Fairbanks

[Jim Wilson]

In Fairbanks I liked to visit a bar,
Right now I cannot remember the name,
The owner would recite Robert Service,
He would recite the poems from memory;
'The Cremation of Sam McGee' was one
That never failed to grab my attention.

A good poem's worthy of our attention,
Recited by friends or heard in a bar,
An open mic or a reading by one,
A poet with fame or one lacking name,
Read from a book or read from memory,
By Robert Frost or by Robert Service.

Poetry's ev'rywhere, a great service.
A poem, like a flow'r, draws our attention,
Touching deep recesses of memory.
You can share them at home or in a bar.
Some poets are famous, you'll know their names,
Often a name that years of hard work won.

Sometimes in a book of poems there'll be one
That's like communion, a holy service,
Opening our heart to things with no name.
Such a poem seems to say 'pay attention',
Here you can freely enter, there's no bar,
Such a poem opens ancient memories.

Some poems remain lodged in our memory
With places and faces, things done and won.
Sitting quietly in a local bar
Or church, entering into the service,
The mind becomes a field of attention,
A field that's familiar, yet hard to name.

Some cities, some poets, have well-known names,
They are placed in most of our memories
And we give them a lot of attention.
For some poets fame has never been won,
They render an anonyous service
Wherever they are, in a church or bar.

Come to the bar, the bar without a name,
That services all with fine memories,
Memories gathered from the field of attention.


Jim Wilson
Copyright 2014
All Rights Reserved