NOTE FROM LB:
As a TV writer, I once worked for a studio head who absolutely forbade the verbal expression of positive emotion (although he loved people shouting “I hate you!”). As a poet, I have no such boundaries:
We played the game of who loves who more.
NOTE FROM LB:
It’s recurring dream time! We all have them. All I’ll say about this one is that over a great many years and a great many illuminating night visions, it has proved to be the most powerful of them all.
Last night I dreamed the treasure trove dream,
NOTE FROM LB:
After over two decades of taking – and giving – abuse as a television writer and producer, I left my Hollywood life behind and trekked (by SUV, of course) to the Southwest, tracking the magic I’d long believed in but never been part of. Thanks to the Navajo Dog, I found a path that was good and true. But sometimes a man needs a break, you know? The following happened during a short visit to – well, the title tells it all:
Three of us drove up toward Mulholland that night,
NOTE FROM LB:
Looking through The Return of the Navajo Dog, I saw this poem about the death of a cat I had sometime in the mid-1980s. I’m confused and a little embarrassed because although I remember the cat very well and loved her because she was so gentle with me and considerate of my cat allergies, I can’t for the life – or death – of me recall the dog I speak of – oh, crap, I just did. He was a wonderful dog, allowing for his need to hump everything in his path. And his path, like all of ours, was filled with twists and turns.
I had a cat that died suddenly one day.
NOTE FROM LB:
From The Return of the Navajo Dog, some memories from Gwen the Beautiful’s late grandmother, Jesse Manns, of her life in Oklahoma, back in the day.
He was a traveler, my husband was. We