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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required From the Bluegrass, a poet named Milt Took great care with the poems he built. With both nuance and pace, Gave the muse merry chase, Graced the page with the ink that he spilt. His posting are indeed a delight; His shadormas and haikus, so tight. His repertoire swells: Trionets, villanelles, Seems there’s no form that Milt cannot write. But the real gift for which Milt is known: That he treats folks just like they’re his own. To teach and to share With aplomb and with care Is a quality not often shown. For his true love, he’s over the moon With sweet phrasing that makes the gals swoon, And he longs to reside Once again by her side, but we’re selfish, so please, not too soon! ---------- I wrote this for a contest back in March, and then, like a dummy, did not submit it to the actual contest. Milt was gracious and encouraging to me from the beginning, pushing me to try different forms, always finding something kind to say about my efforts. Over the past few months, I noticed many of his poems had themes of dying, putting things in order, being satisfied with the life he'd lived. We saw through different lenses, theology and politics in particular, but our conversations, even in those areas, were always respectful, and I considered him a friend, though I never spoke with him. He leaves quite a legacy, and there's a bit of a hole where he was. I'll mull a poem over the next few days, but thought this repost a fitting tribute to a poet and friend.
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