Confession Tuesday - Joy and Sadness Issue

 Dear Reader:

Let's hurry to the confessional... 

It's been one submission, a whole week of Grind Poems (if you don't know what this is, just ask), One bad eye (right), a fair amount of squinting, A SuperBowl win for Kansas City, two new ink colors in my fountain pen, Another episode of Shrinks, a day with both joy and sadness, one journal bits post on my web site, one load of Laundry, and one week since my last Tuesday Confession. 

Reader, I confess that I could not make it through the week without a second blog post as I stated last Tuesday that I would try and start doing.  In my defense, I did add a post to my Poet's Notes on my website which is kind of a blog. I know, that's a lame effort to get off the hook.

I confess also that I am religiously using Combigan on my eyes and that I believe it makes some difference one day and not so much the next.  Dr. Appt is coming up on the 20th. 

I confess enjoy the Apple TV series Shrinks. Seeing Harrison Ford act again is good. Both his age and health are showing through. 

It's 6:30 PM and I confess this day has gone from euphoric joy to deep sadness. After this, the remainder of my even plans will likely be scuttled in exchange for going to bed. I'm not tired, and I don't expect to sleep - I just don't have the desire to face anything else tonight. 

I confess I need to write about 5 new poems with some emphasis on night for my manuscript.  I was going to talk with someone about this today for maybe some new angles for them. 

I confess I will not be going to the Super Bowl parade tomorrow. That many people downtown drinking and likely seven sheets to the wind when they arrive sure looks to me like a recipe for disaster.

I'm not kidding when I say that I believe the manuscript will be ready to pass it out to a few people to look it over soon. I confess I really see this happening. Probably no later than the end of April. 

I'm afraid I'm at the end of the line for this post.  Let me say that I wish you all the best in the week ahead, and be especially safe.  Life is precious. Everyone's. 

All best!

Michael

Confession Tuesday-- Introverts edition

Dear Reader:

It's been one rejection letter, three episodes of Shrinking on Apple TV,  another week writing poems for the Grind ( if you don't know what that is just ask me), Numerous excruciating starts to new poems, 7 days worth feeling in the grip of darkness, and One week since my last Confession.

Let me start dear reader by saying that I am troubled.  Do you know what singularity is?  No, not that one. Singularity has to do with AI. As in artificial intelligence. Singularity is when parity is achieved between humans and AI.  For some, this is an outstanding achievement. We've made a new life form that replicates what humans can do. 

It can write your thesis. Draft a court brief, create art, write music, etc. Of course, to do this tons of data has to be fed into the system so for example, it can duplicate brush strokes, or know the general parameters needed to prepare a given legal document. 

In the example of art, for instance, there is a class-action suit already against a company that has an AI art generator. It has collected samples over the years of a couple of artists, Suddenly, it offered a subscription in which you could use the site to access their AI feature and create artwork. Suddenly, all of the pieces of the artwork uploaded on the site were making them money, but not the artists whose work they used. They get nadda. Nothing. Zilch.

I confess that I find this very disturbing. And what about people turning in college work done by AI?  I see the ethical and economic pitfalls of this as frightening.  But I will just leave this here for now. 

Writers are solitary people. Many are introverts. Many of us will write for example "dark poetry" and people, often friends will ask why do you do that?  It comes. with the territory. It's not that I don't write anything uplifting or joyous, it is just sometimes we are lost in a web of darkness in our life. I'm trying to work my way through one such week or more. It's not. that I don't try to write pieces that are not dark, it is more like I am just not really feeling good about the positive stuff that comes out during such periods. 

I ran across the quote pictured above this week and I have to confess it seemed to strike a chord with me. Loneliness to the point, your shadow has left you in the dark. It's not a good place to be. for very long. Even if you are an introvert.

Speaking of introverts, I saw an article today that while it has been a long-held belief that businesses prefer to hire extroverts, there is a growing trend by many businesses to take a second look at what introverts bring to the workplace. The thought process of introverts is different from extroverts. For one thing, Introverts have thicker gray matter in the frontal lobe. There appears more brain activity in this area. Introverts can often stay in pursuit of a solution to a problem more than extroverts.  It's an interesting nuance between the two.

Color my mind this week as that of curiosity. 

I hope everyone has a joyous week and will see you soon. I promise I will be writing more on here again. My goal is twice a week. 

Very best to you all -

Michael 

Confession Tuesday: Where Has August Gone Edition

 

Dear Reader / Friend or both...

It's Tuesday night and it has been 28 days, One Truman Gala, On 35th Legislative Dist. Organizational Meeting, One full Democratic Committee Meeting, a 9the Election To The Democratic Committee, several rejection letters, 27 new poem drafts, 3 gas tank fill-ups (I think), and untold days of frustration since my last Confession.

