Confession Tuesday - Good Week for Writing & Stakes

Dear Reader:

It has been two home grilled stakes, one fixed flat tire, a new draft poem, one book review written, another book finished, the riding lawnmower fired up for the first time of spring, two Giants win and four losses, one dream with a visit by a poet, a not so good week at weight watchers, a family Easter gathering and one week since my last confession.


I confess I almost forgot how good home grilled steak can be.

On the writing scene - I've read a lot this week (reading in several books at a time) but finished In The House of My Father By  Hiwot Adilow - Published by Two Sylvias Press and winner of the 2017 Two Sylvias Chapbook Prize - judged by Kaveh Akbar.   Published by Two Sylvias Press and winner of the 2017 Two Sylvias Chapbook Prize - judged by Kaveh Akbar.  I Wrote a new poem draft that I believe has promise, however, I am still working on rewrites - yesterday's was like a 4th and it still needs more work. I confess that I always get giddy when I receive a new Poet's and Writers, The Writer's Chronicle, or one of my journal subscriptions in the mail. P&W came this past week but I have not had time to read it - just thumbed through and I looks like a pretty good issue. Maybe I can start reading it today at lunchtime. So I have to say that I am happy with my writing exploits this past week.

I had a slow leak in a tire that I have filled up several times over the last couple of weeks. I bought a portable tire inflator - but also took the car back to the tire store and they found a nail in it and fixed it. Since I have the inflator I probably won't need it anytime soon. That's what happened with buying a snow plow this winter after several heavy snows. We bought and used it on the last big one and then they all stopped. 

I confess I am feeling a little down about my Giants but I am also tired of all the disparaging comments in line by so-called Giants fans. Team fams can certainly be disappointed by the performance on the field but comments like treading the entire team are neither realistic or helpful. I've been a Giants fan for maybe 35 years and they have had some awesome years and some less impressive, but I am still a Giants fan.

The Grand kids cracked me up over Easter.  Participated in so many egg hunts I don't know how they kept up their energy. The younger tagged along behind her bigger sister and gladly took the cast-offs of big sister  (who doesn't care for chocolate or white chocolate).

So last night I had a dream that  I was visited by another poet. We drank wine, overindulged in pastries. Chatted with my wife. Listened to music and I must have taken my blood sugar three or four times in the dream. Talking shop might have been fun but we didn't do that.  I don't often have poets invited into my dreams for some reason but when it happens it is usually a delight. I confess usually there is something a bit eccentric that happens.

It seems that living in the now becomes harder with all the stuff in the world going on. It's not at all easy to do and not think about worldly problems.  I hope to immerse myself more into reading and writing in the week ahead.

Until next time~

Peace, Joy, and good writing.

Confession Tuesday - Tears for a Fire

Dear Reader:                                                                                                                                               
It's been one lost pound, one poetry book read, one haircut, numerous new poetry drafts & rewrite,  two yoga sessions, one massive 800-year-old Cathedral burned down and one week passed since my last confession.  Please, to the confessional we go.


Reader, yesterday, I watched like so many around the world as raging fire destroyed the bulk of Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris. I've never been there. I have two daughters who were fortunate enough to experience it. The Cathedral has been perhaps the world's most famous. Besides the center of Paris, it is a significant landmark for Catholicism and contained many artistic treasures. Fortunately, many of those pieces of art, as well as church icons, were removed and saved. But Notre Dame was a cultural icon as well. It has been featured in untold pieces of literature and appeared in countless movies. Additionally, it was an architectural expression of the gothic style and a tourist magnet.

But those are all nuts and bolts talk. I found myself wondering why was I genuinely not only sad but deeply emotional at seeing the flames of a structure I had never been to?  The church had been there for such a long time, I think my feeling is rooted in part to humanity that it represents, on one hand, and man's acknowledgment of a God on the other.  How many people toiled over how many years building this structure? On one hand, a structure grand in size to reach and pay homage to a higher power and on the other - a temple, a holy building that people over centuries have come to worship in. Human lives at work, at worship, a tribute to man's resourcefulness by the had of God.

I may not be expressing myself well, but I think my emotions are rooted in the alchemy of man and God. That is what I see when I see Notre Dame.  That is why I feel a sense of loss.

But reader, I have other things I must confess.  As hard as it may be to accept, I have never watched  Game of Thrones.

I confess to reading Tasty Other by Katie Manning. Poems of pregnancy, and birth, along with swollen ankles,  lactation, weird dreams, and urges.  You might think it would be a book that maybe guys might not quite get the full benefit of.  Maybe being a father of four (albeit grown) kids, who has been in the delivery room for each, or that is it well-written poetry, or more likely both, but I liked it, a lot.

I confess that I am reading several other books, yes at the same time.

It's National Poetry Month and I confess I did not write one poem this past week. (Insert bad poet award here)  I did revise and work on several drafts. (insert special dispensation from the higher poet here).

I did two yoga sessions this past week. I can do better.

I lost a pound. If you've seen it, I don't want to know.

That's all I've got this week.

Till next time--

Be joyful & be safe.

Confession Tuesday Rudyard Kipling Edition

Dear Reader,

Today was a busy day. Not so much that I was overwhelmed with work, though I had office work I did here at home (we are still not allowed back in our building) but around me was a  fluidity that seemed to engulf the day and made my head spin.  So, it's been 5 days since my last confession. Let's get started.

Rudyard Kipling has come to mind and I'm going to borrow the start of his poem "If." If you can keep your head when all about you the commotion is swirling atomic particles pinballing off your head than you are a better man than I. 

So to set the scene, the following converged on us all at once today.  The tree people, Comcast repair and the Sears Repairman for the gas range.  All the trucks and cars out front must have looked something like an operation 100. The tree people were here to deal with many trees damaged during the big January ice and snowstorm and take a bite out of our savings.  The Comcast people showed up to deal with the Cable lines that had been down and across our front yard since the aforementioned storm. As a testimony, I will offer this:  it took two calls to get them out here and during the second call I was told that the ticket from the first call (a month earlier) was closed out without any notion of work done. I said, no lie, they never touched them. The Sears repairman was here to deal with a gas leak in a kitchen range. (I hate gas ranges - I miss the electric range we had in our  home before here) We have been using the microwave and air fryer to coom with while awaiting this appointment. We were anxious to be able to cook something normal, but this is a confession and I need to get to the heart of it. 

