to the party.
>>>
>>> > Connected to a scene
>>> > but it did not last.
>>> > A complicated dream
>>> > too heavy to transcribe.
>>>
>>> > Went down South
>>> > near the Fountain of Youth.
>>> > Where the gypsy lady
>>> > told Ponce the truth.
>>>
>>> > Once they met
>>> > and he looked into her eyes
>>> > Ponce was interested
>>> > in finding the surprise.
>>>
>>> > I'll see you
>>> > I'll be seeing you
>>> > if I use my head
>>> > I could make
>>> > more changes.
>>>
>>> > You need more than luck
>>> > in this rank affair.
>>> > Out of the blue
>>> > straight from thin air.
>>>
>>> > Going back in time
>>> > back a little ways.
>>> > Back to 1997
>>> > and those glory days.
>>>
>>> > I'll be there
>>> > watching her on the rocks
>>> > an angry old man
>>> > in a motor boat.
>>>
>>> > He was there
>>> > we were all there.
>>> > Working in the little store
>>> > seemed to suit him.
>>>
>>> > I have a role
>>> > looking into the past.
>>> > Those days I thought were over
>>> > since I knew they wouldn't last.
>>>
>>> > Ever since
>>> > I don't know when
>>> > she was getting the habit
>>> > smoking cigarettes again.
>>>
>>> > Don't take your heart away
>>> > such inclimate weather
>>> > in your charm.
>>>
>>> > I poured us both
>>> > a Captain Morgan.
>>> > We toasted each other
>>> > sad and warm.
>>>
>>> > Rode down with Danny B.
>>> > in a U-Haul truck.
>>> > With a few extra dollars
>>> > feeling filled with luck.
>>>
>>> > Going down to see the
>>> > Fountain of Youth.
>>> > To look around
>>> > for the slightest bit of truth.
>>>
>>> > Interview with the poets
>>> > on Flagler radio.
>>> > The reading for the deaf
>>> > with Miranda signing the poems
>>> > as I read them.
>>>
>>> > The school or the deaf and blind
>>> > was down on San Marcos Avenue.
>>> > Miranda had been both
>>> > a student and a teacher.
>>>
>>> > I walked by any times
>>> > but never did go inside
>>> > the Ripley's "Believe It Or Not!"
>>> > which was also on San Marcos.
>>>
>>> > Riding down
>>> > that old country road.
>>> > Danny B. pointed out the window
>>> > and gave a quick history lecture.
>>>
>>> > Between 1513 and 1763
>>> > Florida was a Spanish colony.
>>> > No place better displays
>>> > that lingering reality.
>>>
>>> > Across and then down
>>> > through the blood soaked fields
>>> > reminded me of Manassass.
>>> > Killing fields
>>> > man's natural occupation.
>>>
>>> > Where a seasonal battle
>>> > was fought.
>>> > Once a year one side
>>> > would attack the other.
>>>
>>> > As we rode past the field
>>> > Barfield explained the history.
>>> > English against Spanish
>>> > control stayed intact.
>>>
>>> > Don't make confusion
>>> > change of weather
>>> > comes a change of heart
>>> > now take a new space
>>> > don't go away.
>>>
>>> > Never decide until
>>> > looking back on it in hindsight.
>>> > Laughing crocodile
>>> > least of his concerns.
>>>
>>> > There begins a psychological
>>> > brow beating.
>>> > Not many can or will accept this
>>> > life is too short.
>>>
>>> > The walk to the beach
>>> > was just a few blocks.
>>> > Passed through every day
>>> > like a youth in the dark.
>>>
>>> > Up to watch high tide
>>> > up on the deck.
>>> > Writing down the scene
>>> > the sea a crashing wreck.
>>>
>>> > Back at the reading
>>> > liberal hearts were bleeding.
>>> > Nag Champa and weed smoke
>>> > floated in the breeze of the deck.
>>>
>>> > To look for miles across
>>> > the Atlantic Ocean.
>>> > Watching for the high tide
>>> > to come in.
>>>
>>> > Then he describes the
>>> > avaricious predators.
>>> > Listeners in the tent
>>> > feverish in the Florida heat.
>>>
>>> > Spacious daylight
>>> > in the courtyard
>>> > in the center of town.
>>> > First sight to be seen
>>> > crossing the Bridge of Lions.
>>>
>>> > On top of the world
>>> > watching high tide.
>>> > The world started
>>> > so when will it stop?
>>>
>>> > Back then we lived
>>> > down on the beach.
>>> > Music from the seaside bars
>>> > drifted across the dunes.
>>>
>>> > I used to walk by
>>> > the wax museum
>>> > walking over to see the
>>> > blind painter
>>> > Sherwood King.
>>>
>>> > Sherwood could turn out
>>> > about two oil paintings a day.
>>> > Sometimes three
>>> > when he was hyped up on whiskey.
>>>
>>> > His lovely wife
>>> > was quite a muse.
>>> > She drank and swore
>>> > was a lit fuse.
>>>
>>> > Down a few side streets
>>> > to the poetry gig.
>>> > At Behind The Forest Pub
>>> > hippies laughing
>>> > dancing a jig.
>>>
>>> > Sugar Mama
>>> > set her sights on me.
>>> > One more way
>>> > to make it happen.
>>>
>>> > Too much of the drink
>>> > and too much debate.
>>> > Brought an end to the scene
>>> > it was a matter of fate.
>>>
>>> > They had the big volume of poems
>>> > up on the shelf.
>>> > Carl Sandburg in the combat zone
>>> > poems about that toddling town.
>>>
>>> > Sipping slumgullion
>>> > on the porch of the pub.
>>> > Just over the hill
>>> > we could see the lights of the town.
>>>
>>> > I got a telephone call
>>> > that was undelivered.
>>> > It was an important message
>>> > that was not brought to me.
>>>
>>> > This was 1997
>>> > my first year in town.
>>> > I left with my tattered suitcase
>>> > on the bus
>>> > homeward bound.
>>>
>>> > -Will Dockery 2020
>>>
>>> > -------------------------------------------------
>>> > From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
>>> > https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/03/fountain-of-youth.html
>>> Quite excellent..... one of best....

