GRAND AGAIN

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Foreword by Stan Lerner: Last August I found myself at the Northern tip of Michigan on Mackinac Island. Famous for fudge and horse drawn carriages, no cars are allowed to drive on the island, I sat on the porch of the Grand Hotel in suit and tie and wrote a poem. Consider this a downtownster travel post and maybe something a little bit more.

A Poem By Stan Lerner

On the porch of the Grand I sat and rocked.
And to myself I talked.
I talked to myself about the air, not on the island but out there.
Too often polluted by despair.

On the porch of the Grand I sat and rocked.
And to myself I talked.
I talked to myself about the Rouge Plant asleep, a betrayed soul which was all of ours to keep.
Once a symbol of might, now a symbol of darkness like the night.

On the porch of the Grand I sat and rocked.
And to myself I talked.
I talked to myself about hearing the old tired voice of Robert Frost speak of the road less traveled—an endeavor in which I have also dabbled.
There was indeed a fork in the road, a part of life which we have all been told.

On the porch of the Grand I sat and rocked.
And to myself I talked.
I talked to myself about click, click, klop, click, klop, a horse passed by.
A sound from another time.

On the porch of the Grand I sat and rocked.
And to myself I talked.
I asked myself, “Better off now or better off then? Will civilization need to begin again?”
I talked to myself about this a lot, click, klop, click, klop…

On the porch of the Grand I sat and rocked.
And to myself I talked.
I talked to myself about dress too casual, the few with vision, the abundance without, the profanity spoken by teenagers, how base we’ve become, and the beauty of an island surrounded by blue water that tolerates it all.
The Grand does make one feel small.

On the porch of the Grand I sat and rocked.
And to myself I talked.
I talked to myself about what might become of the rest of my years.
A bird flew near, then off toward a lighthouse no longer in use.

On the porch of the Grand I sat and rocked.
And to myself I talked.
I talked to myself about what might become of the rest of my years.
All of the hopes and a few of the fears.

On the porch of the Grand I sat and rocked.
And to myself I talked.
I talked to myself about taking time to love and time to think—a slight breeze blew from a direction I did not expect.
I watched as the flags moved by the wind and hoped we could all be Grand again.

One thought on “GRAND AGAIN”

  1. Stan, I was simply mezmerized by your poem Grand Again. It is simply beautiful. I love that you get such raw material from life, because life is in the rawest form.

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