There is nothing I’d like to write about here today, so I’ll be using the time I normally reserve for blogging to revise and edit poems for the project I’ve been working on.
I hope your days holds some joy and peace in it.
There is nothing I’d like to write about here today, so I’ll be using the time I normally reserve for blogging to revise and edit poems for the project I’ve been working on.
I hope your days holds some joy and peace in it.
Last week was one helluva month.
I’m not searching for sympathy or a pat on the back. Lots of folks have it much worse than I do and I’m grateful for all the wonderful things in my life as well as just the basics of food, shelter, and clean water. The above statement for me is mostly scene setting, okay?
It’s a weird time in the world. There’s a virus nonchalantly roaming about the earth trying to kill us. But that’s kind of understating and overstating it simultaneously, isn’t it? Even with much of the rampant progress slowed, there’s still lots of people losing their lives and it’s pretty clear that this thing is far from over. The overstatement is assigning some kind of motive or emotion to a virus. It really doesn’t care. It’s out to replicate and spread, because… that’s what a virus does.
Sort of like social media.
As I’ve said in some recent post which I can’t be bothered to go looking for at the moment, this pandemic-stay-at-home thing has caught me woefully unprepared in terms of my to-read pile. Where I’ve normally had four or five books waiting for me, I was almost empty-handed when COVID came a-knockin’.
That being said, I’ve finished up the last book that was in the pile and decided to go backwards. Journeying back to the source you might say. Which yes, is a bit of clumsy foreshadowing.
After not writing much new poetry while I’ve been stuck in Revision Land, it’s been a veritable explosion of fresh material here!
Okay, so it’s been a couple poems. But still! That’s something.
Here’s one that I wrote yesterday.
contraptions stubbornly sensual, hands reach to caress - lips pout to kiss & find only empty space filled with air & questions. think of that: emptiness filled. an artless definition of love or a crude state of being? all of us, empty & filled in various ways - jury-rigged apparatus on the verge of catastrophe, asked to bear “just a little bit more”
I know that it isn’t Word Wednesday, but I woke up to snow in Southern Maine on April 28 and a lack of motivation to write much besides and endless stream of cuss words and other “get off my lawn” – ish grumbling.
So instead, here’s a new poem that I was going to save until tomorrow.
bon voyage holes poked in the stage curtain sky, shine down on me as comets chase their tails - money, in its various incarnations being shifted around the globe in elected electrons - down here, it’s steady as she goes while first class places another bet on catastrophe and low prices - only the poor bastards up there in the crows nest know for sure what’s coming - & we stopped listening to them a long time ago.
Here’s a collection of some of the things from this week that I’ve enjoyed, been inspired by, want to share, or are grateful for.
Like what you read? Good! Maybe you’d like to check out some of the other stuff I’ve written lately.
Even though I spend a bunch of time here on the blog talking about creativity, writing, and a bunch of other things, I think it’s time to a take a little break for some sportsball. After all, at one time, I actually ran a sports blog as well as having far too much statistical knowledge jammed into my head concerning the various New England teams and their rivals.
Pray indulge me, dear reader.
Reaching back a bit for this one because I’ve been living in The Land of Revision as of late instead of writing new things. I’ll be glad to find some sort of an end to this project if only to say it’s done. In the meantime, enjoy this little chestnut from a few years back.
birds of a feather because birds of a feather who never quite come together are pulled apart from the part from which they want to be a part... something whole for once instead of a piece without peace that never quite finds that lease on life - first or second that they’ve heard so much about and without a doubt the hardest part is the softest spot because that’s where the dagger goes and it shows in the way that she curls away from life in general - the way she turns away from even the slightest compliment or passing glance that never quite passes without a chance to cut... or pierce that veil of stale air that surrounds her inside that armor shell
About 17 years ago, a friend of mine called me somewhat out of the blue to say she was taking a trip to Ireland and asked if I’d like to go along. I’d been on a couple of trips there with groups of about 50 in what amounted to a cross between a tourist adventure and a well-behaved Viking pub crawl, but this would be a totally different trip. Four of us traveling the island by car.
At the time, I was living in Newport News, Virginia. My only source of income was working as a waiter at a Mexican restaurant, barely making enough to pay rent.
So of course I said yes.
For all my talk of morning routines and how vital they are, can I share a secret with you? I mean, we’ve been chatting for a bit now, so I feel comfortable doling out a little nugget of what’s really behind the screen.
There’s days when I don’t want to get out of bed.
And some days, I give into that. I feed the animals (so they’ll be quiet) and then go back to bed. And it’s glorious. Another two hours of sleep, and sometimes, they’re the best two hours of the entire night. It’s everything I dreamed it would be.
Trouble is, the rest of the day doesn’t tend to go too well.