I confess that in all of this pinball game going on around us, the trees were taken care of. Comcast got it right after the second call. But the stove, I confess remains a problem (insert gritting teeth here).

The serviceman arrived without a meter to check for gas. I tightened a coupling and said there you go and there he went. Still smelling gas we call it into the gas company ( they had red tagged it and left instructions on what needed to be done (which we gave the repairman) Wouldn't you know it his meter went off like a Giger counter at Chernobyl.  So, I don't have very high marks for Sears service.

On the positive side, I have gotten 30 minutes on the treadmill already today. Giants pitchers and catchers report tomorrow for spring training. I swear baseball and poetry are so alike it isn't funny. Note to self - summer writing project on this topic.  

I've read two books this week. Arab in Newsland  - by Lena Khalaf  Tuffaha ( this was a re-reading ) and How To Know The Flowers by Jessica Smith  - This book just released. I confess it feels good to read two books in a week and I'm all happy now except I am also hungry and need to go eat which brings me back to the kitchen range. Grrrrr.

All best!

Be safe and full of joy. 

Confession Thursday - Water, Water Everywhere, But Don't Drink A Drop Of It

Not a picture from the courthouse -  Just for optics.

Dear Reader:

I confess I am late with Confession Tuesday. I confess the picture on the left is just to set the tone for this post.

I confess that to find this picture I googled water break.  What I got was a number of pictures of very pregnant women. It did not occur to me that this is what would pop up. I also confess that this is not one of those pictures related to water bag breaking during pregnancy.

It's been two hellacious ice storms, some reading, some writing a lot of anxiety and even more water since my last confession.

The be more specific, on January 31st a major water break flooded both City Hall and the Jackson County Court House. I can't vouch for the status of City Hall, but the county courthouse has not opened since then and will not be open I am told till February 19th.

One report said there were 10 ft of water that flowed into the basement area damaging many of the operating systems and destroying others.  After a few days of dealing with this, the water was restored, but the pressure blew out pipes on the 7th floor or somewhere thereabouts and for some 12 hours that the building was shut down the water cascaded to floors below.  This leads to more problems and now it looks like we will be out of it till the 19th.

What does this have to do with my past week?  This is where I office. Or did. Now I am working out of my home and traveling to Independence for court hearings instead of riding the elevator to the 9th floor for court.

This has lead to numerous additional logistical problems like the creation of digital files to upload to legal file, having no office phone and having to rely on my personal cell for work calls. As in the case of this morning, I had to take my work and laptop and drive in ice covered roads to the Independence Court House for a 9AM hearing. I confess the fact that most of the city seemed to has stayed home meant the roads were not crowded as there were only a few idiots like myself on them.

One of the things that have to happen before the building is open again for business is an environmental inspection has to be conducted to make certain there is no hazardous contamination. I have been in the building with some of my coworkers to retrieve necessary items for our work. We had to wear hard hats and neon vests. I confess we were quite stylish. The neon was kind of retro.

I have to say, that I have been holding up pretty well given the various nuanced intricacies of my day that have required some degree of creativity to make things function. See, and you didn't think I would get anywhere near art with this did you.

I confess that you don't often think about just how beneficial it can be to think outside the box. I admit I haven't had many drive time sights that carried my mind off into a creative whorl whipping of lines or phrases that would later find their way on to the page. But  I have had to think about how I can do things differently to arrive at the same outcome. I have read articles about large corporations that have put a premium on creative capacity of individuals and I can see why.

One of the other pieces of all this that have hit home is how much it means to be around your co-workers until you have really limited interaction with them.

I am a person that likes my space. My personality is that of an IMFP.  I am supposed to thrive, to recharge, to flourish in solitude. I confess that even being alone with yourself or in this case, myself, can get on your nerves.

I suspect that somewhere in this is a silver lining.  Maybe a poem or two about interactions or challenges, or just damn water, water everywhere. Yes, I have thought of the Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner and wondered who shot the albatross that cause the flooding in the first place.

It's early yet, tonight and I have poetry to write, and court tomorrow.

Until next time, be of good cheer and stay safe.

P.S. Don't  disturb the albatross,

Confession Tuesday - Tsundoku - Pronounced sun-do-ku / Illness or Healthy?

Dear Reader:

Federal workers have started back to work, Trump's poll numbers are in the tank, Roger Stone was taken into custody and indicted on seven counts, I'm still weighing my options on panels to attend at AWP19 and another week has passed since my last confession.

I confess that I don't speak Japanese.  I don't was that as a shortcoming.  I'd like to. And about  5 or six other languages. But the reason I mention Japanese in connection to the literal meaning of Tsundoku. I know the word is pronounced as though the T is silent and it is something like sun-do-ku.  I also know that it has to do with books. Lots of books. The ownership of perhaps more books than you can or do read. I'm a little uncertain if it is a noun or a verb but a cursory search on this point indicates it's used in both capacities.  Still, when it comes to translations, I hesitate to maintain this is correct, but I can tell you I have seen it used in both fashions.

According to Wikipedia, The term dates back to the late 1800’s – early 1900s. It combines elements of Japanese characters  for "pile up" and the character for "read"

Alfred Edward Newton, author and book collector (Not to be confused with Alfred E. Newman of Mad magazine fame)  is quoted as saying, "Even when reading is impossible, the presence of books acquired produces such an ecstasy that the buying of more books than one can read is nothing less than the soul reaching towards infinity ... we cherish books even if unread, their mere presence exudes comfort, their ready access reassurance."  In this context, Tsundoku appears to be a positive thing. Alternatively, I have heard it used to describe book hoarding. The latter is a less flattering description of the pastime.

Let me say that  I am guilty of having more books that I have read. Or at least completed. I have a fairly extensive personal library. I make no bones about it. 

I confess that I love the feel of books. Not so much the feel of e-readers. I love the sight of books. And yes, I love the smell of books.