I have gone from sceptical that the Democrats can hold onto the Senate in the fall elections to feeling relatively optimistic that we can gain 2 to 3 seats. I confess this is based on my general assessment of a variety of polls and not just wishful thinking.

I confess that I am at a loss for understanding how impotent the Republican Party has become so quickly in this country. 

I confess that I have fallen off my schedule of working on my poetry manuscript. It is perhaps a combination of coming out of the Primary elections and starting back to school.

I am taking two classes this semester. I confess one is really interesting, the other I could teach. with both hands tied behind my back.

I confess that I have absolutely no idea where August has gone to.

I confess that Madison, my long-haired Dachshund had probably the best day of his life and I missed it. I am told he found a snake in the back yard and it became his favourite toy. Having missed it personally, I feel kind of like being told you weren't home and missed your son or daughter's first steps.

Mood Tonight: a mixture of #sadness, #frustration and #empathy 

Confession Tuesday July 19, 2022

Dear Readers: 

It has been six days since my last confession.   Hurry along to the confessional and let's get started. 

Reader-- 

I confess this has been a hard week. It's been a week with a lot of demands and I have tried to remain true to them. From school and school work to writing, to try to help another, but alas I have realized I am not magical or all-powerful. I am human and I have had limited success. Further, I am disappointed in my overall results. This is a self-disappointment, plain and simple. 

Tonight, I listen to the news and am admittedly. angry.  The Secret Service says they deleted text messages on Jan 5 and 6, 2021.  This is only the most significant two days in recent American history.  Plus their story has changed over and over.  All agents working those two days need to sit and testify under oath before the Jan 6 Committee. 

I'm happy to say that it seems my month of Grind poems has been going better this month. I confess it should be automatic by now. 

There are at least one, maybe two poetry books coming out that I must have. They need to be worked into my anaemic budget.

Yes, raising my hand, I confess I am eating Sweet Cherry Peppers....  for dinner?  Maybe. 

Let me leave you with these words by Yeats... "For the saint and the poet alike... make excess even more excessive."

Stay safe, and read daily...

 

Confession Tuesday on Wednesday

Dear Reader:

I confess that I am late. This would not be the first time you have heard this from me and I'm sure it won't be the last.  Last night when I arrived home from class, I had to finish my Grind poem and a couple other essential obligations and the clock just would not let me do this, so here I am tonight.

I confess I will lead off with good news tonight.  Ada Limón was named our new Poet Laureate of the United States.  A very deserving choice. I had the occasion the meet Ada once at a reading in Lawrence, Kansas. One of my favorite poems of her's at the time was Sharks in the River.  Not one of her best pieces but a fun one never less.   Her 2015 book Bright Dead Things seemed to be a turning point in her work and I knew that there would be bright days ahead for her and her poetry.

Ada deserves this, but what's more, America will be enriched by a greater awareness of her poetry. 

Today was a rough day at the office and I admit I am tired. But here I am confessing to you that life after work goes on. 

I am also happy to report that I am feeling happier than not about school. It is a big change to my evenings, but I feel so far that I've been doing what I need to and that is a good feeling.

I confess I am ready any day now for an acceptance letter or two or three. Come on, I'm overdue. 

I am a little disappointed in my Giants. They have gone through a rough patch. Mid-season and they need to turn themselves around. 

My Essay on Plato is due in two weeks. It's coming along. I may take a break from it tonight. 

I confess I believe in miracles. 

My overall mood today is best described as tired and reserved.  Not a bad mood but could improve. I'm not complaining, just hoping for some good news.

Until next time, stay safe, and may happiness find you. 

Confession Tuesday 7-05-22

Dear Reader:

It has been 13 days since my last confession. I have a lot to make up for, so follow me to the Confessional, please. 

If it's Tuesday it should be class night. Instead of class, I had a conference with my professor. Not a conference like I did something bad, but I'm sure somewhere along the line I have, but a conference to go over my big project of the semester. My last essay. 

I arrived slightly early as I confess I was nervous and sort of felt lost. Not. in the building pictured above right, there is not that much to get lost in there. No, I was lost in what I was doing there.  Yes, I had a vague idea. I was supposed to go over where I was at on the project. He asked me to refresh his mind on what I was doing in general terms. 

Plato - in his view can one be happy in life without eros?  In general, Plato seems to rank beauty and love very high in his order of life. I'm certain that Plato would not like one to speak in general terms, nor does he like sensibility. The ladder seems to defy making any sense. 

I won't write the essay here, I hope to only do it once, but my professor was almost giddy over the things I brought up, both in observations of Plato and Socrates and some of the questions I will raise concerning the application of Plato's theories in today's world.

