I Left My Hat

Forgotten in the moment,

bent in a pentagram

for that first kiss.

Our collision was complete.

Geometric.  Reciprocal.

I wore it home on the tram.

It concealed enough of my eyes

to steal sideways glances,

while our hands became absolute.

Then I knew there were hats in heaven.  

Romantic notions.  Miracles. 

When it was time to go,

I left it behind on purpose,

next to the trilby at your door;

knowing I would be back

to the golden ratio,
lasting result of chance.

tk/May 2015

R.A.D. breathes life into my words...

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Remittance Man

This morning I dream you wear your hat;

the well-loved trilby that accompanied you

to the King George, where three-year olds meet

older horses.

You stand quietly, hands across your chest.

I imagine you posed like that,

calmly watching the 3:10; cigarette dangling

from your whiskers.

I step from behind, hand on your shoulder,

remove the hat, place it cocked over my eye.

All its privileges and undeniable luck released

upon my head. 

tk/February 2014


Excellent read by R.A.D. Stainforth...in the sun-she-ine... 

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Doesn't everybody name their hats?

It comes as no surprise that I like hats. I wear them year round, but it's especially fun to wear them in winter. With the approaching Polar Vortex 2, little brother of Polar Vortex, I will most likely be wearing a woolly hat indoors. It's good to have a proper cold winter. I've enjoyed Edna, my vintage poodle hat, named after my dear friend, Edna St. Vincent Millay.

Not many wear them in my neck of the woods, so I get pleasant looks of surprise when I show up around town in wild vintage hats. It's no fun to dress without accessories. In 1950s rural Indiana, a woman dared not show up to church without her best hat, pocketbook, and gloves. My favorite thing to do in church, besides eating Grandpa's butterscotch Lifesavers, was to look for Margaret Mabbit, the woman with the feathered hat and bright red lipstick. When we rose to sing the doxology, she looked like a lovely Sendakian parrot, happily singing on her perch.

“What the hell is that?" I laughed.
"It's my fox hat."
"Your fox hat?"
"Yeah, Pudge. My fox hat."
"Why are you wearing your fox hat?" I asked.
"Because no one can catch the motherfucking fox.” 

 ― John Green, Looking for Alaska 

I'm ready for the hard crust...

Along the hard crust of deep snows,

To the secret, white house of yours,

So gentle and quiet – we both

Are walking, in silence half-lost.

And sweeter than all songs, sung ever,

Are this dream, becoming the truth,

Entwined twigs’ a-nodding with favor,

The light ring of your silver spurs...  

Along the Hard Crust 

Anna Akhmatova, 1917

(translated by Yevgeny Bonver, 2002)

I've been in a bit of a Russian mode on my Facebook wall this week. It must be because the cold weather finally arrived in Central Ohio, and I wore my furry Zhivago hat, for the first time this season.  We had a few flurries, but they didn't really count as a first snow, which I always look forward to with much anticipation.

The Russian poet Anna Akhmatova also came to mind.  Her writing was banned, unofficially, from 1925 to 1940, and then again after the end of  WWII.  Unlike many of her literary contemporaries, she never considered flight into exile.  Persecuted by the Stalinist government, she was prevented from publishing, regarded as a dangerous enemy, but at the same time so popular, even Stalin would not risk attacking her directly. 

I love this portrait of Akhmatova by Russian cubist painter, Nathan Altman.

mad hatter and majolica

Love is the magician 

that pulls man out of his own hat.

Ben Hecht

I'm crazy about hats. I found this fabulous "Mad Hatter" at Gee-Dub (that's my local Goodwill store) on my weekly Friday visit. It's black leather, with a red feather on the side, and looks to be from the late 60s/early 70s. My doppelganger, Johnny Depp, would be proud of it's perfect quirkiness. Props are part of my particular idiom.

Lurking with the glassware, waiting to be discovered, was this lovely little Majolica decanter for $1.99.  It appears to be fairly old, judging from the bottom, and in perfect condition.  What kind of fruit is it?  I don't know. It's a mystery. But I like it, nonetheless.

Victorian Majolica was originated by Mintons Ltd, who exhibited it at the Great Exhibition of 1851 under the name "Palissy Ware". The debt to the eccentric 16th century potter Bernard Palissy is obvious from its naturalistic plant and animal motifs molded in relief and splashed with bold color and clear glazes.  Many late 19th-century majolica designs had rustic motifs with backgrounds of basketry and wooden-bound buckets decorated with molded flowers, birds, fish and animals. Handles were made like rustic tree branches, rose stems and twined flowers and leaves.

PS-- Don't forget my new chapbook is available for pre-order.  I have an advance sales period of approximately six weeks, before the pressrun is determined.  So, if you are interested in purchasing a copy, it would help me tremendously if you would pre-order a copy now.  Click the book image on my sidebar or the link below.  Thanks so much for your invaluable support, my friends. You're the best.

FINISHING LINE PRESS PRE-ORDER

wear the old hat, too

I know you are all waiting with bated breath to find out which hat I got yesterday at the antique center. I toyed briefly with the idea of getting the fabulous velvet Shakespearian looking "Wolsey" hat, but chose instead, a rawhide Minnetonka buffalo nickel band outback hat. It looks as if it's never been worn, just waiting there for me to come collect it.  Wolsey just wasn't going to bond with the Barbour-coat-boots look I'm trying to achieve. It's all about reinventing yourself, don't you think? 

And finding the hat, I always like to find the hat. And then props just dress the set. It's all fabulous. 

Morgan Freeman 

People who cannot invent and reinvent themselves 

must be content with borrowed postures, 

secondhand ideas, fitting in instead of standing out.

Warren G. Bennis