Maybe one of the reasons having so many books is not a problem for me is the fact that I have so many friends that likewise have extensive book collections. It also gives me that hope of finding something in each one of them that at some point will be remarkable and worth the wait to find it.

I don't have a count of the number of books I have but three walls of my study have bookcases full. I generally will have some beside my bed on another bookcase.

I recognize the word hoarder is in fact often associated with mental illness. One of the behavioral disorders and not psychosis. I'm a writer, after all, isn't it a given that I will be a little off the wall?  

According to statistician Nassim Nicholas Taleb, unread volumes represent what he calls an "antilibrary," and he believes our antilibraries aren't signs of intellectual failings, but the opposite.

Alberto Manguel puts it very lovingly - “I have no feelings of guilt regarding the books I have not read and perhaps will never read; I know that my books have unlimited patience. They will wait for me till the end of my days.”  There may come a day in which I am no longer able to add books to my library. I hope that is not the case, But I keep reading. And yes, buying. For the time being

Until next time, be safe and of great joy. And read a little each day. Write too! 

P.S.  I'd love to know your thoughts on piles or shelves of books still waiting to be read.

Sourcing:

The Value Of Owning More Books Than You Can Read

All Those Books You Bought But Haven't Read

Why You Shouldn't Surround Yourself With More Books Than You'll Ever  Have Time To Read

Confession Tuesday - Year Trade-In

Dear reader:

Happy New Year from Kansas City! It's been quite a year and I feel like I'm in a dealership about to trade in 2018 and drive off the lot in a new year.

I'm off to the confessional, won't you join me?

Friends, I'd like to say that  I'm excited about the new year, but anxious may be more accurate.  As I enter the new year with my trade-in, sadly there is no warranty. What I am offered is hope and in all my years I've found that hope brings expectations and sometimes pleasant surprises and other times disappointment. This year I am choosing to tie my hope to behavior. That being said, I feel I have some stake in the outcome and that gives me a slice of control. Maybe not of the whole year but the rather hopes and dreams. This is the best any of us can do.

I confess that  2018 was defined by the frustration all around us - all of us. One of the things I am going to do in 2019 is to lessen the chaos around me that distracts and drags me down. No, I'm not turning off the news. Burying my head in the sand makes me an irresponsible citizen and voter.  But I intend to avoid the crap that none of us need. What we engage in is a choice we make. I want to make better choices.

I saw a graphic that said something like this:  We have 365 pages this year to write our new life story. That made me realize several things. One, urgency. If we don't put anything on a page, that's a lost day. I can't write today's page tomorrow. It also means I am responsible for my own story, my own year. Yes, I have to work with what the world throws at me, but that is only part of the story. What I do with my resources, time, events, people are my responsibility. Choose well. Kevin Larimer, the editor-in-chief of Poets & Writers said something in his note in the newest edition that resonated with me. He spoke of deeper gratitude for the idea of production that isn't entirely based on what is put on the page and more on how we honor those moments of living off the page.

One thing I am going to do this year is to guard and protect the time I allocate for writing and reading.

I hope that  2019 brings us lots of change. America is an idea and not just a physical country on a continent. America is based on democracy and certain rights and liberties. All of us need to hold up the vales connected to our founding documents and defend them against all enemies, foreign and domestic. Just being on this continent is not enough. We must preserve those values that were the basis of what makes us great, and remember this nation is a melting pot for the world. This is our greatest natural resource.

Wishing you all realized hope, health and love throughout the year.

Mega-Confession On Tuesday

Dear Reader:

So it's been a while since my last Confession Tuesday and I'm not waiting any longer. I confess I don't know exactly how long it's been and I could look, but I'm not going to.

Reader, here are some of the things that have happened since the last confession: Call it the rebellious streak in me, or just plain lazy, your call.

• My Giants did not make the postseason play this year.
• I had another poem published.
• I read in Liberty last month.
• I got to see one of the poets on my 2018 Poet Crush List 
• The Democrats in the house were part of a blue wave that may well give them a 40 seat gain in Congress, taking over that body as the majority. 
• The big bad boogie caravan has not yet made it to the United States yet, but Trump has called up the regular military to protect us from gangs, bad dudes, murderers, rapists,  Leprosy, Small Pox, et al.

Please, join me at the confessional:

Dear Reader, all is not well. You know it (some of you anyway) and I know it. This country is ill. I've watched as the fever rises. I've observed its unsteadiness in the world community. I've seen its values denied by some. Hate is perhaps at an all-time high. The patient seems listless and those of us with concern are gathered with Lady Liberty at her bedside.  Who will offer blood for a transfusion? Who will give comfort and support? Who will help her stand again and walk? I confess it is so easy to be hateful at these times because one hate breads another. This is a challenge we face. But I think we have to be certain that not meeting hate with more hate means we simply roll over and do nothing. The absence of hates is not weakness. It is even a greater strength than the haters have. It is a will to defend, to support our democracy and that means be there for the inclusiveness of others. It is to have very wide arms.  

Now reader, on a lighter note, I have found joy in two things. One is that I have been working on my family genealogy. Working a little several times a week I confess that I have been making great inroads. I have the Wells family no going back to a fourth great-grandfather Freemon Wells, Sr born in 1770  and his wife Martha Combs born in 1774. It's fascinating and while it is perhaps not easy to learn intimate details about these relatives, some things will emerge. I confess that I would like to learn enough about these generations of the Wells family and some of their offshoots, Sartins, Keegans, Peachers, Masons, and Combs.  Or on the maternal side of my family.

Another joy has been the use of a family seal. I confess that in some mail, notes to others I have enjoyed doing a wax seal of the envelope. It's fun I think because it personalizes it, and it's a little bit artistic. I bet there are many of you out there that have never received a wax seal stamped envelope. I know I haven't. Maybe that is another reason I so much enjoy it. I know the person on the other end is getting something in the mail that even I have never seen in my mailbox. How crazy is that?

On Veterans Day our president did not even bother to go to Arlington National Cemetary. I confess that this seems to me to be outrageous. Wouldn't you think this would as commander-in-chief be a minimal thing he could and should do?