I walked out of the classroom feeling. happy that I was apparently on the right track. 

So, the building above is the Liberal Arts building on the Longview Campus. I confess that my mind got the best of me and was thinking if I were going to Liberty University back in Virginia, would my class be in the Conservative Arts building instead.  The University was I believe founded by the late Jerry Falwell, which should tell you a lot about it.  (insert laugh here)

I confess today was a bag of mixed goods. There were some good things about my day and some things that were just so-so. A little in the feeling down mode, but overall, it was a decent day I guess. 

I confess I am extremely tired of shootings. More people are growing angry at the gun violence in this nation. They are not shy above their anger either. The problem is accelerating. More guns in the community are not the answer. It's like throwing gas on a fire. 

I confess that I have been trying to practice calm more often. I'm getting better at it, not perfect but with some prompting, I have made headway. 

I confess that I am so happy for Silas that he got his cone off this weekend.  Poor baby is recovering from a torn ACL. 

Still cranking out poetry submissions. Still waiting for some journals I really want in. I confess is have a list of them I keep in my head. 

That's it for today's confession  - Until next time - be safe and enjoy life. 

 

Confession Tuesday on Thursday

 Dear reader:

I confess that I thought I was a day late for confession Tuesday. That would be 2 days late.

This morning I arrived at work and settled in for two 9:00 AM hearings. One ended up being withdrawn and by the time we finished the second one, we spent more time than I would have anticipated if we had done both.  It was painfully slow and draining.  As a result, the whole day felt like it was in slow motion. 

BASEBALL TAROT CARDS:

My sister, Kelly. called me, she has a set of Baseball Tarot Cards for me. I was intrigued because I know some people who have used Tarot cards as writing prompts, or for meditation.

Now that I have these, I confess I am trying to figure out what I am supposed to do with them. Stay Tuned. This saga will continue. 

SCHOOL:

Tuesday's Class was cancelled. I learned this after driving all the way out there. Given the price of gas these days, I confess I was a little miffed. Verry little notice - a 4P.M. email. 

GENERAL MOOD

I confess that my mood has been on the lower side lately.  I little bit. improved the past couple of days but I've not been swinging on the Joy chandelier of late. I miss the more joyful times and look forward to when I might realize them again. 

THE GOOD AND THE. BAD

This week I had a rejection letter and a letter telling me I have a poem that has been long-listed in advance of the submission deadline by a journal.  I have never heard of such a thing before, but given the editor's email, I confess I am happy with what was said about my work. 

That's it for now...  Be safe and see you next time

Confession Tuesday Spontaneous Combustion Edition

Dear Friend / Reader:

No baseball has been played. I filled my gas tank once, I watch thousands of protesters on TV. I saw too many fires and broken windows. I watched too many incidents of police swinging clubs at people, pushing to the ground, spraying chemicals at protesters, I grieved for people hurt and those killed. I grieved for families that lost loved ones. I wrote most nights. Failed to get enough walking in, thought about yoga but did none. Grilled BBQ stake. Had a root bear float at work. Wore mask up in public, washed and rewashed my hands too many fucking times. All this and more since my last confession a week ago.

I confess that I do not know what day of the  Covid-19 pandemic its is, I just know we are no where near the end.   Last I saw there were 786 related deaths in Missouri. Nationwide deaths exceed 114,000. I saw today that there are flair ups in Texas and Mexico. People aren't exercising social distancing very well and I totally expect that we will have to go through another shut down.

Baseball is my go-to to pull me out of the winder doldrums and into the spring then summer and it just makes life remind me of poetry and brings comfort. I confess I am struggling for this comfort.

I'm awaiting some poetry books and I'm really bad at waiting for books to arrive. Amazon has spoiled me, but. I do order elsewhere and I still want them yesterday. Is this impatience a sign of a character flaw?

I confess that I have a lot of material that needs attention. Drafts that need to be rewritten. Should I just pick a day of the week that I always work on rewrites?  How do you deal with a pile of work that needs to be rewritten? Do you avoid a pile of it by trying to keep on a piece till you ate ready to call it finished?

Is it wrong to have 22 games of Words with Friends going at once? I'm just asking for a friend, you know.

How many Character flaws make you a character?

When I drove down our street on the way home tonight I saw a black bird large enough to be bigger than Heckle and Jackle combined.

I'll close with a great poem title.  This is from a poet that I am quite fond of.  Spontaneous Combustion: Girl Kissing Bursts into Flames.  That rocking title belongs to Laura Kasischke. I might have to use that as a title prompt to write my own poem from.


Till next time! Stay safe, and be a great Joy & Peace.

Confession Tuesday - Dark Pillows - Impeachment - Yoga - and Poetry drafts.

