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RANDYLAND!
by alongtheserivers
 GoodPoems
Jul 29, 2016 | 55 views | 0 0 comments | 1 1 recommendations | email to a friend | print | permalink

Greetings Poetry Lovers,

I'm sure I share with most, if not all of you, an abiding love for our beautiful city. Every community poet worth his or her salt has written at least one "Pittsburgh poem." Then there are the many outstanding photographs, paintings, essays, short stories, novels and films; the artists as well as the Pittsburghers themselves are moved by our special place, no question about it.

Recently, I discovered something new and unique in our city: Randyland!

What is Randyland?

Located at 1501 Arch Street, on the NorthSide, Randyland is billed as Pittburgh's "Most Colorful Landmark," as well as "The Happiest Place in Pennsylvania."

Actually the home of artist Randy Gilson, Randyland has also been called "a candy-colored testimony to one man's efforts to revitalize an inner-city neighborhood..."

At Randyland you will encounter outdoor art in a barrage of color: bright yellow dominates but makes way for all manner of painted objects , maps, animals, birds; walls adorned by elaborate designs, faces, creatures done up in purple, green, red; add to this raucous mélange the gaily adorned old cast-offs: I particularly was taken by the ringer washing machine and the multi-colored metal porch chairs hanging above my head. Folks, you've got to see it!

Somewhere along a festooned wall at Randyland sits a Pittsburgh Poetry Box. What's that, you might ask? Another of our city's small wonders. A trio of poetry lovers have created small boxes, "poetry houses," placed here and there, which contain lovingly selected and printed poems, free for the taking. 

Currently, my poem, "Spring Fever," occupies a shelf alongside three others in the Poetry House at Randyland.

FYI, I will produce the poem here, but strongly urge you, the reader, to have the delightful experience of a visit to Randyland. I can assure you, it is unforgettable. 

 

 

 

Spring Fever   

 

 

The desire in the old man’s mind

is a stone anchor

that keeps his boney feet tethered

to the home place, dirt and all:

 

to own the first intruding green

he sees, the almost gold

that should burst to green

during his daily watch.

 

He must not miss the moment,

fears it may come forth

at once, like sudden water:

pouring, seamless.

 

His craving appears each spring.

He suspects this must be by design,

simple and meant to be, the way

morning overtakes the brightest moon.

 

Otherwise he would be able;

 

unpossessed, he would turn away,

free to leave the garden.     

                       ---JRR

 

Thanks for clicking in!   xo Judy

 

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