As to writing, least I close without confession that the struggle continues. But alas, I'm not looking for sympathy, If tomorrow I were to write the greatest poem the world has ever seen, picking up my pen the following day, the struggle would continue.  I am simply happy to write something better today than yesterday.

With this, I conclude this Tuesday's Confession.  May you all be safe and remain at peace!

Confession Tuesday - Flan Edition

Dear Reader: It's been one new riding mower, a San Francisco Giants 9-9 record, untold hours writing, slightly less reading, a nagging heel and 3 weeks since my last confession.   Come, follow me to the confessional.

Reader, I've been writing a lot, especially these past two weeks. I confess this is better than the alternative, But reading a Louise Gluck essay has taught me (and I should know this) the search for the ingredients of a poem never stop. I'm thinking today that it would wise for me to sit down and see if what I'm looking for is in any of these various pieces of writing and needs to be moved to a new environment and surrounded by other words that are more eager to play.

Being a poet is a condition. That's not an original thought, I confess that some poet has uttered those words but I don't recall who. Being a condition, if you believe that, and I do, then it is a lifelong journey or searches to find something that you don't know you are looking for. Once you are lucky enough to discover it and wrap a poem around it, the search begins anew.  It's a bit like government work. It's never finished. It just keeps going on and on and on.

Flan, are you for it or against it? I confess that I am way into it. We've talked about going to a Mexican restaurant and just ordering the flan. I haven't done this, but I have stopped on the way home to get flan carryout. I especially like the way the caramel dances around on my taste buds. It's texture custard-like, I want some right now.

As it gets later into the year there are things I am missing. No, I found my keys. I confess that I always looked forward to the iris that came up in our yard.  I also miss the geese that came in droves and would walk across the street in front of our house onto the open field These were little things that made me smile. That gave me hope. I miss those things as do I miss the house where we lived.  My wife got me a package of iris bulbs to plant - but it will be next season until I can lose myself just looking at the flowers when they come up.

June is my Poet Crush List month. I confess I've been tossing poets around in my mind and the list is not quite cemented yet, it's getting close. I always get excited about doing this. That's of course after the anxiety of making the selections when there are so many poets right now that rock!

First, it was my left knee. Then it was the tendons in the heel of my left foot. In one way or the other, I've been struggling with one or the other since back before I went to AWP.  The knee is doing better. The foot issue has improved but still far from 100%. I confess through all this my balance has sucked.

Till next time, stay safe and dance every chance you get in life.

Confession Tuesday - The original lava lamp edition

Dear Reader:

It's been an extensive lava eruption in Hawaii, a 5 & 8 Record for my  Giants (who play tonight), an improving left knee, damage to a tendon in my left heel, some writing  frustration, a feeling of being overwhelmed, more to the ongoing story of Trump Fucks Up America, one more school shooting, sporadic reading, being out of control with my eating, and two weeks since my last confession.

Reader, it's been a strange beauty/horror as I watch pictures from Hawaii. The flow of lava seems to follow the path of least resistance and therefore threaten both people and man-made property that stand in its way. This is another reminder that mother nature holds tremendous power over both beauty and destruction. I confess this is the power nature holds over us, abundant beauty and terror.  Someone must be writing about this!

I am frustrated with writing and reading. I've been doing a fair amount of writing but not so good on reading. And to the extent that I am cracking out words, I don't feel I am happy whit what I am writing. Oh, sure there are bits and pieces that and extraordinary but things are not coming together.  I had planned on entering a contest this month and had pieces that I wanted to rework or polish up for it. I became so disillusioned with myself that as the 15th deadline came and went, I did not have it in me to work anymore on these pieces and I just chucked it all in. I told myself I needed to own this decision and not look back on it with regret,  I confess to being disappointed in myself but that is not the same as regret.

Another school shooting takes innocent lives. I confess that  I have more resolve to cast votes for candidates that reflect the belief we can make a difference - and this issue is guns, not exits, not arming teachers, not allowing more guns in the open community.

There is this reading issue. I'm not reading enough. It's not from lack of books. I confess that I subscribe to the adage that writers must be constantly reading far more material than the write. I'm going to do better on this starting today!

Last but not least, I confess that I have been far too enamored with potato chips and ice cream. These two items have become a food group ion my food chain.  Comfort food?  Items that I can't break away from because of the taste. I don't know. I confess it has just been a problem this past couple of weeks.

I had the opportunity to see several women that belonged to a poetry group that has not met in some time.  It was very nice to see Joyce, Brenda, and Mary (who I haven't seen in good Lord, maybe two years?

That's it for tonight. May you breathe in the fullness of life and watch out for the lava.

Confession Tuesday - Mail Edition

Hill of Slane - County Meath, Ireland

Dear Reader:

It's been one new, rear hatch door on my Scion, another  April - Poetry month has gone by,  a mixed bag of good on writing a poem a day in April, a mixed record of 13 wins and 8 losses for my San Francisco Giants, a somewhat improved left knee, not very good news at the dentists, a cool card from a friend, and 3 weeks since my last confession. 

Let me start with the card. On the left is a photo attached to a homemade card from someone who I believe I first had contact with several years ago as a result of an April - Poetry Month Book give-a-way. This kind person sent me this card wishing me a happy Easter, it went back to her because we had moved and the post office did not forward it.  She messaged me for my new address and resent it. There was a personal note in it, she shared a story about visiting the 9-11 memorial and enclosed a SF Giants window decal. Marianne is aware of my love of baseball and all things SF Giants.

Postal mail has changed so much over the years. I remember the dreaded reach into the mailbox expecting dreaded bills and junk mail. An occasional letter but those were infrequent. If I was lucky there would be a new book I had ordered. They always give me a thrill when they arrive.

Over the years the mail has changed. Drastically so.  In fact, I rarely if ever get so much as a bill in the mail these days. I'm not complaining. Part of that is because I have almost no bills any longer, but also because account statements are usually available to me online. What I do get, is an ever-increasing amount of junk mail. This mail offers me everything from hearing aids to timeshare get-aways. There are siding offers, new windows, funeral plans, car deals, and God knows what I've pitched without delving too deeply int to specifics. Rarely do I ever receive personal mail. Again, the arrival of a new book is about as good as it gets.