Dear Friend: 
It is again that time. Fess up time.  The time to take account of the good the bad and the ugly.  Won't you follow me to the confessional? 

It has been five straight days of yoga, a gazillion eye drops, more impeachment hearings than I can recall the number - maybe 5?  And it has been 1 week since my last confession. 

Tonight as I left work downtown the sky was buffeted with dark pillows. It was a sight most surreal. 

I wanted to just stand and look at it but I had not been feeling well all day, was already leaving late and I the desire to get home won out. 

It's my 5th straight day of yoga tonight,  even as I don't feel well.  It's the coughy - runny stuff. I confess that I would like to stay home tomorrow but we will see how I am in the morning. I have started some Clairton - D so maybe that will help. The coughing has brought on chest pain. 

I was telling someone the other day that it did not know if yoga was making me a better writer, but it sure was making me a less stressed writer.  I am hoping that over time that will translate into better writing. I confess that hope is a good thing. 

This past week I have been spotty as far as writing. No, I confess I have not written daily. This is the ugly truth. I say that because I know all too well how important it is to do so. I do have a new draft that I will need to work on more, so this has not been a total loss of a week. 

My cataract surgery is, of course, all history now. Still pushing the eyedrops as I have been instructed to do. My eyes will still need some correction adjustment but they will take a look next month to see what my vision is like. My vision is brighter. I suspect I will still be wearing glasses but they will be different from what I am wearing presently.  I have noticed that I have not been squinting so much on the computer at work. 

I am looking forward to a Mala making class this weekend.  I also got out my manuscript draft tonight and left it on my desk to start toying with this week so I guess I have some things to look forward to. 

Until next time - be safe and live poetically!

Confession Tuesday: My 2019 Poet Crush Six Pack

For several years I have selected a number of poets that are currently rocking my world. Over the years it was capped at 6 and became known as my  Poet Crush Six Pack. This year I have struggled, in that there are so many really good poets out there that are writing remarkable material and speaks to me on some level.

My familiarity with them has come from reading their work or meeting them and hearing them read in person or both. [A little secret - many of my books have been bought at readings or ordered just afterward]. It is always extra special when I discover that their poetry not only rocks, but they are great literary stewards that frequently are giving back to the greater writer community. Several of these are such stewards. So, I give you my 2019 Poet Crush List. I confess these poets are rocking my world. 

Katie Manning is the author of a poetry collection titled, The Gospel of the Bleeding Woman which I read this year and found intriguing. Her writing reminded me a bit of Magdalene by Marie Howe another awesome poet who was selected for my Crush list in the past.

 In Portland for AWP19, I met Katie and picked up a copy of another of her books, Tasty Other. The second book was very different. This book was entertaining. It made me laugh and had just a touch of dark humor. Loved the poem Belly of the Whale, and the attempt to make Jack Nicholson look less creepy. My favorite was a series of 10 vignettes of a statue of Mother Mary on Johnson street that comes to life in various situations. I love that Mother Mary was humanized in these poems. Katie addressed experiences of pregnancy, motherhood, and parenting with humor and realism. 

On a final note, Katie is the Founder & Editor-In-Chief of Whale Road Review.  Additionally, she records short video reviews of other people's work, and that is so cool.  Follow Katie here.

Jennifer Moore is the author of The Veronica Maneuver, which I have read and What the Spirit Said, which is on my list buy and read soon.

I discovered Jennifer at AWP19. I have no idea if she was in attendance, but Mary Biddinger and Akron University Press were. I always, always check out Akron Press because they have consistently feature outstanding poetry. Mary made a couple of book recommendations and that's how this all happened.  

The Veronica Maneuver opens with, In the year of our Lord the Electric Chair and it was there she had my full attention. Jennifer wrote with a splash of mystery, which I loved. The poems were transformative. There was calm, there was chaos, there were Christ's face and a bullfight. It was marvelous how it all came together. I look forward with much anticipation of reading more of Jennifer's work. You can follow Jennifer here.

Melissa Studdard's I Ate The Cosmos for Breakfast has made me hungry for more of her work. She quotes Wallace Stevens, "The poet is the priest if the invisible." Studdard is that High Priestess.  Whether it is revealing the invisible to the naked eye or her copious attention to detail, to texture, and to metaphor. There is a touch of eroticism, feminine mystique, that is divine. Each time I read one of these poems I feel like I've learned something else, or else I come away with a curiosity for questions I never before entertained.

Melissa has been involved in VIDA - Women in Literary Arts. Melissa is rocking the poetry Cosmos! You can follow her here

Jericho Brown in person is one thing. Charming, 
outlandishly funny and occasionally
sarcastic. At least that has been my experience seeing him at multiple AWP conferences.    In his word, I see a much different man. Yes, there is sarcasm, but with a whole different intonation. He has championed a darker but no less real side of life. Cynical, yes, but squarely attuned to the unmistakable divide that festers in America.