Click here to read the complete article

Will Dockery wrote:

> On Sunday, August 28, 2022 at 5:20:15 PM UTC-4, Zod wrote:
>> Will Dockery wrote:
>
>>>> > Fountain of Youth
>>>>
>>>> > Smokers sat outside on the porch
>>>> > wit, wisdom and conversational drift.
>>>> > Watching the parade
>>>> > of tourists, buskers and artists.
>>>>
>>>> > I'd sit with the painter
>>>> > sketching my notes.
>>>> > A truly perfect street
>>>> > to compose jazz poetry.
>>>>
>>>> > Saint George Street
>>>> > leads straight to the Spanish fort.
>>>> > Now a tourist attraction
>>>> > of Cosplay settlers.
>>>>
>>>> > On to the Fountain of Youth
>>>> > down a long road
>>>> > of cotton fields and peanut patches
>>>> > as far as the eye can see.
>>>>
>>>> > Take a sharp right
>>>> > down into Florida.
>>>> > Over the black water
>>>> > of the Suwannee River.
>>>>
>>>> > Over the blazing miles
>>>> > the shimmering white light glows.
>>>> > The red clay country roads
>>>> > become white silver sand.
>>>>
>>>> > Down south on Saint Augustine Beach
>>>> > near the oldest city in America.
>>>> > Crumbling coastline on 1997
>>>> > before they paved it all.
>>>>
>>>> > Sand lions
>>>> > snap up ants.
>>>> > Minnows eat
>>>> > mosquito larvae.
>>>>
>>>> > Cut across some dry yards
>>>> > to the beach.
>>>> > Stop and look
>>>> > at the abandoned sailboat.
>>>>
>>>> > This happened then
>>>> > and I expect it happens now.
>>>> > Wrapped a bandanna around my head
>>>> > to ease my feverish brow.
>>>>
>>>> > This was the scene
>>>> > the reality.
>>>> > I was soon welcomed in
>>>> > to the party.
>>>>
>>>> > Connected to a scene
>>>> > but it did not last.
>>>> > A complicated dream
>>>> > too heavy to transcribe.
>>>>
>>>> > Went down South
>>>> > near the Fountain of Youth.
>>>> > Where the gypsy lady
>>>> > told Ponce the truth.
>>>>
>>>> > Once they met
>>>> > and he looked into her eyes
>>>> > Ponce was interested
>>>> > in finding the surprise.
>>>>
>>>> > I'll see you
>>>> > I'll be seeing you
>>>> > if I use my head
>>>> > I could make
>>>> > more changes.
>>>>
>>>> > You need more than luck
>>>> > in this rank affair.
>>>> > Out of the blue
>>>> > straight from thin air.
>>>>
>>>> > Going back in time
>>>> > back a little ways.
>>>> > Back to 1997
>>>> > and those glory days.
>>>>
>>>> > I'll be there
>>>> > watching her on the rocks
>>>> > an angry old man
>>>> > in a motor boat.
>>>>
>>>> > He was there
>>>> > we were all there.
>>>> > Working in the little store
>>>> > seemed to suit him.
>>>>
>>>> > I have a role
>>>> > looking into the past.
>>>> > Those days I thought were over
>>>> > since I knew they wouldn't last.
>>>>
>>>> > Ever since
>>>> > I don't know when
>>>> > she was getting the habit
>>>> > smoking cigarettes again.
>>>>
>>>> > Don't take your heart away
>>>> > such inclimate weather
>>>> > in your charm.
>>>>
>>>> > I poured us both
>>>> > a Captain Morgan.
>>>> > We toasted each other
>>>> > sad and warm.
>>>>
>>>> > Rode down with Danny B.
>>>> > in a U-Haul truck.
>>>> > With a few extra dollars
>>>> > feeling filled with luck.
>>>>
>>>> > Going down to see the
>>>> > Fountain of Youth.
>>>> > To look around
>>>> > for the slightest bit of truth.
>>>>
>>>> > Interview with the poets
>>>> > on Flagler radio.
>>>> > The reading for the deaf
>>>> > with Miranda signing the poems
>>>> > as I read them.
>>>>
>>>> > The school or the deaf and blind
>>>> > was down on San Marcos Avenue.
>>>> > Miranda had been both
>>>> > a student and a teacher.
>>>>
>>>> > I walked by any times
>>>> > but never did go inside
>>>> > the Ripley's "Believe It Or Not!"
>>>> > which was also on San Marcos.
>>>>
>>>> > Riding down
