Tag Archives: poems

indulgent

interior to the moment
where we mingled our words,
every other one articulated
disparate pretenses
though thought bound-
to increment and comply
with the next,
leading onward
in the clutches
and parlance of consummation
to a synchronous
indulgence.

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I know the words here are a bit “overzealous,” though as I’ve mentioned before here…I like the sounds that words make. So indulge my vocabulary and just listen to the sounds. Thanks for visiting.

Keep on keepin’ on

National Poetry Month is half done! If you are participating in NaPoWriMo 2015, how are you doing?

So far, I’m keeping pace, though it is difficult on some days to get something written. I’ve only “cheated” with a haiku once (I only say cheated because at 3 lines, it is among the easiest forms to spit out – not that mine is a great one.) I’ve used prompts a couple of times, but usually the day after they have been posted.

My NaPoWriMo 2015 poems are posted over at an alternative site Rudimental Words

As always, I welcome comments and thoughts.

Snippets, newly minted

The new year is rambling on…

Writing
I mentioned a while back that I had submitted a poem that was accepted for an online publication. It is posted here, in The Front Porch Review, or at the link Periodicity under Published Work, down at the lower right of the menu bar. I am fond of this poem, as it captures some actual experiences of my life, and rolls some of the meaning into life’s cyclic nature. There are some other excellent poems in that issue, I invite you to give it a read. As always, I welcome your comments and thoughts.

I’ve started off the new year writing (attempting to write) some flash fiction pieces. I may share something here soon, but I’m also contemplating moving/reorganizing my blog site to accommodate things differently.

Music
After bingeing on holiday/Christmas music since mid-November, I have been cleansing my musical palette with “oldies.” That’s such a relative term, isn’t it? One generation’s oldies are not the next. When I say oldies, I mean 50’s and 60’s jukebox tunes. Doo-wop and British invasion songs are peppy enough to gloss over the general ‘suckiness’ of January weather. I don’t mind the snow…but the bitter cold. What do you listen to on a winter day?

Some random statistics
Since my unemployment began, I’ve applied for approximately 125 positions, mostly through internet application processes. I’ve gone through 12 phone interview processes (with different companies) resulting in 1 onsite interview. That means almost a 10 % conversion from application to phone interview, and only about 8 % of those result in a site interview. This gives a whopping 0.8% likelihood of a job interview based on internet applications – I think. This is biased due to my specific area of expertise and experience level, but it demonstrates the level of difficulty in finding the right job. Sorry about the math…I have to keep my skills up.

Reading
I wish I could say that I did a lot of reading over the last part of 2014 and the Christmas holiday…but I didn’t. I’m still nursing Philip Kerr’s novel Dark Matter:The Private Life of Sir Isaac Newton– A Holmes-esque mystery novel during the time when Newton was Warden of the Royal Mint. I’ve read some interesting journal articles about anthocyanins that I mentioned in a post a while ago in December. And, my MIL gave me three Jack Higgins novels to read…which I am excited about. I read The Eagle has Landed when I was in high school and really liked it. Also, I dusted off my copy of The Silmarillion (after seeing the third and final Hobbit film), and leisurely read a few sections to try and jump start my interest in the book…sigh…the names.

Thanks for visiting and reading.

That’s the allergy meds talking…

I am recovering from acute bronchitis…blech…if you ask me, not very attractive.  I’ve been coughing up from the depths of my soul for about 3 days now.   I feel marginally better today, enough to try to work, as long as I don’t need to hurry around doing anything.  I thought a blog post might be the thing to get the synapses going (trying to move past the 12 hour cough medicine and various allergy meds and general malaise).

This will definitely be filed under the not poetry section of the blog.  Writing a poem seems a bit daunting this morning, but I recall an old one that I might try to find and share…

But first, some general thoughts I pondered during my self-exile.

1.  Baseball season has arrived…and not a moment too soon.  I’ve been making my way through Ken Burns documentary “Baseball” (slowly) since last year’s world series – which I boycotted out of frustration. I’ve watch a couple of episodes over the last week. It is interesting that this sport, which has relied on its public persona as the “pastime” – there is such public love of the game with romance and tradition- has always been surrounded by political gamesmanship and questionable characters. The innocence of back-lot baseball always propels the sport forward; beyond the black sox scandal, beyond bickering ownership groups, beyond the strife of integration, beyond even steroid use. While we will pick apart the personalities and the events, for some reason, at its core, baseball will always hold some fascination with our child-like desire for simplicity. And that will keep it going.

