Ron Friedman
Ron grew up on an 80 acre dirt and poultry farm in rural NJ. With two brothers and two sisters, the family was always busy making sure there was plenty of food on the table to go around. The local community was full of farmers, Jewish as Ron’s family, Italians, Chinese, and Anglo Saxons. In the mid 1960’s the main chicken coop with 30,000 hens burned to the ground throwing the family into a prolonged chaotic period. Though approaching his teenage years, when just a generation before young men signed up to serve in WWII, Ron was ill prepared to deal with the stresses that faced the family.
Always a lover of sports, he would round up neighborhood kids riding his bike from farm to farmhouse gathering enough kids to field two softball teams. Joyful hours were spent chasing fly balls in the summer months. There was minimal organized sports in the community during the 1960’s and when it was time for high school, the competition and skill of other athletes surpassed Ron’s abilities. Ill prepared for college, but wanting to go, he found his way to Adams State College in Alamosa, Colorado. Here Ron was accepted into an Honors English mentorship program. Virgil Hoff, the head of the department serviced as Ron’s mentor. This program exposed him to works of literature, art, music, theatre which still influences him today. Ron received a BA in Literature and Anthropology from the University of Montana during the late 70’s.
He now lives in Webster, NY with wife Nanette, son Sebastian, Riely and mIa, their two dogs and a few of his sons ball pythons not named.
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Gone Awry
by Ron Friedman
It’s not what you’d
Expect, walking all night.
Cloud shadows splayed before
You on the moon cobbled street.
Even on the wood trail
Light slithered, branch to tree trunk
Through broad leaves, conifers
The quiet so ancient you thought
All sound had finally become soft drum strokes
On taut stretched hides and love
Could be found easily in daylight
Before pulsing on the pond
Causing the croaking bullfrog to inhale.
When I tell you of this light
Your eyes widen, wider
Than a blood moon.
Your hidden family
Hand me down keepsakes
Exposed too soon!
You wanted to share them,
Later when the days chilled.
But now, some thing amiss.
A fractured matrilineal plan gone awry.
You whisper, do not expect
me in your dreams tonight.
Even though it is clear
Night walking is now
Part of me
Not to be surrendered…ever.
I will sleep only during the day.
You have been addicted
Also to the sound of a stretched hide
Sending broad waves
Across new green wheatfields
Scare up crows
Fill the sky with wings.
When I leave at dark to walk again
You call in all those
Red eyed birds
Let them know flapping their wings
Must be performed to a new rhythm
Let them fly out the window
I hear you chant…
Good wind, good moon, good stars tonight.
Take flight, take flight… tonight… tonight.
©Ron Friedman