>>>> > that old country road.
>>>> > Danny B. pointed out the window
>>>> > and gave a quick history lecture.
>>>>
>>>> > Between 1513 and 1763
>>>> > Florida was a Spanish colony.
>>>> > No place better displays
>>>> > that lingering reality.
>>>>
>>>> > Across and then down
>>>> > through the blood soaked fields
>>>> > reminded me of Manassass.
>>>> > Killing fields
>>>> > man's natural occupation.
>>>>
>>>> > Where a seasonal battle
>>>> > was fought.
>>>> > Once a year one side
>>>> > would attack the other.
>>>>
>>>> > As we rode past the field
>>>> > Barfield explained the history.
>>>> > English against Spanish
>>>> > control stayed intact.
>>>>
>>>> > Don't make confusion
>>>> > change of weather
>>>> > comes a change of heart
>>>> > now take a new space
>>>> > don't go away.
>>>>
>>>> > Never decide until
>>>> > looking back on it in hindsight.
>>>> > Laughing crocodile
>>>> > least of his concerns.
>>>>
>>>> > There begins a psychological
>>>> > brow beating.
>>>> > Not many can or will accept this
>>>> > life is too short.
>>>>
>>>> > The walk to the beach
>>>> > was just a few blocks.
>>>> > Passed through every day
>>>> > like a youth in the dark.
>>>>
>>>> > Up to watch high tide
>>>> > up on the deck.
>>>> > Writing down the scene
>>>> > the sea a crashing wreck.
>>>>
>>>> > Back at the reading
>>>> > liberal hearts were bleeding.
>>>> > Nag Champa and weed smoke
>>>> > floated in the breeze of the deck.
>>>>
>>>> > To look for miles across
>>>> > the Atlantic Ocean.
>>>> > Watching for the high tide
>>>> > to come in.
>>>>
>>>> > Then he describes the
>>>> > avaricious predators.
>>>> > Listeners in the tent
>>>> > feverish in the Florida heat.
>>>>
>>>> > Spacious daylight
>>>> > in the courtyard
>>>> > in the center of town.
>>>> > First sight to be seen
>>>> > crossing the Bridge of Lions.
>>>>
>>>> > On top of the world
>>>> > watching high tide.
>>>> > The world started
>>>> > so when will it stop?
>>>>
>>>> > Back then we lived
>>>> > down on the beach.
>>>> > Music from the seaside bars
>>>> > drifted across the dunes.
>>>>
>>>> > I used to walk by
>>>> > the wax museum
>>>> > walking over to see the
>>>> > blind painter
>>>> > Sherwood King.
>>>>
>>>> > Sherwood could turn out
>>>> > about two oil paintings a day.
>>>> > Sometimes three
>>>> > when he was hyped up on whiskey.
>>>>
>>>> > His lovely wife
>>>> > was quite a muse.
>>>> > She drank and swore
>>>> > was a lit fuse.
>>>>
>>>> > Down a few side streets
>>>> > to the poetry gig.
>>>> > At Behind The Forest Pub
>>>> > hippies laughing
>>>> > dancing a jig.
>>>>
>>>> > Sugar Mama
>>>> > set her sights on me.
>>>> > One more way
>>>> > to make it happen.
>>>>
>>>> > Too much of the drink
>>>> > and too much debate.
>>>> > Brought an end to the scene
>>>> > it was a matter of fate.
>>>>
>>>> > They had the big volume of poems
>>>> > up on the shelf.
>>>> > Carl Sandburg in the combat zone
>>>> > poems about that toddling town.
>>>>
>>>> > Sipping slumgullion
>>>> > on the porch of the pub.
>>>> > Just over the hill
>>>> > we could see the lights of the town.
>>>>
>>>> > I got a telephone call
>>>> > that was undelivered.
>>>> > It was an important message
>>>> > that was not brought to me.
>>>>
>>>> > This was 1997
>>>> > my first year in town.
>>>> > I left with my tattered suitcase
>>>> > on the bus
>>>> > homeward bound.
>>>>
>>>> > -Will Dockery 2020
>>>>
>>>> > -------------------------------------------------
>>>> > From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
>>>> > https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/03/fountain-of-youth.html
>>>> Quite excellent..... one of best....