Jericho's Louisiana roots never quite seem to be far away. His book, The New Testament kept me asking myself over and over sometimes uncomfortable questions. It also left me wondering how to get this book into more widely read. He has a newer book out that I have not read. but have added to my ever-growing wish list.  You can find more on Jerico here.

Anne Barnsgrover wrote in her debut book, with simply smashing imagery. "I feel like a wasps nest nailed to a door, all the stingers dried to rose thorns."  This was another Mary (knows how to pick them) Biddinger find. The book, Brazen Creature.

Loving, losing,  and all that happens in-between in these poems. Each is bold and unapologetic. Each is brazen. It could be in some ways a feminist manifesto. 

Metaphor is not lost on the revenge of the brown recluse. "Our hearts are nothing//but lies and lilac bruises. Old friend, we both want/each other dead tonight." This collection of poems was like an emotional workout. I want more of her work to read!

More on Anne Barnsgrover found here.





Martha Silano is one of what I refer to as the magical Northwest Poets. There are a number of them in the greater Seattle area that are incredible beyond what any single geographical are should be entitled to. Could it be the water?   She has five collections of published poetry. I have four of them. I've met her at AWP two or three conferences and my knowledge of her and her work go back a number of years.

In Martha's most recent book, Gravity Assist, published by Saturnalia Books,  she toys with all things relative to our orbit. The seen and unseen. Forces and things nearest to us and the way out. Jealous of that star in Orion that isn't~  stare without resentment.  

The collection moves quickly and touches on Gerbils in space and wings that were not given. Of course, there is your favorite and mine, Autocorrect! Someone, I don't recall who said there was math in poetry. Yes, it's there. Oh, the things Martha orbits around in this book. She tries to outdo gravity, but the words fall to the page anyway. 

But alas, the first book I read of Martha's remains my favorite - Little House of the Immaculate Conception. That's why I keep buying her books and continue to be amazed. 

More on Martha Silano found here. 


There, you have it, my Six Pack of Poet Crushes for 2019 

Confession Tuesday - Between Two Eyes Edition

Dear Reader: 

Let's go to the confessional.  It's been one cataract eye surgery,  California burning, the smell of impeachment appears stronger, the World Series is split  3-2 in favor of Astros, Sylvia Plath would have turned 87 if she were still alive, and it has been two weeks since my last confession. 

My left eye surgery is done and I've given up a week of yoga at Doctor's request. I thought it would be longer from what other people have told me but I confess a week is still too long.  I am slated to go to Core Balance for a session tomorrow evening.  However, I will be doing the right eye on November 5th, so I will be off the mat another week then. 

I confess I don't presently see any major changes in my left eyesight. I'm just saying. 

Writing lots the past three days. I believe there are some possibilities from this rough work. I have hope.  Plath reminds me of the importance of writing daily. I confess, she still has power from the grave. 

One of the most exciting things that have happened since my last confession is that  I have made contact with a cousin on my father's side of the family.  This is significant because of the lack of Wells family members I have contact with. Grandparents are deceased. My father and uncles on his side of the family are all passed on.  So I was able to make contact with a first cousin, once removed. This is pretty cool as she has helped me with some family history questions.  I am hoping at some point to be able to write an oral history of the Wells family. I confess that I have been feeling like a dying breed. 

When I am able to restart yoga after my next eye surgery, It is my intent to do a stint of 30 consecutive days of yoga. 

Impeachment of the President is seeming like closer to reality. I don't know if the Senate can muster the guts to do the right thing, but once the case is more in the forefront of the American people, we will see if the Senators will scramble like roaches for the molding. 

I read a poem the other days that was not totally new to me, but I think after reading it I felt a newness to it. I realized it closes with a line I had heard as a quote from W.S.Merwin in the past.  The poem is titled, Berryman: 

Berryman

BY W. S. MERWIN

I will tell you what he told me

in the years just after the war

as we then called

the second world war

don't lose your arrogance yet he said

you can do that when you're older

lose it too soon and you may

merely replace it with vanity

just one time he suggested

changing the usual order

of the same words in a line of verse

why point out a thing twice

he suggested I pray to the Muse

get down on my knees and pray

right there in the corner and he

said he meant it literally

it was in the days before the beard

and the drink but he was deep

in tides of his own through which he sailed

chin sideways and head tilted like a tacking sloop

he was far older than the dates allowed for

much older than I was he was in his thirties

he snapped down his nose with an accent

I think he had affected in England

as for publishing he advised me

to paper my wall with rejection slips

his lips and the bones of his long fingers trembled

with the vehemence of his views about poetry

he said the great presence

that permitted everything and transmuted it

in poetry was passion

passion was genius and he praised movement and invention

I had hardly begun to read

I asked how can you ever be sure

that what you write is really

any good at all and he said you can't

you can't you can never be sure

you die without knowing

whether anything you wrote was any good

if you have to be sure don't write

This was shared this month by the Poetry Foundation at this site.