I doubt that my mail situation is much different from my neighbors, you, or anyone else. I don't believe this is unique. Sadly, it is a sign of the times. I long for the days that poets & writers wrote to others about their trade. Getting this card was a pleasant deviation from the sad commentary of what the mail has become. It made my day.

I confess that I did not write 30 poem drafts in April. Sometimes it happens that I do, but sometimes I fall short. What I can say, is that I have a few drafts that are keepers and may once cleaned up a bit, will be looking for homes.  So, I won't say that the April exercise was a failure. I will say that it fell short of expectations.  Or maybe plans is a more accurate description.

I confess that  My left knee is much better, but not 100%.

I confess that today I am off from work and I have received no less than 4 solicitation calls to my cell that is on the Do-Not-Call list. This has really ticked me off. They all start with how are you today and my response is, that depends on who you are and why you are calling. I get in my curmudgeon mode. Usually, I don't answer if I don't know the number, but I was anticipating a call that would likely have been a number unknown to me.

I'm totally angry with our government and I confess that I don't see much good coming of it until we can change what we've got.

As you can see, I am a bit cranky today. Hot weather will do that to me, but so will ignorant as well as unethical public officials,  as well as unwanted calls from solicitors.

On that note, I will sign off and hope that tomorrow Michael is less cranky.

Have a safe week, everyone.

Confession Tuesday - Schizophrenia is in Full Bloom this Spring

Dear Reader:

It's been two snowfalls, an injection of cortisone directly into my left knee, 4 wins for the SF Giants and 7 losses, 14 more fucking long days of Trump, an air strike on Syrian targets, a lot of writing, and two weeks since my last confession.  Won't you follow me to the confessional? Come..


The poet community is one less. I confess I did not personally know Sam Hamil, but I knew of him. I knew some of his rugged past that probably had a lot to do with the person he was. I became acquainted with him during the Poets Against the War lead up to U.S. Bombing Iraq.  When I think of Copper Canyon Press I think of Sam. When I think of Sam, I think of Copper Canyon Press. It's that simple. Sam was all about peace. There was a quiet spirit that resided in Sam, but Sam also had the ability to unleash tremendous indignation where appropriate. One thing I don't think I ever saw in Sam was much optimism. His worldview of governments including and perhaps especially our own was highly pessimistic.  War, hate, violence, greed, corruption. These were things that kept his vision from seeing a reason for optimism. But Sam gave is poetry. His gift to us all, are words that will continue to speak to us if only we will listen.

We've had hot days & we've had cold and snowy days. We are deep in a schizophrenic springtime that has no clue what it is. I confess this is trying the patience of everyone I know locally.

What I've been thinking about lately is not the cesspool in Washington D.C. that is the Trump Administration, at least I've not been trying to, but rather poets. That would only be natural since it is April, but I'm contemplating what poets have I read and heard lately that are rocking my world? This is on my mind because June is not that far away and that is when I release my Poets Crush List. A six pack of poets that are wickedly awesome.  No hints. I couldn't if I wanted to as I am still mulling the possibilities. 

It has occurred to me that  I need to get out to more events. I confess that  I've sort of slacked off and part of that is because of this ongoing problem with my left knee, but more recently that has just been an easy excuse. I really have not been especially engaged in the community that much since the first of the year. Other than of course the time spent in Tampa for AWP.  There are some reading coming up I need to get on my calendar. I confess that I will try to step up my game and be more involved.

May each of you be touched by at least one poem this week. 

Be safe! Be at peace!

Confession Tuesday, - NaPoWriMo 2018 Edition

Dear Reader:

It's been a dreary two weeks since my last confession. I think I may have seen sunshine twice, but I'm a little sketchy on it because it's been so long I'm not totally certain what it looks like.

Lent has come and gone, Easter has come, but we are still technically in the Easter season and spring is here. Spring and baseball. Ah, baseball. I confess that baseball, life, and poetry all three mirror each other. At least that is my perspective.  They all lean heavy on surprises. The seeing eye single that sort of rolls through the infield uninhibited for a base hit, when there are two outs, and 3-2 count wit hone of the lesser strong hitters at the plate. Or when the pitcher, faced with runners in scoring position strikes out the next three batters who all happen to be the heart of the order. Or the poem that started out of nowhere and ended in a manner in which the poet her/himself could not even have imagined. And there is life itself, that just throws any and everything your way. Coincidence that baseball and April both are a part of spring? I think not. April is national poetry month. I've already seen more than one smooth 6-4-3 double play and we are only 4 days in.

So, I am doing NaPoWriMo 2018. I'm posting the poems on a private Facebook group page that is set up especially for this annual event, that way the poem drafts are not published for public view and can be treated as unpublished should we decide to submit one or more to a journal. I confess that sometimes it's rather easy to do this and other times it is excruciatingly painful.  Some of it has to do with what else is going on that day and less to do with flushing the poem itself out into the world. But there are days the later is the problem.

The knee issue that I have written about in past weeks remains a problem. Just today I was back to bee my primary care and we are going to do X-rays and knee specialist. I'm told this guy is the "Rock-Star of Knees" -LOL.  I confess that I'm sort of tired of feeling like I am dragging my left knee around.

I have been writing a lot these past ten days or so. Some of it I believe is inspired by going to AWP18 and part is reading a lot more really good work by others. That always inspires me.  When I read other works, I confess it tends to pull me away from writing safe stuff. I suppose because when I am cranking out something boring, something that I see is not extraordinary, it causes me to stop and ask myself what and why am I writing? I truly believe that anyone who is not reading other people's work has no business writing.

My downfall of late is not submitting enough. I confess I know full well that I need to go back to my Submission Saturday every single week.

I'm all confessed out. Until next time, be safe, be kind, enjoy life!

Confession Tuesday - Hanging Tight Edition

Dear Reader:

It's been another week with a sore knee, but less limping, a string of dreary overcast days, several with rain, a visit to an Alpaca show, and a week since my last confession.