Click here to read the complete article

General-Zod wrote:

> Will Dockery wrote:

>> On Sunday, August 28, 2022 at 5:20:15 PM UTC-4, Zod wrote:
>>> Will Dockery wrote:
>>
>>>>> > Fountain of Youth
>>>>>
>>>>> > Smokers sat outside on the porch
>>>>> > wit, wisdom and conversational drift.
>>>>> > Watching the parade
>>>>> > of tourists, buskers and artists.
>>>>>
>>>>> > I'd sit with the painter
>>>>> > sketching my notes.
>>>>> > A truly perfect street
>>>>> > to compose jazz poetry.
>>>>>
>>>>> > Saint George Street
>>>>> > leads straight to the Spanish fort.
>>>>> > Now a tourist attraction
>>>>> > of Cosplay settlers.
>>>>>
>>>>> > On to the Fountain of Youth
>>>>> > down a long road
>>>>> > of cotton fields and peanut patches
>>>>> > as far as the eye can see.
>>>>>
>>>>> > Take a sharp right
>>>>> > down into Florida.
>>>>> > Over the black water
>>>>> > of the Suwannee River.
>>>>>
>>>>> > Over the blazing miles
>>>>> > the shimmering white light glows.
>>>>> > The red clay country roads
>>>>> > become white silver sand.
>>>>>
>>>>> > Down south on Saint Augustine Beach
>>>>> > near the oldest city in America.
>>>>> > Crumbling coastline on 1997
>>>>> > before they paved it all.
>>>>>
>>>>> > Sand lions
>>>>> > snap up ants.
>>>>> > Minnows eat
>>>>> > mosquito larvae.
>>>>>
>>>>> > Cut across some dry yards
>>>>> > to the beach.
>>>>> > Stop and look
>>>>> > at the abandoned sailboat.
>>>>>
>>>>> > This happened then
>>>>> > and I expect it happens now.
>>>>> > Wrapped a bandanna around my head
>>>>> > to ease my feverish brow.
>>>>>
>>>>> > This was the scene
>>>>> > the reality.
>>>>> > I was soon welcomed in
>>>>> > to the party.
>>>>>
>>>>> > Connected to a scene
>>>>> > but it did not last.
>>>>> > A complicated dream
>>>>> > too heavy to transcribe.
>>>>>
>>>>> > Went down South
>>>>> > near the Fountain of Youth.
>>>>> > Where the gypsy lady
>>>>> > told Ponce the truth.
>>>>>
>>>>> > Once they met
>>>>> > and he looked into her eyes
>>>>> > Ponce was interested
>>>>> > in finding the surprise.
>>>>>
>>>>> > I'll see you
>>>>> > I'll be seeing you
>>>>> > if I use my head
>>>>> > I could make
>>>>> > more changes.
>>>>>
>>>>> > You need more than luck
>>>>> > in this rank affair.
>>>>> > Out of the blue
>>>>> > straight from thin air.
>>>>>
>>>>> > Going back in time
>>>>> > back a little ways.
>>>>> > Back to 1997
>>>>> > and those glory days.
>>>>>
>>>>> > I'll be there
>>>>> > watching her on the rocks
>>>>> > an angry old man
>>>>> > in a motor boat.
>>>>>
>>>>> > He was there
>>>>> > we were all there.
>>>>> > Working in the little store
>>>>> > seemed to suit him.
>>>>>
>>>>> > I have a role
>>>>> > looking into the past.
>>>>> > Those days I thought were over
>>>>> > since I knew they wouldn't last.
>>>>>
>>>>> > Ever since
>>>>> > I don't know when
>>>>> > she was getting the habit
>>>>> > smoking cigarettes again.
>>>>>
>>>>> > Don't take your heart away
>>>>> > such inclimate weather
>>>>> > in your charm.
>>>>>
>>>>> > I poured us both
>>>>> > a Captain Morgan.
>>>>> > We toasted each other
>>>>> > sad and warm.
>>>>>
>>>>> > Rode down with Danny B.
>>>>> > in a U-Haul truck.
>>>>> > With a few extra dollars
>>>>> > feeling filled with luck.
>>>>>
>>>>> > Going down to see the
>>>>> > Fountain of Youth.
>>>>> > To look around
>>>>> > for the slightest bit of truth.
>>>>>
>>>>> > Interview with the poets
>>>>> > on Flagler radio.
>>>>> > The reading for the deaf
>>>>> > with Miranda signing the poems
>>>>> > as I read them.
>>>>>
>>>>> > The school or the deaf and blind
>>>>> > was down on San Marcos Avenue.
>>>>> > Miranda had been both
>>>>> > a student and a teacher.
>>>>>
>>>>> > I walked by any times
>>>>> > but never did go inside
>>>>> > the Ripley's "Believe It Or Not!"
>>>>> > which was also on San Marcos.
>>>>>