And last but not least, I watched Meg Eden in the Poets in Pajamas

reading series. She was reading poems from her new book coming

out from Press 53, titled Drowning in the Floating World.   The

collection of poems is themed to the nuclear power plant disaster in

Japan. I recommend checking it out. 

Until next confession, stay safe - Peace!

Michael Allyn Wells

Confession Tuesday - Poem finds Home Edition

Dear Reader: 

It's Tuesday once again. A weekly occurrence and while my Confession should be weekly as well, I sometimes fail. Hey, I'm human!

On the way into the office this morning I was looking at the sky and reflected on the color variations and thought I should write something about this. But I didn't.  I'm not sure that I had anything remarkable to say about it, but I really didn't try and that is precisely what I want to talk about. 

In recent times I have thought about writing, mine at that of others. I've also thought about those who don't as a rule sit and commit ink to a page. I think sometime in the recent past (though I can't pinpoint exactly when or what caused me to think about this, it occurred to me that everyone has a story to tell. I've heard that said before but I never really thought it was meant for me. I always think when you are telling a story that you are making something up - something fictional or you are relating an actual event that you are sharing with others. I don't know why, but I never really accepted the fact that poets had stories to tell. 

I think of world travelers with unique experiences having stories to tell. Or, persons who have survived some illness or torture, or with some remarkable life discovery having a story to tell. I think it all boils down to is this a story worthy of being heard? Sometimes I think about memoirs that I have read that had very dysfunctional people in them. I think about what caused me to consider such a story worthy of being told, of being read.  I don't think we always can know what another will be interested in, but if we write, and write with a creative flair that makes what we say interesting.  Sylvia Plath used to say that everything was writable. 

What I wonder today, is what stories that are waiting to be told at our southern border? What stories need to be told? Who will step up and fill this need? I confess that I think about this and it troubles me.  [long pause for reflection here]

On another note, One of my orphan poems went out into the world this spring and has found a home. I pleased to share with you this poem that just came out yesterday in the Remington Revied - Summer Edition.  

Keep[ing It] Going

I throw another log on the fire.

I have one left that I am saving—

Alone; I keep practicing.

One day I may get it.

Tolstoy said The strongest of

all warriors are these two—

Time and Patience.

I know if you were here

you would applaud, well done!

And maybe I am better,

but you were kind

and always saw something

fly outside the picture frame.

You had the eyes—

they were plugged into your heart,

a strong heart. A sharing heart

that sometimes would pump

for both of us.

This log has been burning all night

now. It shows no sign of extinguishing

itself. My practice continues.

May you all have a safe and enjoyable week ahead. 

A Little Slice of Confession Tuesday

Dear Reader: 

I know it's Thursday and I have missed the customary Tuesday Concession.  (hanging  head low)  I hope you will accept this late and tiny slice of my recent life.  It's been a week and 3 days since my last confession. 

It's also been one debate of 10 Democratic candidates for president last night  (another one with 10 more will be held tonight. It's been a Father's day since my last confession, and it has been a jumbling of many books that I am reading at the same time. (That's how everyone reads, right?) 

Summer is officially here and we have colorful plants blooming to show for it.  Cathy gets truly excited with plants in summer. I think she gets that from her grandmother - who was affectionately known as granny. When I leave in the morning or when I come home in the evening I am greeted by colorful unfolding nature before my eyes. I confess I love this. I love knowing that she loves gardening with flowers too.  By the way, we have tomatoes on our tomato plants (our one cash crop). 

I had a rejection of poems in a contest since my last confession.  I don't often dwell on rejections. I am sure this was a form one too. But it did happen to be the same place that  I once received a form rejection with a handwritten note that said,  "you were close."  But, I digress, the part of this rejection that caught my fancy was as follows... "We strongly believe that a poem's value is not determined by its publication, or by the selection or non-selection by a limited group of readers. The editors urge you to wholeheartedly reject this rejection, and send these poems out again and write some new poems, and sent them out too."  I confess this made me smile. 