I'm still in a coming off AWP mode. What that is like is a mixture of highs and lows. I confess that one of the things that happen, is I tend to proactively think about things more outside the box. Something all artists should be doing a pretty much all the time. I become more aware of it at odd times like I'm driving to the office and things are turning on in front of me like lights bulbs.  It's a more, why can't this be a certain way as opposed to how you would normally view it. It has been a springboard for some things that I am in the process of trying.  But the other thing that happens is that I start that time frenzy all over. The one I've battled most of my life. Like I have a clock ticking against everything I want to do or achieve. This, I dread. This is a battle that is real.

We went with our grandchildren to an Alpaca show this past weekend and I confess I like Lamas more than I do Alpacas. I confess that their faces do not look trusting. Go figure.

I confess that  I feel like I am trying to come down with a cold or something more serious. I have had a flu shot, but there was that year I had a shot and got it anyway. I'm going to continue my routine of trying to deny it, but the nose, throat, combination stuff is not cooperating.

Thanks to AWP I confess that I have a ton of reading to do. This is not a bad thing.

I confess that I am reading a poet who is new to me Anne Barngrover. I like what I am reading so far. Maybe it's the way that Missouri keeps creeping into some of her poems. I'm sure it's more than that, but the Missouri stuff doesn't hurt.

I hesitate to bring this up, but if I do not say something here I fear my head will explode. Good lord, how has Donald Trump survived?  I seriously believe he is the biggest moron in the whole world. NEVER do I wake up in the morning with a good feeling about where this country is going. Each month he gets worse. He cannot sustain this presidency. I only hope that we survive his tenure and that he is gone sooner than later.

Until next time, hang tight!

Confession Tuesday - AWP Edition or Sylvia in My Midst

Dear Reader:

It's been one round-trip flight to Tampa, Florida, 35990 AWP Steps in 4 days, one out of body experience involving Sylvia Plath, the discovery of mini-moon pies, one cortisone shot, a pack of steroids, a lot of new books, and two weeks since my last confession.

This year was my third AWP. My second in a row. I skipped LA three years ago After attending my first in Minneapolis, Minnesota. I confess, some things never change about AWP. I confess that AWP is both exhausting and exhilarating. It's four days of highs and lows and it must surely mimic in some ways living with multiple personalities. Okay, I'm pretty sure that is an exertion, but you get my point. There are people you are so damn excited to see. There are people you miss. There are people you never knew, but now you do. Meeting these three poets for the first times were highlights for me:
All three of them have work that I have read, so I was familiar with them, but this made it extra special.

With Heather Derr-Smith

Before I left, (actually the Friday before) my left knee became very swollen. I stayed off of it Friday night, Saturday and most of Sunday. It went through various stages of being very painful to semi-tolerable.  I called my doctor  Monday and she saw me after work.  I received a cortisone shot and a package of steroids and the probability I would be in good enough shape to leave Wednesday morning for my flight out.

I did, and I confess the trip was not pain-free, but it was for the most part tolerable. So from Wednesday through Saturday night, I logged 35,990 steps. Now, I confess that I was exhausted by the end of each day, but that is how all of my AWP trips have been. Still, it didn't help that my knee was not 100%. Actually, it still isn't.

With Maggie Smith

I love the various swag that comes with AWP. It is always fun to see what new buttons are floating around.  New this year was a red button that read, 'Make America Normal Again.'

There was a series of Cat buttons associated with the various writing genre. My poetry Cat button is awesome. The cat has a red beret on its head.   There was a Teenage Gothic Cat who had mascara streaming down from her eyes.

The absolute best panel I attended was on Confessional Poetry.  The panelists Were Jerico Brown, Maggie Smith, Rachel Mennies and a fourth person whose name I forget at the moment. I must confess that this panel was both serious and hysterically funny in large part to Jerico Brown.

Oh, and going back to swag, one booth had Mini Mood pies in all six flavors. As a diabetic, this size is a better serving size. Not that I don't enjoy the larger size. I have already had to order some from Amazon.

I was able to meet up with two other mentees from the Writer to Writer program. Michelle Cerulli McAdams and Erin Robertson. Michelle and I attended the keynote speech and Eran and I met for dinner one evening.  My Mentor Ken Waldman was there and the two of us spent an hour at the Writer to Writer booth talking with potential future mentees and mentors.

With Rachel Mennies

                                                                                                                                            

I went better prepared this time. I packed light and I was able to collapse a good sized leather bag into the suitcase.  If you don't go to AWP and come back with tons of books, something is wrong.  I once packed with books for the return, this was the heaviest of the luggage I had. No contest.

Perhaps later this week I will share some of the titles of the books I brought home.

I confess that I actually wrote two decent poetry drafts while I was in Tampa. I'm in the mood for a full court press of writing and submitting.

My out of body experience as Sylvia Plath

And finally, in the spirit of fun, I confess that I entered into an out of body experience with Sylvia Plath.  I have proof here to show.

Until next time, be safe and peace!

Confession Tuesday - A Word On Thoughts and Prayers

Dear Reader:

It's been 13 more indictments in the Russia Election Influence investigation by the Special Counsel Robert Mueller, Untold self-injurious tweets by our president,  two more legitimate draft poems and untold musings, mummers, pointless scribbles, one Amazon order, one meeting with my old mentor Ken and an event, and three weeks since my last confession.

You can almost count the passage of time based on your Amazon orders. Well, at least that is true with certain consumable products like our calcium supplement. Not so much books, because they get ordered in spurts.  I'm not sure this is a good thing, but I suppose if I wasn't having it delivered to my door, I'd be driving over town to purchase it.

Time has been skipping along and whistling a happy tune and then, I realize it's only 16 days till AWP. That means I need to get people at work ready to cover my responsibilities. It means I still have to narrow down my schedule for the conference, and at the same time throw myself into a stress frenzy. Oh wait, I confess the stress frenzy has already started. It just seems that time has been flying like a bat out of hell.

The meeting with Ken Waldman came almost as a surprise. We write each other just after the first of the year to catch up with each other. They a week ago I got an email from Ken saying that he signed up to work the Writer 2 Writer booth at AWP at the same time slot I had taken so we could be there together. Then he let me know he was doing an event at a local bookstore if I had time to stop by. I did have time and I did stop by. I confess it was one of those crazy things that came about almost on the spur of the moment. Time always seems full of surprises. Some better than the others.

