Had my first ever book signing at “Hooked on Books ” in downtown Colorado Springs on April 30, 2022. Nice time , good turnout. This is the email ad sent out by the store before the event.
POETRY EVENT: Hear a Poet with Heart
Colorado Poet Dennis McMahon
Reading & Signing A Place Called Alice (Alice, is the town in North Dakota, where Dennis grew up) <Outlook-w4ax1mnu.png> Here at Hooked on Books, 1 to 3 pm Saturday April 30, Bring your friends! With light refreshments
From his title poem; “A Journey of No Distance”
Though I am alone and far from there I have them with me still those things I love. The winter nights The Northern lights Summer’s yellow green The amber gold of fall And quiet Quiet so quiet almost I feel I’m an interloper in a foreign land—
When the crystal shard of a Meadowlark at song Serves it seems Only to defy the silence When the haunting call of an austral bound Canada Goose Vibrates the very ashes of my bones. . .
Come to hear Dennis sharing his poetry and signing his book, A Place Called Alice, Saturday, April 30 at 1 to 3 pm Bring your family and friends
In the tongue of the Dakotah it is the country of the grass. The grass that’s greasy in the wind For the way it slips and swirls whispers in the breeze catches light like waves in a sea of opalescent green It isn’t just the wind there’s a feeling too that’s there of a majesty beneath the sound that slips within my soul. I ask myself sometimes is it an echo of when the world came first to be? A kind of grace note maybe? On an instrument played by God when he holds his finger on the key plays a note so low it almost isn’t there. I wonder too if others hear it or is it only me? I wish that I could climb inside that note somehow feel the world from there. It is the elemental essence that I feel I think.
that spirit never sleeps In the country of the grass that’s greasy in the wind
When the sun is past midway
in it’s austral journey
and it’s starting to appear
a little watered to the eye.
When the temperatures at night
drop well below the freezing mark
and those damn mosquitoes
have long since given up the fight.
When I’m walking through a shelter belt
and fallen leaves
boil up around my feet
and Alice Slough is bivouac
to a hundred thousand ducks and geese.
It’s then the golden days of summer
surrender to the polished amber of the fall.
It’s the air I think,
mostly it’s the air.
Looking at the world
through the crystal Autumn air.