Watching the Democratic candidates debate on the first night, left me feeling a little empty. Of what I saw I was most impressed with Senator Tulsi Gabbard, Julian Castro, and Cory Booker. Elizabeth Warren after a strong initial exchange sort of went to sleep. What she said was pretty much her normal stump speech I've heard countless times. The only negative was that she took a position on health care that would be unattainable as the way the laws are written now, hospitals would have to close their doors over authorized payment amounts. I suspect she would ultimately look for a fix for this but it did seem like a big gaff.  No one shined. I expect the bar will be higher tonight. 

Another confession, I am working on my annual Poet Crush list. (link to last year) It should be out this month, but I have read so much this past year, I am having to do a fair amount of weighing those being considered to keep it at 6. Hopefully sometime in July? Maybe, Hopefully. 

That's it for today~

Be safe and of much joy!

Confession Tuesday - One Less Orphan Poem.

Dear Reader: It's been a relatively normal week of weather since my last confession Little bit of rain but mostly nice sunny and comfortable temperatures. So close to normal it's almost scary.

I received good news on Monday. Another orphan poem of mine found a home. Picked up by Remington Review. This is the third time they have taken one of my submissions. It almost feels like family. I lover their format. They always put together a nice issue. So the new poem will be in the Summer edition.

I confess that I feel like I need to be a bit of a hustler. Hurry and get more work submitted. I try to balance writing time with administrative things, like submissions, notes, and reading. I need to learn to transition from one to the other better. It's like yoga for me as a newbie-  Learning the individual poses is one thing. It's another whole challenge to learn to smoothly flow from one position into another and another. I confess that when I have an acceptance or rejection I always feel the need to immediately make sure I have more work out there. There was a time when I had a lot of poems floating around between various venues but as I work harder to satisfy myself with each poem, the time spent increasing  my vault (so to speak) of material that is available means I am adding to it at a slower pace and therefore feel the pressure to increase material available for submission. 

The news of a hung jury in the Scott Warren case was reported yesterday. I confess that while it was a hung jury 8 to 4 for acquittal, It is a reassuring statement on humanity. 

That's it for this week's confession. Be safe and live on the edge. 

I Interrupt Confession Tuesday to Remember Tiananmen Square 30 Years Ago

Thirty years ago a young man stood in defiance of Chinese tanks at Tiananmen Squair. The photo of this single person in street clothing and clutching two shopping bags, standing face to face with a tank, is widely recognized and associated with the student freedom movement. The man and the massive machines of war catapulted itself to become an icon seen around the world.   It was June 5th, 1989 when "Tank Man" was photographed in the aftermath of a deadly government crackdown to clear Tiananmen of young protesters. 

At home, however, China was attempted to scrub this image from the public minds. They once used it to demonstrate their need to use force, but the picture hardly served that purpose well.  Generations of Chinese youth have been largely sheltered from this picture and the deadly government actions 30 years ago. 



In 2005 I wrote a poem the poem that follows -  Tiananmen Mother  - dedicating it to a Communist Party official that broke with the government and tried to warn the protesters of the coming violence. As has been the case with others, he was ostracized.  Beyond that, I believe the poem speaks for itself. 

Tiananmen Mother

for Zhao Ziyang

The Beijing breeze whispers
mournful strophes.
Tears like the mountain rains
follow slopes

to tributaries until they become one
with the rippling waters of the Yangtze.

I am a Tiananmen mother.
My eyes have swelled
with this sadness before.
The wetness follows a path
well rehearsed.

My nights are immense.
I am but a lone bare branch
in a cold, dark world.

They replicate
that June night
etched in my soul
over and over.

My son stood
in the Square
armed only
with a vision
and they came-
The People's Army.

My son stood
in Tiananmen Square,
amid a sea of other
sons and daughters
and they came-

armored tanks
clanking along the streets into Tiananmen
driven by fear, ordered by paranoia.

Our sons and daughters
toppled to the earth
at their hands.
Crimson crawling into every crevice
Of these ancient Chinese streets
A stain still upon us today.

I cannot count the nights
I've wept for my son since.
Today, I weep for another.

There is no official news
but the Beijing breeze whispers again.
This time for the death of the old man.
There are guards of fear
stationed outside my door.
The lump in my throat is big,
I cannot begin to swallow,
that is how I know the truth.

Guilt always gnawing at my heart.
I could not help my son that June night.
Again as I am helpless.

I want to pay my respects
to the old man who stood up
for my son and others
massacred in Tiananmen,
but the thugs watch
my every move.

I am a Tiananmen mother.
It is my duty to weep
for the lost ones.

© 2005 Michael A. Wells

Confession Tuesday - If I'm Still Here in the Morning Edition

Dear reader:

It's been a week since my last confession. A week of rain and tornadoes. A week of abysmal baseball by my Sf Giants. (I still claim them as my team0 A whole lot of rewriting on my part and Submissions over the weekend.