I finished a Journal I believe I started in September. I confess I'm always excited to get a fresh refill and start again. It's kind of like a cleansing thing. I can step on the floor mat and wipe my feet off before entering the new one. I have untold numbers of journals - I can't quite recall what year I started writing but I know it was before 2000. Maybe this summer I will attempt to arrange them in chronological order.  I still flip through them periodically to get old bits and pieces of writing to bring to the page and try once again to bring some life into them. I confess I don't revisit these as often as I should. Maybe that is something for me to work on this year. After all, how we feel about something we've written sometimes strikes us quite differently a week, six months, three years down the road. This means we can refine it or embellish it to modify where we are going with it.

Lastly, I confess that I am tired of public officials replying to school shootings by saying they are playing for the victims because we all have much more we can do. I'm not against prayer, but if you are not going to offer prayer and commit to taking some positive action to assure efforts to minimize the gun violence will be personally made, your prayers are hollow.

Until next confession, seek joy, be safe & peace!

Confession Tuesday - First of 2018 Edition

Dear Reader: It's been one car wreck,  two poem drafts, one check-in with my #W2W mentor from last spring, one haircut, and 9 days since my last confession.

Last year was the pits. I'm being kind in this description so some reason I cannot explain. So much negative stuff went down I'm still dealing with it.  That said, I was anxious for the new year to come just to be rid of 2017. So you will find pictured above our baby. The Scion was making a routine drive to work on the 5th when we were rear-ended while stopped at a light.  The gentleman who hit me commented he hoped this did not ruin my day.  Ha! This is going to ruin a lot more days than one.  Alas, no one was hurt - except baby Scion. There is that to be thankful for.  Beyond this, however, I refuse to let this incident suggest that the new year is going to be another crappy one. It's my year and I get to say yea or nay, on the whole, another bad year thing.

I got my plane reservations today for AWP18 in Tampa. It's going to be here sooner than you would think. I confess I've never been to Tampa and I confess I never really wanted to go there. No one asked me, but I wouldn't have put it there this year.

I confess that I am almost intrigued by the letters of poets and other writers as I am their writing work.  I have volumes of collected letters of numerous poets. Off the top of my head, I have T.S. Eliot's, Allen Ginsberg's, Sylvia Plath's Letters home, and I added volume one of Plath's collected letters that just recently came out. Seems like I have another writer's but it is escaping me now.

Correspondence between two writers is fascinating because it is communication that is personal but on perhaps a higher level because these are people who make their whole life about the choice and arrangement of words to convey their thoughts. I wish more poets today exchanged mail. I wish everyone was more into writing. It's a lost art.

It's been 23 days since my DNA sample was mailed off. Still no sign of ancestors. Will they be wearing Kilts or Lederhosen? I confess I was less anxious about it before I started thinking about it again today. One of the poem drafts I wrote recently was about sending off my spit.

I started wondering yesterday how many poets engage in marginalia?  I think I will do a twitter poll on the subject.  I confess my feelings are conflicted. I have quite a few poetry books that are autographed and I think that ads to my desire to keep them especially nice looking.  If you have an opinion,  let's hear it.

Until next time, peace, joy, and the American Dream (whatever that is anymore)

Confession Tuesday - 100 Years Edition

It's confession time, won't you come along with me?


Dear Reader:

It has been one low key Thanksgiving, one house lockout, one damaged book from Amazon, untold breaking news stories on the investigation into the Russian influence on the 2016 campaign and  Trump family, et al., another guilty plea, a promise this will all be over by the end of the year and Trump cleared (I have some prime swampland for sale at bargain price), the end of the cleanout of mom's apartment, one Super Nova Moon and two weeks since my last confession

I confess that I missed a week, that just gives me more to work with today.  I'm home from work taking a half day vacation. I have this problem that requires me to do this from time to time. I have accrued nearly my limit in vacation hours.  To go over means I will be truncated. In other words, I lose any new hours acquired during that pay period in order to stay at the max. When this happens I get a little note from our office manager telling me to take some time off,  or sometimes she just writes GO HOME! on the vacation and sick day form, we get bi-weekly. It seems I am the only one in the office with this problem.  I will use a bunch of hours in March when I go to AWP18.

So going back to Thanksgiving, it was low key this year.  My wife and I had a small no-frills meal together and in the late afternoon, she left with two of my daughters to drive to Tennessee to see my third daughter for a few days. I enjoyed our time together. I confess I missed not having a pecan pie, but who would not miss one if they didn't have one.  So, I was mostly home alone for the holiday. at least the extended portion. I managed to find interesting things to do, like lock myself out of the house. It's a long story and I confess that's all I'm going to say about it.

Then, I confess that there is so much I want to say to Donald Trump's face, but I won't go into details. Let's say that none of it would be friendly or in any way complimentary.

I confess the Super Nova Moon was awesome. I told my wife in the car the other night that I believed the moon was God's gift to poets.I know that so many poets have written about the moon that many believe it is overworked in poetry.  That may be, but it is up there and it's like a mirror in the sky and it is so fucking inspiring sometimes. Say what you want about the number of moon poems, but the best one has never been written yet...

You already know that my mother recently passed away (if you've been reading my confessions) and in addition to that a former boss of mine died rather unexpectedly at the end of November. John was 69 years old. I confess, as I've mentioned in the past, that I have been compulsively obsessed with the combined elements of death and time.  This started sometime between age 20 and 25 but was certainly blow wide open at 25.  I think it's roots were probably bedded in the "quarter-century what have you done" complex.

In more recent years say maybe the past two, I've dwelled upon this much less. Almost none. But here I am again, back for more punishment.I suspect I have the recent deaths to thank for that.  The Five For Fighting song, 100 Years keeps going on in my head. I like the song but it's somewhere between nostalgic and melancholy.  But it's when I'm obsessed with death that I feel the most pressure about writing. The feeling that I am up against a clock ticking till the end and when it comes, that's it. What I've got, what I've created, achieved, that's it. That's what I leave behind. A really burdensome thought.

 Thank you, dear reader, for joining me. Until next time, I'll just be looping this song in my head...

Confession Tuesday - First Class Fantasy

Another week already?  How does that happen?  I'm off to the confessional, come along.

Dear Reader:

It's been two surreal weeks since my mother passed away, one new released book review, another poetry book ordered, countless poem drafts written, one submission deadline overlooked, a free bottle of Chardonnay and a major pain in the neck since my last confession.

Last week I mentioned how my mother's death was like fake news. Yes, I was there and witnessed the final breaths, but everything since has been surreal. She did not want a funeral, was cremated per her wishes, and so it is like I just walked away from her that evening and that was it. I confess that I remain bothered by the fact that nothing has changed two weeks later. I don't think there has been a real outlet for grief and that seems like it's never going to happen and that feels totally awkward, unnatural, fake. It's like her death is fake news. Unreal.

So, I've got to do better, A submission deadline for some work I've been tinkering with came and went on November 15. I thought I still had plenty of time (which is partly because I still can't believe it is November already) until it hit me today that we've passed that already. The thing that sucks is that this is among my favorite journals and I always try to submit to it each year. Yeah, I don't have to confess that I'm not especially organized at the moment, but I'm definitely trying to get there. I will be making better use of my planner, that's for sure.

It seems the more I write, the fussier I get about my writing. So, I've been writing up a storm and I confess that you could say that I'm not too pleased with the weather.

I got a bottle of 2016 Lamoreaux Landing Chardonnay that one of the bosses brought in the other day. He had been to a wine event and came back with a number of bottles of wine and sent out an email saying they were here for the taking, one per person. When I was able to get away and check it out, there were only two remaining bottles left. One was Chardonnay and the other some red that I would never drink. I confess I am a Chardonnay person so this match was meant to be.  I haven't opened it yet, but I will when I'm relaxing over the holiday. I'll pop the cork, pour a glass, and snack on two Biscoff cookies and pretend I' heading somewhere fun - flying first class.

Evidently, I slept wrong the other night because my neck has been tormenting me daily since. I confess that it cracks and pops so loud it scares me sometimes. That can't be a good thing. I'm just saying.

Until next time, may your week ahead be better than the one that just ended.

*Note - My review of  Thrush by Heather Derr-Smith can be found here.

Confession Tuesday -- Fake News Edition

It's that time again. Won't you come with me to the confessional?


Dear Reader: 

It's been one new issue of AGNI, one paid vacation day, one new poem draft that has promise, two back to back dreary days, and a surreal week since my mother passed away.

It was my mother's expressed wishes that when she died, she be cremated and that there be no funeral service. Her wishes have been honoured. So a week later I sit here feeling the whole thing some kind of a dream. I was the only family member present at the time of her death. My sister had just left maybe 30 minutes earlier and was to return. So, while I am the only family member who witnessed it, it still seems totally unreal. I confess that at various times of the day I think about it and it just all seems somehow less than real. I've had people inquire as to if I'm doing okay like my boss did today. I just shrug and say something like I guess so. I'm relatively certain that I have not really experienced any grieving period. I think I would know if I had.  I've felt sad, but not like any other family member's passing. I feel like her death should bother me more than it has. Mostly I have been bothered by how I watched her die and it still seems like her death was, I don't know, fake news?


Once again I have to confess that  I had a good day at the mailbox.  I pulled out a book-sized envelope and there was Issue #86 of ANGI.  Anytime a book arrives or a lit journal, I feel like doing an Irish Jig right there at the curb by the mailbox. It tends to brighten my day immensely.

Brightening my day was a great thing upon arriving home this evening because I have felt the last two days were pretty gloomy. I know the weather is part of the problem. I do suffer from SAD and it is that time of year. I confess that baseball being over for the year doesn't help. Sylvia Plath one time said, "There must be quite a few things a  hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them."  I could substitute hot bath for a baseball game.

I think we have this stationary weather thingy hanging around over us so I can almost be assured that tomorrow will be another gloomy day. I confess what would really make me feel good about now is more indictments in the Russia/Trump matter.

May your week ahead be better than the one you left behind!

Confession Tuesday -- Writer With A Untold Story Edition.

It's been more visits to a hospital and a care facility than I can recall off the top of my head, the death of a family member and two weeks since my last confession.

Come along, let's get started.

Dear reader:

I confess that processing much of this is still a matter of digestion.  My mother passed today at about 3:33PM after a very short but fatal fight with cancer.  A small brain tumor was discovered - thought perhaps early, however it was very aggressive.

There are lots of things that are floating through my mind. My relationship with my mother is a complicated one. It seems we are always hearing that about mother-child relationships. Much of the complication in this instance is related to life-long family dynamics. My mother was divorced from my father as I was an infant. I learned in my adolescence that unbeknownst to me, my paternal grandmother had been writing letters addressed to my mother and me.  Through the years she had kept these from me in spite of a desire by me to locate my father's side of the family.

I confess that there developed over the later years of my life some ambivalence towards mom as a result of those lost years of opportunity to connect and finally the difficulty to know how to establish anything close to a normal relationship. I can't say that I didn't love her. Hate was never an emotion associated with her personally, though I did hate that I was prevented by here from establishing earlier contact with the Wells side of my family. This had a circular impact on the family dynamic as it did circle back and cause some feelings of ambivalence at times.

I confess that I am experiencing sadness as an emotion.  I think one the saddest things  I'm feeling right now is that I know one of the things she wanted to do was write a memoir on her days of nursing that went back to the old General Hospital. Mom had written some short fiction - stories, nothing longer.  She often talked about the memoir. My wife even offered at times to assist her while she dictated. She had a laptop, her ability to utilize it seemed challenging to her. I cannot believe she has much if anything started on it.

She was quite proud of graduating from General  Hospital's Nursing School and working at the hospital. I confess that I am sad that she was not able to realize the completion of her memoir.There have to be few things in this world sadder than a writer with a story to tell that goes untold.

Until next time -  love, peace & joy!


PS~ One of the positive experiences of the past few weeks I owe to Maggie Smith.  One evening while she was lucid I read Maggie's book Good Bones to her.  She like the book very much. Would comment on the poems and was especially interested why Maggie was drawn to write so many poems that contained references to hawks.