>>>>> > Riding down
>>>>> > that old country road.
>>>>> > Danny B. pointed out the window
>>>>> > and gave a quick history lecture.
>>>>>
>>>>> > Between 1513 and 1763
>>>>> > Florida was a Spanish colony.
>>>>> > No place better displays
>>>>> > that lingering reality.
>>>>>
>>>>> > Across and then down
>>>>> > through the blood soaked fields
>>>>> > reminded me of Manassass.
>>>>> > Killing fields
>>>>> > man's natural occupation.
>>>>>
>>>>> > Where a seasonal battle
>>>>> > was fought.
>>>>> > Once a year one side
>>>>> > would attack the other.
>>>>>
>>>>> > As we rode past the field
>>>>> > Barfield explained the history.
>>>>> > English against Spanish
>>>>> > control stayed intact.
>>>>>
>>>>> > Don't make confusion
>>>>> > change of weather
>>>>> > comes a change of heart
>>>>> > now take a new space
>>>>> > don't go away.
>>>>>
>>>>> > Never decide until
>>>>> > looking back on it in hindsight.
>>>>> > Laughing crocodile
>>>>> > least of his concerns.
>>>>>
>>>>> > There begins a psychological
>>>>> > brow beating.
>>>>> > Not many can or will accept this
>>>>> > life is too short.
>>>>>
>>>>> > The walk to the beach
>>>>> > was just a few blocks.
>>>>> > Passed through every day
>>>>> > like a youth in the dark.
>>>>>
>>>>> > Up to watch high tide
>>>>> > up on the deck.
>>>>> > Writing down the scene
>>>>> > the sea a crashing wreck.
>>>>>
>>>>> > Back at the reading
>>>>> > liberal hearts were bleeding.
>>>>> > Nag Champa and weed smoke
>>>>> > floated in the breeze of the deck.
>>>>>
>>>>> > To look for miles across
>>>>> > the Atlantic Ocean.
>>>>> > Watching for the high tide
>>>>> > to come in.
>>>>>
>>>>> > Then he describes the
>>>>> > avaricious predators.
>>>>> > Listeners in the tent
>>>>> > feverish in the Florida heat.
>>>>>
>>>>> > Spacious daylight
>>>>> > in the courtyard
>>>>> > in the center of town.
>>>>> > First sight to be seen
>>>>> > crossing the Bridge of Lions.
>>>>>
>>>>> > On top of the world
>>>>> > watching high tide.
>>>>> > The world started
>>>>> > so when will it stop?
>>>>>
>>>>> > Back then we lived
>>>>> > down on the beach.
>>>>> > Music from the seaside bars
>>>>> > drifted across the dunes.
>>>>>
>>>>> > I used to walk by
>>>>> > the wax museum
>>>>> > walking over to see the
>>>>> > blind painter
>>>>> > Sherwood King.
>>>>>
>>>>> > Sherwood could turn out
>>>>> > about two oil paintings a day.
>>>>> > Sometimes three
>>>>> > when he was hyped up on whiskey.
>>>>>
>>>>> > His lovely wife
>>>>> > was quite a muse.
>>>>> > She drank and swore
>>>>> > was a lit fuse.
>>>>>
>>>>> > Down a few side streets
>>>>> > to the poetry gig.
>>>>> > At Behind The Forest Pub
>>>>> > hippies laughing
>>>>> > dancing a jig.
>>>>>
>>>>> > Sugar Mama
>>>>> > set her sights on me.
>>>>> > One more way
>>>>> > to make it happen.
>>>>>
>>>>> > Too much of the drink
>>>>> > and too much debate.
>>>>> > Brought an end to the scene
>>>>> > it was a matter of fate.
>>>>>
>>>>> > They had the big volume of poems
>>>>> > up on the shelf.
>>>>> > Carl Sandburg in the combat zone
>>>>> > poems about that toddling town.
>>>>>
>>>>> > Sipping slumgullion
>>>>> > on the porch of the pub.
>>>>> > Just over the hill
>>>>> > we could see the lights of the town.
>>>>>
>>>>> > I got a telephone call
>>>>> > that was undelivered.
>>>>> > It was an important message
>>>>> > that was not brought to me.
>>>>>
>>>>> > This was 1997
>>>>> > my first year in town.
>>>>> > I left with my tattered suitcase
>>>>> > on the bus
>>>>> > homeward bound.
>>>>>
>>>>> > -Will Dockery 2020
>>>>>
>>>>> > -------------------------------------------------
>>>>> > From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
>>>>> > https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/03/fountain-of-youth.html
>>>>> Quite excellent..... one of best....