Reader, we have tornado weather here in the Midwest again for like the 13th day. I confess that I believe this is what climate change looks like to us. Bigger and more frequent tornadoes. I personally am in no imminent danger but parts of our county are under a warning - we are still in the watch mode for now. Most of the shit seems to start on the Kansas side of the state line and comes over here to Missouri. Relying strictly on the literary perspective, I blame the Wicked Witch of the West on these. Having lived in Missouri my whole life I have been used to summers with tornadoes. Sometimes we would have a couple bad days in a row but this has gotten ridiculous. I confess I like tornadoes in literature a lot better than in real life.  I'm praying for those in the path of tonight's tornadoes regardless of where you are. 

A shout out here to poet Victoria Chang! She has been selecting the poems that for this month that are showcased in the Academy of American Poets poem-a-day.  I confess that I have found her selections extremely good reads for me. She has selected work that sometimes has shown innovation, challenged my thought, made me smile or in the alternative mad me sad. It's been an exquisite blend of reading. I must confess that  I would love for her to create my reading list from here on out. Yes, that would be a lazy way to go. You would hear no complaining on this end.

My copy of December 30.1 arrived this weekend and I have dipped into it a bit. I cracked up when I brought the mail in and the wife says, "anything interesting in the mail?' My reply, "Just December in May." Tonight I saw that Ronda Piszk Broatch just heard she has two poems that will appear in the next edition. How cool is that!

I have procrastinated (isn't that what writers do?) for a week now - putting off a review of a book that I need to do. Of all the things I can procrastinate about, writing reviews is right up there high on the list. And yet, I believe it is an important function of writers. Additionally, I always feel excited upon finishing a book and wanting to talk about it. It's that point where the pen and the paper come in that I want to stare off into the galaxy in hope of finding, oh, I don't know what. Maybe motivation?

Does anyone else have a list of journals they'd like to crack into? Who do you want to be published in but have not achieved yet? I mean, besides the New Yorker.

Anyone have a really good poem to recommend, by someone besides a celebrity level poet. Is there such a thing, or did I make that up?  I guess poets like Billy Collins, Sharon Olds (I adore her), Claudia Rankin, Natasha Tretheway, Mary Jo Bank, Marie Howe, Jane Hirshfield, Terrance Hayes, Tracey K. Smith,  Ocean Vuong, Jericho Brown, Louise Gluck, Naomi Shihab Nye.  Yeah, I'm sure I've missed poets that maybe should be on here or you may think some should not be considered celebrity poets. I confess that is always the danger with lists of anything. Including shopping lists.

Enough for tonight! 

Be of good cheer and be safe~

Confession Tuesday - Time Machine to the 80s Edition. Pssst! That's why I am late.

Dear Reader: The Giants have gone 4 and 3, I've had a reading  rescheduled, written, edited, written edited and written some more, BBQ twice, celebrated Cinco de Mayo at home with floutes and flan, did 3 yoga sessions, watched with dismay as the President fucks up everything he touches, and I visited the past - going back 30 years, and 9 days have passed since my last confession.

Follow me - I'm two days late for the confessional.

Reader: I confess that  I love music from my high school days. if you are counting that would be late 60's to early70's. But honestly, that period plus the rest of the 70s, 80s, and 90s produced some kick-ass sounds. Chicago, Air Supply, Three Dog Night, Foreigner, rocked my world. But so did Tiffany and Debbie Gibson in the '80s.  So I got all crazy excited and went to the Mixed-Tape Concert in Kansas City Tuesday night. New Kids on the Block were not my draw but the whole night was entertaining and the two girls, both I believe in their late 40's were awesome. The remake version of "I Think We're Alone Now" is even better than the first. I don't know what it is that makes me feel really good when I visit that time period but maybe it is the antidote for all this bull-shit crap we are going through in this country. I admit I'm all about nostalgia.

Where has this week plus gone? I feel like I've been writing it away. I confess that is not a bad way to pass through a week. I'm getting some more of those abstract urgings in my writing. "Let the poem speak for itself," says the poet. Ha!

My Facebook poet page had added a number of "likes"  in the past two weeks. I'm getting so close to the 100 likes mark. I think I'm either 3 or 4 short the last time I looked.  I know it's just a number but I confess reaching 100 right now seems to be a pretty big thing to me.  Anyway, I hope by next Tuesday I can report I've reached 100.

I need to better organize my writing. As it is presently, I confess it is many files on my computer with less than and rhyme or reason. I guess the rhyme isn't a big deal with me, but the reason is.

I don't  really know who to attribute this to, but it summarizes how I feel~

Some days I wish I could go back in life. Not to change anything, but to feel a few things twice.

That's it for this week folks.  Be safe, play hard, enjoy your life! 

All Best!