2. In keeping with my improvement plan for this year, I’ve signed up to attend a local writer’s conference later this month. There are several sessions on poetry, and I’m looking forward to it. I’m hoping that some of the blogging poets whose sites I frequent will be there.

3. On a writing note, I’m considering trying to do a chap-book. Does anyone have any suggestions on doing this? Any publishing groups that focus on “not-so-well-known” names? I’m not looking to self-publish, and would appreciate the opportunity to work with someone to edit and group poems together.

4. Things that annoy and confound me: people who don’t provide the necessary assistance when their help is asked for to complete something, but then come around 6 months later and judge/find mistakes in the completed work.

5. It is national poetry month (NaPoWriMo), and while I won’t be participating this year, I do extol the wonderful aspects of poetry. Read it every chance you get and try to write some every now and then. You won’t be disappointed.

And as promised…an old poem from ca. 2005.

The Allergy Express

Snxzzzzz.

Topiaries,
eating berries
Slopping through the morning, weary.

Roller coaster,
whole wheat toaster,
tastes so friggin’ ordinary.

Sinusitis,
not colitis,
has me down and out and dreary.

Notwithstanding,
brain demanding
I continue literary

Medication,
good hydration
for what ails me, I’m not leary.

Need more tissue
not an issue,
sneezes too preliminary.

I am dizzy,
in a tizzy
guess I slowed and became bleary.

In my station,
realization,
that the train has stopped.

SHHHHHHHHHHHH.

Grasping

In that moment before grief
When you have a hold on something
-it could be anything-
maybe carrots,
or a sheet of paper,
or pencil.
You release your grip in an instant.
Time does not continue,
yet the object falls away.

Not like dropping a ball,
with a child’s anticipation of return.
Neither as with a moment of revelation,
or when gasps follow a feverish plea
for more.

It is different.

It is a moment we cannot predict,
unable to stage a photograph
of the way the touch vanishes
and grasp fails,
yet the burden of loss enfolds.

Becoming

If you cannot be a poet, be the poem.
~David Carradine

I struggled,
no…toiled
quietly.
with the puzzle
of what was to be my next poem.

Separating the magnetic pieces of words
on the table.

Shuffling them into phrases
and finding
only prepositions
and adverbs:
Often before,
Sometimes between,
but mostly among
all of the words.

An admirer asked,
“Have you written anything recently?”
with a nod and held-breath and widening eyes

I replied with a slow head-shake.
and a sigh,
then realized what I had not done

-placed myself inside the poem-

I left the table
words askew
until perhaps tomorrow.

Preparation/Produce

Eavesdropping in the produce section,
I overheard an Asian grandmother
and her grand-daughter discussing
how to julienne carrots for stir-fry.

She said that this careful cutting
takes time, but the vegetable
remains firm and crisp
in the prepared dish,

It will not cook away too much
Or soften in harsh heat

Another day, I walked past two men.
The elder man,
was explaining carciofi
to the younger man, a teen,
and how the artichoke
should be carefully prepared.

Strip away
the rough exterior leaves,
to reveal the soft, white interior for cooking.

The substance lies on the inside.

Different cultures.
Different foods.
Elders instructing the young,
there is significance to preparation.

A Hand to Bukowski

I was dreaming about smoky rooms
and back stairwells, when
the ghost of Charles Bukowski
woke me up at 2:15 AM
and said,
“Help me write this poem.”

I rolled over and reached out in disbelief,
and I swear, I could have touched him,
but he turned
and left the room.

I swung my legs out of bed
and followed him to the kitchen.table.
He was drinking a cup of coffee
and mumbling to himself, doodling
on a napkin.

“I never wrote a poem about polar bears.”

Why does it have to be polar bears? I asked.

He wrote down that sentence.

What do you know about polar bears? I asked.

“Nothing,” he said and continued
to scribble and recite,

“Damned polar bears in zoos
have it good.
Their keepers throw them fish.
Bears eat.
Bears sleep.
Bears screw.
Nobody throws Chinaski a fish,
And they gawk at me all day.”

I left him at my kitchen table
with his head in his hands,
smoking a cigarette,
and mumbling to himself.

I faded off to sleep,
and dreamed of polar bears.

Bukowski is a lousy muse.