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Archive for the ‘Wordsworth! Stop the Bulldozer’ Category

wm ww

Dear William Wordsworth,

A friend visited your home recently and brought back photos of where you wrote your poetry. I, too, am named Wordsworth and I, too, write poetry. Not in an English home such as yours, but in my little mouse hole in Hawaii. Yes, I am a mouse poet.

The 21st century must seem unimaginable compared to your life in the 1700-1800’s.

And yet, Mr. Wordsworth, our poems cross all centuries. Your poem below still speaks of the need to preserve our natural environment, otherwise what images will poets see on a lonely walk? Concrete?

”I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils.”

Contrary to your poem, my poems speak of preserving what was so natural in your century. Mr. Wordsworth, there will be no daffodils in our world soon.

The Bulldozer

there was a place I sat and wrote

to music played in my concert grove.

 

branches rubbed against branches,

coconuts dropped to the ground.

vines snaked and squeaked their way

seeking the hot noon sun.

 

frilly fronds danced the wind,

lacy limbs brushed their leaves.

sparrows, mynahs spattered notes

low c’s, high c’s and in-between.

 

it was a place for violins, cellos,

trombones, flutes, and  piccolos, too.

Oh, what music to my ears.

Then the monster came.

 

gachump!

gachump!

gachump!

he gobbled up notes

oh, what a beast.

he chomped and crushed,

grunted and groaned,

belched and gobbled

everything in sight.

 

oh, what a monster,

oh what a beast

to eat my trees.

to eat my trees.

Wordsworth fell asleep thinking, “Gachump, Gachump.”

from Wordsworth! Stop the Bulldozer!

It is an honor bearing your name, Mr. Wordsworth.

Aloha,

Wordsworth the mouse poet.

 

 

 

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Thank you, Cameron, Lex and Cooper for your review of my Wordsworth books.

Folks, the three brothers Cameron and Lex are 13 and Cooper is 21 months. They each received a letter of thanks from Wordsworth and me, mailed in three separate envelopes.

I plan to read their letters to the lecture I’m giving this month on Wordsworth and children’s literature in my effort to show the difference between children’s books and literature. What makes it literature? These boys know.

Villa photo

cameronlex letter.jpg

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Please drop by to say hello, Oahu friends.

2Nakeu_flyer_10-1

1Nakeu_flyer_10-2

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bulldozer

bull

 

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To Wordsworth the Poet fans, please check him out at his own FB page. He’s complaining that no one goes there much. In today’s post, he is complaining how he was not flown first class from Sacramento to Honolulu to Hilo. He also explains how he was created. He’s getting pretty verbal, now that he’s so well-sought by his fans in Hawaii. Do you know Maui has now invited him over to visit their schools to teach them about Alzheimer’s and memory loss?  No, I was not invited.

https://www.facebook.com/WordsworthThePoet?fref=ts

 

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I took this photo during a walk around the neighborhood. That eye spoke to me …

Tree

tree bark

I  see you.

Put that saw away.

You will not use my sisters and brothers

To fill your bank account

With Real Estate towers.

 

I see you.

Put that saw down.

Look up at my glory,

Home to hundreds of life

More than you can accommodate

In your blue-printed home of destruction.

 

See me.

Before it is too late.

Frances Kakugawa 2-5-19

 

 

 

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ww on bull

How do you like my Holiday tree with so many golden balls…a natural and real tree. To all you readers who, after reading my Wordsworth! Stop the Bulldozer! book, began to use trees whose roots are still in rich healthy soil, thank you for keeping our planet green. To you, too, who have stopped cutting down trees. Wait, there’s more. See my bulldozer poem under my tree.

Ww's tree

The Bulldozer

there was place I sat and dreamed

to music played in my concert grove

 

branches rubbed against branches

coconuts dropped to the ground…

vines snaked and squeaked their way

seeking the hot noon sun.

 

frilly fronds danced the wind

lacy limbs brushed their leaves…

sparrows, mynahs spattered notes

low c’s, high c’s and in-between.

 

a place for cellos, violins

trombones, tubas, crashing  brass…

flutes, piccolos, clarinets ,too

a symphony of purest sound.

 

up and down the scale

notes played every key…

in this place I called my grove

until the monster came.

 

he gobbled up notes

oh, what a hungry beast…

he ate and ate, grunted and groaned

until there was nothing left

nothing at all.

from: Wordsworth! Stop the Bulldozer!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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