Click here to read the complete article

Zod wrote:

> Will Dockery wrote:

Click here to read the complete article

Zoy wrote:

> Will Dockery wrote:
>>
>> Fountain of Youth

>> Smokers sat outside on the porch
>> wit, wisdom and conversational drift.
>> Watching the parade
>> of tourists, buskers and artists.

>> I'd sit with the painter
>> sketching my notes.
>> A truly perfect street
>> to compose jazz poetry.

>> Saint George Street
>> leads straight to the Spanish fort.
>> Now a tourist attraction
>> of Cosplay settlers.

>> On to the Fountain of Youth
>> down a long road
>> of cotton fields and peanut patches
>> as far as the eye can see.

>> Take a sharp right
>> down into Florida.
>> Over the black water
>> of the Suwannee River.

>> Over the blazing miles
>> the shimmering white light glows.
>> The red clay country roads
>> become white silver sand.

>> Down south on Saint Augustine Beach
>> near the oldest city in America.
>> Crumbling coastline on 1997
>> before they paved it all.

>> Sand lions
>> snap up ants.
>> Minnows eat
>> mosquito larvae.

>> Cut across some dry yards
>> to the beach.
>> Stop and look
>> at the abandoned sailboat.

>> This happened then
>> and I expect it happens now.
>> Wrapped a bandanna around my head
>> to ease my feverish brow.

>> This was the scene
>> the reality.
>> I was soon welcomed in
>> to the party.

>> Connected to a scene
>> but it did not last.
>> A complicated dream
>> too heavy to transcribe.

>> Went down South
>> near the Fountain of Youth.
>> Where the gypsy lady
>> told Ponce the truth.

>> Once they met
>> and he looked into her eyes
>> Ponce was interested
>> in finding the surprise.

>> I'll see you
>> I'll be seeing you
>> if I use my head
>> I could make
>> more changes.

>> You need more than luck
>> in this rank affair.
>> Out of the blue
>> straight from thin air.

