To Rowe or not... 

 

not the quintessential poet

rather a poet of few words

turning them within context

tuning them to serpent harmonies

coiled meanings, twisted finales

seemingly simple he takes our hand

as a child might, or a man, leading

or being led into an alchemist's

retort, a philosopher's stone,

his scant words like dross pile up

suddenly spiraling into gold.

 

– Tom Odegard, 3/12/05

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"At My Wit's Beginning, is a delightful and thought provoking collection that will make even the most cool and reserved among us laugh out loud at least once! If you appreciate the brevity and surrealism of Richard Brautigan and the dry wit of comedian Stephen Wright then this is for you." 

– Robin Michel, poet & writer (Fremont, CA)

        www.alamedawhipsnake.com

 

 

 

                               Poem from At My Wit's Beginning:

                                 

                               

                               The Silver Lining

                        Walking for hours (days perhaps),

                        bones pressing against skin,

                        I come upon

                        a fork in the road.

 

                        I pick it up

                        and pick up the pace

                        in hopes of soon finding

                        the knife and the spoon,

 

                        then my place at a table

                        with plate of food

                        providing nourishment needed

                        to continue this awkward journey.

 

                        – John Rowe