>> Going back in time
>> back a little ways.
>> Back to 1997
>> and those glory days.

>> I'll be there
>> watching her on the rocks
>> an angry old man
>> in a motor boat.

>> He was there
>> we were all there.
>> Working in the little store
>> seemed to suit him.

>> I have a role
>> looking into the past.
>> Those days I thought were over
>> since I knew they wouldn't last.

>> Ever since
>> I don't know when
>> she was getting the habit
>> smoking cigarettes again.

>> Don't take your heart away
>> such inclimate weather
>> in your charm.

>> I poured us both
>> a Captain Morgan.
>> We toasted each other
>> sad and warm.

>> Rode down with Danny B.
>> in a U-Haul truck.
>> With a few extra dollars
>> feeling filled with luck.

>> Going down to see the
>> Fountain of Youth.
>> To look around
>> for the slightest bit of truth.

>> Interview with the poets
>> on Flagler radio.
>> The reading for the deaf
>> with Miranda signing the poems
>> as I read them.

>> The school or the deaf and blind
>> was down on San Marcos Avenue.
>> Miranda had been both
>> a student and a teacher.

>> I walked by any times
>> but never did go inside
>> the Ripley's "Believe It Or Not!"
>> which was also on San Marcos.

>> Riding down
>> that old country road.
>> Danny B. pointed out the window
>> and gave a quick history lecture.

>> Between 1513 and 1763
>> Florida was a Spanish colony.
>> No place better displays
>> that lingering reality.

>> Across and then down
>> through the blood soaked fields
>> reminded me of Manassass.
>> Killing fields
>> man's natural occupation.

>> Where a seasonal battle
>> was fought.
>> Once a year one side
>> would attack the other.

>> As we rode past the field
>> Barfield explained the history.
>> English against Spanish
>> control stayed intact.

>> Don't make confusion
>> change of weather
>> comes a change of heart
>> now take a new space
>> don't go away.

>> Never decide until
>> looking back on it in hindsight.
>> Laughing crocodile
>> least of his concerns.

>> There begins a psychological
>> brow beating.
>> Not many can or will accept this
>> life is too short.

>> The walk to the beach
>> was just a few blocks.
>> Passed through every day
>> like a youth in the dark.

>> Up to watch high tide
>> up on the deck.
>> Writing down the scene
>> the sea a crashing wreck.

>> Back at the reading
>> liberal hearts were bleeding.
>> Nag Champa and weed smoke
>> floated in the breeze of the deck.

>> To look for miles across
>> the Atlantic Ocean.
>> Watching for the high tide
>> to come in.

>> Then he describes the
>> avaricious predators.
>> Listeners in the tent
>> feverish in the Florida heat.

>> Spacious daylight
>> in the courtyard
>> in the center of town.
>> First sight to be seen
>> crossing the Bridge of Lions.

>> On top of the world
>> watching high tide.
>> The world started
>> so when will it stop?

>> Back then we lived
>> down on the beach.
>> Music from the seaside bars
>> drifted across the dunes.

>> I used to walk by
>> the wax museum
>> walking over to see the
>> blind painter
>> Sherwood King.

>> Sherwood could turn out
>> about two oil paintings a day.
>> Sometimes three
>> when he was hyped up on whiskey.

>> His lovely wife
>> was quite a muse.
>> She drank and swore
>> was a lit fuse.

>> Down a few side streets
>> to the poetry gig.
>> At Behind The Forest Pub
>> hippies laughing
>> dancing a jig.

>> Sugar Mama
>> set her sights on me.
>> One more way
>> to make it happen.

>> Too much of the drink
>> and too much debate.
>> Brought an end to the scene
>> it was a matter of fate.

>> They had the big volume of poems
>> up on the shelf.
>> Carl Sandburg in the combat zone
>> poems about that toddling town.

>> Sipping slumgullion
>> on the porch of the pub.
>> Just over the hill
>> we could see the lights of the town.

>> I got a telephone call
>> that was undelivered.
>> It was an important message
>> that was not brought to me.

>> This was 1997
>> my first year in town.
>> I left with my tattered suitcase
>> on the bus
>> homeward bound.

>> -Will Dockery 2020

>> -------------------------------------------------
>> From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
>> https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/03/fountain-of-youth.html

> Quite excellent..... one of best....

Thanks again for the positive feedback, my friend.

Victor H. wrote: