Some Recent Whale Sound Poems I Love

Posting a few of my recent favorites from Whale Sound - hope you like them too!

‘Rhode Island’ by Amy Miller
 
‘First Anniversary: Reading Russian Literature’ by Pamela Johnson Parker
 
‘Honeybees on Holiday’ by Kristin Berkey-Abbott

The Internet Kill Switch - Can it happen here?

What can an undemocratic government  do to control its people? If tear gas and rubber bullets don't work, take away their Twitter and Facebook access, of course. And if the people still don't fall into line, cut off their Internet and mobile phone access entirely. That's exactly what the Egyptian government did today when confronted with citizenry taking to the streets and demanding regime change. The surprising thing isn't that a corrupt, authoritarian regime would launch this kind of state-sponsored denial off service attack on its own citizens. Nor that it is willing to jeopardize its economy by cutting its businesses off from world markets. No, the thing that surprises me is that the U.S. government has plans for its own Internet Kill Switch.







The legislation was first introduced last summer by Sens. Joseph Lieberman (I-Conn.) and Susan Collins (R-Maine), and the former has promised to bring it to the floor again in 2011. It isn't called anything as obvious as the Internet Kill Switch, of course. It is called the "Protecting Cyberspace as a National Asset Act." Who could be against that? Anyone who's watching the news on TV today, that's who.






The proposal calls for the Department of Homeland Security to establish and maintain a list of systems or assets that constitute critical cyber-infrastructure. The President would be able to be able to control those systems. He or she would have ability to turn them off. The kicker: none of this would be subject to judicial review. This is just a proposal, mind you, but it certainly warrants concern. Particularly given the heavy-handed example being provided by Egypt

Confession Tuesday

Four more poems sent out into the world, no new rejections, $3.00 gas and nearly a week since my last confession.  Let's get started.

Dear Reader:

I'm feeling a little in between right now. In between the winter that surrounds us and the anticipation of the coming baseball spring training. Pitchers and catchers report to camp in about three weeks.  It's a schizophrenic sort of place to be. Living in the present and that future at the same time. It's not quite right. It's out of balance.

Just today I was reading Terresa Wellborn's blog post with the Guy Davenport quote about the pace and rhythm of nature and inevitably mankind, and she posed the question What is your pace of things? I confess that thinking about this question hit me as being very much out of balance. My actual was:

"My pace right now is that of a person just learning to drive. The jerky starts - followed by acceleration and then the sudden stop where you are kissing the windshield.
There is little or no harmony here presently, yet it is harmony that I crave. I could use a Zen moment. No wait, moments I have... if I could string several together, that would be an improvement."

                                                        ~0~

When it comes to my writing I go in waves where I become hyper critical of anything I write. I think a certain amount of self criticism is beneficial but I confess I can be self critical to an almost unhealthy point. I confess I'm in such a phase at this moment.

                                                       ~0~

I confess that I am addicted to episodes of Everybody loves Raymond. Patricia Heaton (Debra) is by far the best actress/actor on the show. Her emotion, response, etc. is so realistic. I can be pretty picky about the TV I watch, this may be my biggest TV vice.


That's about it for the week.... everyone be safe and happy!

Magpie Tales 49 - POEM: A Day Out

A Day Out

A trio of women

blades slung over shoulders,

slug their way to the pond,

their trails in the banks

of quiet white mark

their pilgrimage-

No socks to mend

no laundry, no meals

to be accounted for-

their voices clamoring

escape         they will

upon arrival  -  in

their most unlady-like fashion

cut loose on their secret mirror

under a cloudy sky;

skating, frolicking and acting

like the daughters

they would chastise

for such behavior

on any other day.

2011 © Michael A. Wells

Magpie Tales 49



Thoughts on Family History

With everyone else out of the house today, I cleaned some and then listened to a podcast of an interview with Maxine Hong Kingston as she confronts aging in her book I Love A Broad Margin To My Life. She's a remarkable person to listen to. Kingston took the title of her book from the quote by Henry David Thoreau.  Her view of being an elder and living against the backdrop of mortality is fastening.  Listening to her causes me to think about genealogy (even though I've had it on my mind) in a different sort of way. Not just from a personal interest but in the context of a responsibility to collect and pass that information to those in the family younger then yourself.  Creating a history of heritage is an elder's responsibility and it seems to me that it is more than simply collecting a genealogy history, but seeing where we've come from so often helps define who we are.

It really seems quite natural to me that poets would feel such a responsibility quite natural in the same way we do story telling. What do you think?

Poets & Feelings

One of my daughters distributed this among all our immediate family. Is she trying to tell me something?

Confession Tuesday - Rebellious Late Edition

It’s been a snow, the threat of a bigger snow, one more group of submissions, a lot of new “very rough” drafts and a week and a day since my last confession.

To the Confessional~

Dear Reader:

Yes, I must confess that last night I came home, made dinner for my sweetheart and promptly crashed. I didn’t turn on my laptop, did not read, write, and obviously did not do my Tuesday confession. And I confess that it was not a matter of forgetting, but willful neglect, maybe even rebellion as I two or three times (at least) thought of getting up to do it.

It seems there is a bit of rebelliousness that seems to be running through my veins these last few days. I have as suspicion as to the reason, but I will leave it at that for now. I choose to honestly confess on this point, not openly speculate on the causation. (I’m not my own therapist) ;)

While I’m not deep into astrology… for example I don’t read my horoscope daily – and when I do, it’s more for the entertainment value than anything else; I do take stock in the fact that the personality traits that are generally ascribed Capricorns fit me well. I’ve often felt comfort in this. It’s sort like being a part of a certain Irish clan. It’s the brotherhood of Capricorns – and all of our (better) traits that make it feel special. So along comes a thirteenth zodiac sign and butts into the calendar and moves all the days around and – WTF? Now I’m a Sagittarius? I confess I do not like this. Not one bit!

Was this brought to us by the same people who de-planetized Pluto? And thirteen? That’s not divisible by even numbers, it’s an unlucky number, it’s more than the number of months in a year, it’s…. you get the picture. It’s just not kosher.

So there you have it. My confession, a day late and a little put out.

Hope you and your week are properly aligned to an even number of stars.

Passing on a little advise....

Some great advise from Robert Peake's workshop - “Tactics for Sneaky Poets” posted on his site.

Some of my favorite advise:

• Use constraints. Use word groups, poetic forms, made-up assignments from friends. Constraints spark creative freedom.
• Write briefly and often. Robert Hass said, “You can do your life’s work in forty minutes per day.” Write often enough to stay “in the game,” usually several times per week. Set a time limit. You can go over if needed.
• Write bad. Try to write a “bad” poem. It gets you wild and free. Sometimes the harder you try to be bad, the better it gets.
• Keep a scroll. In addition to keeping going on a poem, try keeping one big document of poems and poem-snippets, so you’re never at the beginning, just in the flow. Pick up wherever you last left off, write in the date, and just go.

By the way, a collection of Robert's poems will appear in the Lost Horse Press-New Poets Short Books Series, edited by Marvin Bell.  The book is scheduled for publication in February 2011. Sign up on Robert's e-mail list to be notified when the book becomes available for pre-order.

Poetry Trailers

It's amazing the way trailers have moved into the world poetry.  Not long ago these were generally associated with the release of film, but no longer. Audio visuals are being done more routinely as trailers for poetry books.  Just today I saw on the poet Diane Lockward's blog site titled Blogalicious a video of one of here poems put to music. The poem, Eve's Confession is from her collection of poems titled Eve's Red Dress.  Go to her site here and experience it for yourself. She actually has some other trailers on this site you can check out. Look at the tab links under the header to find these.

They go out - they come back. Poems looking for homes

I've been busy reforming my ways this year submitting to four different journals so far.  Significant because I have come to dislike this part of writing over the past couple of years. 

Things are looking up! Yesterday, I received the following rejection e-mail from one of my submission groupings of poems:

Some nice lines in there, Michael, especially in Mount Rushmore. Overall, they didn't seem right for XXXXXX   Review. We have decided to pass this time.

...We appreciate you considering us submission-worthy. Please wait at least a week before submitting again.

Best,

Confession Tuesday - Way too old edition

Confession time has arrived again.  I feel like I have a lot I'm lugging around so what do you say we get started?

Dear Reader-

It's been another four poems sent out in search of new homes, a snow storm, a birthday and a tragedy since my last confession.

This weekend was surreal.  It was surreal in the context both of disbelief and yet a feeling we've been here before. Of course we haven't actually been here, but I confess that this feels in a very sad and very senseless way like that summer of 1968.  The assassination attempt on Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords, the death of a 9 year old girl, a federal judge, one of Giffords staffers, and at least 3 others  dead and something like 14 more wounded. The number is staggeringly hazy to me even now.

I confess that I fail to see why anyone in the public sector needs to be able to purchase an extended magazine clip for a firearm. If you are not police or military it seems senseless.  Between Sept. 13, 1994 and Sept. 13, 2004 The Federal Assault Weapons Ban (AWB)  or  Public Safety and Recreational Firearms Use Protection Act as it was subtitled, prevented the sale to individuals of such ammunition. But during the second Bush presidency, the NRA prevailed in creating a climate in which neither President Bush or the bulk of Congress had the courage to support renewal of it.

I confess to feeling a sickening indignation over the lack of common sense in this country where firearms are concerned. It's a sad commentary - not unlike that of MADD (mothers against drunk drivers) that for many to become proactive, they have to lose someone close to them before they realize the price we pay for our cultural affair with firearms is simply not worth it.

Yesterday, I turned @&.  I confess that I've been bothered by my aging for far longer then most people are. I know lots who are bothered come the big 40.  Some even at 35, and a few at 30.  I think the 30 year old cases must be pretty hard core. But I'll go one further. I was starting to feel the anxiety come age 25. Yes, you heard it right... 25.  Of course now I confess I'd be tickled to go back to 30 again.

That's about it for this week. I've got several things to do before bed time tonight.  May your week, what's left of it, be a good one!

Magpie Tales - 48 / Poem: I Can Imagine

I Can Imagine

Somewhere between the cotton weave

of a sheer web smeared across the flatness

of old sheets of inked notes silent

on pages as brittle as the print is delicate;

and the stuffy air of a concert hall

far off in some other time, I can imagine

the Cantata’s rising echo of voice

on the tail of instrumentation

jostling back and forth 

each fighting for their due

recognition— the orchestra

in a winning moment heeds

the directors baton— going allegro.

Voices bow to strings and horns

until a disquieting roll of timpani ushers in 

one final melding of chorus and instruments.



2011 © - Michael A. Wells

Magpie Tales 48

Unconscious Mutterings - Week 115

You say...  I think:

• 1.Speech :: free
• 2.Meredith :: broadcasting
• 3.Consensus :: maker
• 4.Attack :: plan of
• 5.Sue :: litigate
• 6.Voted :: democracy
• 7.Epic :: journey
• 8.Checking in :: at home
• 9.Dishwasher :: liquid
• 10.Underneath :: car
  
  Get your own list here

Magpie Tales 47 - Poem: Deranged

Deranged

The drip a mystery,

the puddle, rust flavored;

the drain too far away.

A contorted idea-

a trick knob,

the mirror of a sick mind.

2111 © Michael A. Wells

Magpie Tales 47

"...point out the inequities, nothing to lose but our chains."

I read this blog post today by Kristin Berkey-Abbott: Artifacts from the Deep Freeze of the Cold War.  It was her trip back into the past as she visited the Cold War years and concluded a poem she had written. The final stanza reads:

I write my own poems. I imagine they will change
the world, that all I must do to rid the planet of injustice
is to point out the inequities, nothing to lose but our chains.

These lines so expressed what I believe many of my generation put so much stock in. Thinking that calling out inequities would lead to an end of a multitude of injustices.  Idealistic? Naive?  Still, as I began to adapt to the life of a poet, putting such things into "my poet perspective," I've had to ask myself if I really believe I can change the world with poems?  Do I think anyone can?

Over a year ago, another poet introduced me to Carolyn Forché, an incredible poet who has established a reputation as a poet of witness. Carolyn very often writes poems that take us very gently into social injustice. I'm not sure if she is changing the world one reader at a time but she certainly has the ability, with great subtlety to unmask things that might otherwise go unnoticed by many. 

What do you think?  Can poets change the world?

Confession Tuesday

A new year and a first confession of the new year.  Come follow me to the booth...

Dear Reader:

It's been one week since my last confession.  One week of crazy weather ranging from nearly 60 down to the mid to lower teens. A week of sniffles (go figure) and reflections (looking back on the year, not staring in the mirror in an act vanity). But I confess I am I am already getting acclimated to the new year.

As a rule I don't plan out resolutions as such. But I do hold some hopes some goals close to my heart. Some things that will require me to be better at things this year then past.

On New Years day I cranked out my first packet of poetry submissions of the year.  I posted this in my Facebook status to which Diane Lockwood replied, " Don't brag. It's unattractive."  Her remark made me laugh, but I confess I've come to resist submitting my work these past two years like the plague. But my post was my way of establishing some accountability. The next day, I sent off a second packet. I'm finished for the week except for some home work of planning my next victim, I mean venue to submit to next week.  The thing is that I kicked myself in the butt to get started and I want to keep some feeling of momentum.

If I'm happy and upbeat about submitting my work, I'm cranky about the price of gas. I confess that every time gas nears the $3 range or above I get this way. I'm trying to be more positive and upbeat about things, but it seems that not only are we shelling out more for gas, we are driving a lot more these days. When I hear on NPR about countries paying $7 a gallon I don't know how they do it.

Someone at the office cheered my up this week reminding me that pitchers and catchers will be reporting to spring training camps soon. (mid February). "Right around the corner." I believe where her words. I confess my interest in Football has run it's course since my fantasy league is over. Even the Chief's surprise of reaching the playoffs does little for me.  For one thing I'm under no delusions about the team's chances. I'm ready for baseball. But, when have I not been?  ;)

My attempt at algebra for today

If, as Carlos Fuentes says, "Writing is a struggle against silence" ~

then I'm thinking submitting is a struggle against failure. 

Unconscious Mutterings - week 413

You say.... I Think:

• 1.Detective :: Holmes
• 2.Bra :: Underwire
• 3.Prove it :: Confirm
• 4.The end :: Conclusion
• 5.Messy ::  Trashy
• 6.Immovable :: Stationary
• 7.Jingle ::  Rhyme
• 8.False ::  Wrong
• 9.Comprehend :: Understand
• 10.Scream ::  Yell

Get your own list here

Gold Star

First day of the new year - I've sent out a submission with four poems to kick off 2011.  Got to be better about this! 

2010 Looking Back

A  Looking back on the year ending ....

  

We said Hello to: 

• Health Care Reform
• Inception
• Toy Story 3
• Ipad
• Chevy Volt
• Groupons
• Glee
• Hot in Cleveland
• Rand Paul
• Bailouts
• John Boehner 
• Tears
• Orange skin tone
• Joe Miller
• Scott Brown
• Lady GaGa
• Katy Perry
• San Francisco Giants
• Body Scans
• Branding (not cattle)
• Cupcakes
• Jerry (Moonbeam) Brown - again
• Redistricting
• Borrowing from China
• Tax breaks for the wealthy
• Bill Clinton - again

We said Goodbye to:

• Joe Miller
• Witches
• Christine O'Donnell
•  Toyota
• Texting while driving
• San Diego Padres
• Texas Rangers
• Sheen in the Gulf
• Crashing State Dinners
• Tom Delay
• Jobs
• Failed Banks
• Privacy
• Trading Chickens for Health Care
• Census
• Immigration reform
• Swine Flu
• BP
• Hallaburton by any name
• Dick Cheney
• Don't ask don't tell

A Few People Who Passed On in 2010

• Barbara Billingsly
• Art Linkletter
• Tony Curtis
• Eddie Fisher
• George Steinbrenner
• J.D. Salanger
• Joan Southerlans
• Edward M. Kennedy
• John Forsythe
• Lech Kaczynski
• Lynn Redgrave
• Lena Horne
• Peter Graves
• Tom Bosley
• TeddyPendergrass
• Bella Akhmadulina
• Robert Dana
• Andrei Voznesensky
• Robert Byrd
• Lucille Clifton
  
  
  
  
  
  Your List? - Who and What did I miss?
  

Magpie Tales 46- Poem: No Choice

No Choice-
You left me
like a hand removed
from gloves—
flat and limp.

What could you do?
The bird had no tweet;
the stem lacked any bud.

I was poison;
you water—

you could only dilute me
but always there would be venom.

2010© Michael A. Wells

Magpie Tales

Confession Tuesday - It's Right Where I Put It Edition

The year is nearly over.  This will be my last Tuesday of 2010 at the Cyber Confessional.

Dear Reader:

For a long time I would save my floating holiday for the 29th of December to be able to have to day off to celebrate our youngest daughter's birthday.  Since she is out of the area now, there is no need to do this. I've taken it already this month.  So tonight I set here reflecting upon the fact that her mother and I won't see her tomorrow and I confess this leaves this year ending on a flat key.

Year endings often seem melancholy to me. It's seems like it has been a while since I recall feeling upbeat about a year that has passed or particularly excited about the new one we are embarking on. 

I confess that I try to approach each new year walking a fine line between seeking to improve myself and yet shying from specific New Year Resolutions.

I've talked before about my obsession with organization and my challenge turn it into action.  This year I hope to tackle one thing at a time get things in better order.  Starting with cleaning up my laptop and better organizing the files on it, especially my writing files.  I also want to organize my paper files better.  But these are just starting points.  I confess that I often put things in places where I think I can easily retrieve them only to find that I can't quite recall where that place was.  Ugh!

Tonight I checked out the annual debut poets roundup in the latest edition of Poets & Writers.   This is one of my favorite features in P&W because I'm always interested to see if I know anyone who made the list. This year none of them were familure to me.  Still, I enjoy reading the little bullet information about each one of the. How old they are.  How long they were working on their manuscript. How long it took to find a publisher. Number of contests, etc. Their advise to others. I confess that reading these makes me wish I had started writing at least 15 years earlier.

Wishing my daughter happy birthday! Wishing everyone a safe and happy New Year.   See you at the confessional in 2011!

On Winter Days Like These

Winter is nature's way of saying, "Up yours."  ~Robert Byrne

Crumpets and a Movie

Sunday morning, someone is drawing bath water, the dogs are quiet and my stomach to talking to me. I hear, but ignore.

I haven't blogged in days. I started to late last night  but ended up deleting before I was finished and went to bed.  That's kind of how I've been these past four days. Sort of here but not really.  I have not felt well and until Christmas eve I was in denial that I was sick (a common defensive tactic of mine) and simply wrote it off as sinus related stuff - but I've decided now it's some kind of upper respiratory thingy.

My loving wife made me homemade crumpets and ham on Christmas and I watched Il Postino (recommended by Kelli Agodon) - which I enjoyed in spite of following the subtitles in my fuzzy head.  I will watch it again soon and probably enjoy it more if my eyes and brain are working better together.

I've written already this morning, so the day has started well. Holding off on breakfast as long as I can - my blood sugar numbers are a little elevated as a result of being sick.

Have several things I want to get done today - but I don't want to push myself. I really have too much to do at the office not to go in tomorrow, so I don't want to overdue things today.

I pulled my copy of Unmentionables by Beth Ann Fennelly  off the night stand to read a few poems this morning. Feel like a cup of coffee, but not till I have something else in my stomach first.  Off to read now. Maybe, just maybe I'll have something more profound to say when I rejoin the world in another post later today.

Patriotism

For a writer only one form of patriotism exists: his attitude toward language.

~ Joseph Brodsky

Confession Tuesday

Tuesday again? How did that happen? I’m off to the confessional.

Dear Reader:

Another week has passed, as well as an office Christmas luncheon. Additionally, Office treats trays and a family dessert gartering. All of these add up to carbs, calories and sugar.

I confess these are trying times for diabetics. A fruit cake arrived at our office last week. You know those things people joke about using as door stops or re-gifting and sending on and on into perpetuity. Well, I confess I actually like fruit cakes. There, I said it! I can already here the Facebook friends unfriending me and twitter followers vanishing into thin air.

During this past week, there have been periods when I’ve found my Blackberry alerts annoying. I confess this morning is one of those times. This is a new thing to me as I am not normally bothered by this. It’s probably an extension of becoming annoyed at getting three and sometimes four e-mails a day from places like Borders, Barns & Nobel, and Bass Pro.

I will confess that I thought this past week about doing one of those crazy year-end/holiday letters. You know the long ones people send out that go on and on about their year in review? It was a devious thought on my part and actually the only reason I decided not to do it was because it would be so pitifully boring unless I made stuff up.

Hum…. maybe I should rethink this idea, the year isn’t over yet.

That’s it for this week. Thanks for listening. Everyone stay safe and enjoy the holiday!

The Challenge to Internet neutrality

You don't have to look any further then Internet neutrality to see the classic differences between Democrats and Republicans; as evidenced by the following from Wired:

Many Republicans, including FCC commissioner Robert McDowell, blasted the new rules as an interventionist over-reach by an activist federal regulator intent on asserting control over the internet. Meanwhile, Democrats, including Sen. Al Franken from Minnesota, along with public interest and free speech groups, slammed the rules as woefully inadequate to protect the public from the privations of an industry keen on turning the internet into a cyber-version of cable TV, with tiers and premium packages affordable by the wealthy.

Odds and Ends

A few odds and ends I though of interest~

• "If I hadn't known lots of beautiful poetry, I couldn't have made it."  That's how 99 year old Evelyn  Vernon describes her survival after being trapped for 22 hours after she slipped and fell in her bathtub. (survivors club)
• Should poets be lead the charge of social/political change in their work, or reflect thoughtfully on the sidelines? (The Guardian books-blog)
• The Huffington Post gathered its list of the seventeen "most important poetry books of fall 2010.
• The media claim the president has "lost control of his narrative." So (The Daily Beast) we asked Margaret Atwood, Sam Lipsyte and other fiction masters to offer tips for the president to fix his storyline.
• Is your e-reader checking up on you? Creepy! (NPR)

It's a Jolly Holi-dog Celebration!

Magpie Tales 45

Blessed Mother, May I?


Called in the midst
of copious play

to draw stick pictures
in the clay.

To share among the masses
a jar of strained peas,
another of carrots.

Then turn the Happy Meals
on their sides - choking sized toys
be scattered.

So much
for a child prodigy
to do.

2010© Michael A. Wells

Magpie Tales

Poets - Life & Death and their work

"When you’re a young writer, you subtract the birth dates of authors from their publication dates and feel panic or hope. When you’re an old writer, you observe the death dates of your favorite writers and you reflect on their works and their lives. " ~ Gail Godwin

If there is any obsession that has a hold on me, it would be the triangulation of time - death  - life.  That obsession has informed a lot of things in my life. I probably is what propelled me into political involvement at an age when many were dealing with such things as acne and their popularity.  I blame it too for informing my approach to writing in ways I often find frustrating.


Gail Godwin's essay "Working on the Ending - I'm not finished" - New York Times - Sunday Book Review, really spoke to me as she talked about writing and aging. Of course I'm not as old as the writers she references in her essay, but I'm no spring chicken either.  And since I am so good a looking at the ages of writers (especially poets) as they pass on, doing the math (a fact that I'm sure only feeds my anxiety) in my head, well it only stands to reason this all too close for comfort.

Since I've come to writing poetry late in life, I already identify with Phillip Roth's remarks to Terry Gross of NPR when asked what he wanted out of writing as he aged.  Roth replied that  he wanted to be as alert and energetic as ever at the keyboard, he wanted to be taken seriously, and he wanted to make a work of art out of his subject.  The part about being taken seriously, I think one of the hard parts for me is that after writing for a shorter period of time then many my age, it seems the entire rest of my writing life will be held hostage by this desire.

I'm sure that I would do well to loosen up a bit and try not to focus on such things as who was just published and how many books is that makes now or what poet just died and how old they were.

Confession Tuesday

It's been a week since my last confession... a cold week at that and it's getting late, so come, follow me to the confessional.


Dear Reader:

I confess that while I'm not fond of extreme cold, I prefer it to hot. But sometimes the cold brings heat along - heat that drys out my nasal passages and when Michael has dry nasal passages, Michael gets cranky.  While this sometimes occurs at home, the big offender is my office. There I have little or no control over the heat, unless and until I can prevail upon building services to come and do something to block off some of the vents or something.   As I type, I have a bottle of nasal spray beside my laptop ready to spring into action on a moments notice. I confess that just having it close at hand may do more for me then the actual misting of my nasal passages, but I'll take whatever help I can - psychological or otherwise.

My wife is doing a sleep study tonight. I did one maybe a year and a half to two years ago.  I didn't want to. It wasn't my idea.  I confess paybacks can be hell. **evil smile**     In truth, I feel for her because she is not crazy about sleeping away from her own bed and she'll be all wired up... It's a pretty intimidating set up, plus they watch you sleep on monitors.  Who knows what they really do when they are asleep?  

I confess too that I miss here not being here.

In the distance I hear a trains whistle.  I confess this takes me back to my childhood when I would visit my grandparents. They lived in a little railroad town in Missouri.  On weekends I'd often travel from Kansas City to to visit them - leaving early Friday evening and getting in a couple hours later. I was fascinated by trains. Enjoyed riding them. But there was a fearful component as well. Grandma and Grandpa lived not far off from a train track. Several times a day trains would whiz past.  I confess that if I were playing outside when I hear them coming, I'd run to the far side of the yard and hold my ears as it passed. It was so loud and powerful and the ground would rumble. Yes, I confess it was a love, hate relationship - trains and I.

The boys are all conked out for the night. Barry, Mo and Klaus. No these are not children's names, but our dogs. I confess seeing them all so very quiet and sleeping is calling me to bed so I guess I'm all confessed out for the night. 

Until next week, everyone stay safe - best wishes!

Five Favorite Poetry Reads for 2010

I've given it a lot of thought and my five best poetry book reads this year are as follows (in no particular order)

• Unmentionables by Beth Ann Fennelly
• The Kingdom of Ordinary Time by Marie Howe
• The Alchemist's Kitchen by Susan Rich
• Letters from the Emily Dickinson Room by Kelli Russell Agodon
• Circle by Victoria Chang

I kept wanting to include The Shadow of Sirius by W.S. Merwin - a book I return to often but then that would be the case with each of the books above. The thing about Sirius is that I actually read it for the first time in 2009.  It just seems like it should have been 2010.

I intended to write a little about each book but I'm told I'm on short time - have to run.  Maybe later today!

Flurries and Wind

From inside the house, the winds whipping against us in gusts left me feeling like we were in a lonely house on the prairie, isolated from any wind breaks.

I had not been out since later afternoon and I just ventured to the way a bit to a local Quick Trip for a Diet Coke.  The snow flurries were moving horizontal with the wind. The temperature is 16 but the wind chill is 3. The snow isn't doing much. It's a fine dry variety and the wind will not allow it to pile up so far it just blows it back and forth across the streets and walks.

A good night to be home inside. I good night to read or write or both. Pizza, movie, that kind of night. I'm not complaining... there are many places where the snow is piling up and creating travel problems. It's cold here but travel is fine for the present.

I was making some notes about some of my favorite poetry books I've read this year.  Trying to narrow it down to maybe my five favorite.  I'll plan to post the list tomorrow.

Miscellaneous mourning mental magnets

Non-Sugar Plum Visions dancing in my head:

• Much identity to shred
• Chardonnay past prime
• Trees flattened and bagged
• Where do you buy self cleaning windows?
• Before etch-a-sketch  there was dust

Empty Chair

Liu Xiaobo, the Chinese poet and essayist, is serving an 11-year sentence for penning a manifesto calling for greater freedoms in China. He has not been seen in public since he was moved to his current prison in May.

The Nobel organization, with its long-standing position that human rights are universal values awarded the prize to Liu in his absence.

China not only disallowed Liu to attend, it successfully lobbied 18 countries to boycott the ceremony and in China censors blocked international television and websites carrying news of the event.



Not since 1936 has a country blocked a recipient from attending to accept the award. That was Nazi Germany.

For China to spend so much energy to attempt to scrub or censor information about this award to Liu speaks volumes about the paranoia that continues to plague the Chinese government.  It also demonstrates how little faith they have in the Chinese people. 

Those present at the award ceremony were told that it was Liu Xiaobo's wish that the award be dedicated to "the lost souls of June 4," referring to the day the Chinese troops opened fire on demonstrators gathered in Tiananmen Square killing many young Chinese pro-democracy students who were protesting; unarmed.

Skin Orgasms - Who Knew?

Musical chills, write the authors, from the University of North Carolina, are “sometimes known as aesthetic chills, thrills, shivers, frisson, and even skin orgasms [who knew?] … and involve a seconds-long feeling of goose bumps, tingling, and shivers, usually on the scalp, the back of the neck, and the spine, but occasionally across most of the body.”

The scientific explanation for chills is that the emotions evoked by beautiful or meaningful music stimulate the part of the brain called the hypothalamus, which controls primal drives such as hunger, sex and rage and also involuntary responses like blushing and goosebumps. When the song soars, your body can't help but shiver.

Some people report lots of skin orgasms and some people say they never get them, but the personality trait “openness to experience” seems like a good predictor. (By "open to experience" the researchers seem to mean those people who enjoy art, good movies, aesthetic stuff.)

Magpie Tales 44

Evidence

On the plump white hillside
there was evidence—

scarlet plagued splotches
and the lines of blades

slicing deep— parallel
and linear to a distant apex.

Red molded into the lines
like a train had severed a leg

and paraded the results
proudly through the countryside.


2010© Michael A. Wells



Magpie Tales 44

Confession Tuesday

Another week has come and gone. Another fantasy football weekend has come and gone. It felt almost like snow. I worked dinner magic from a shrinking pantry and grimaced at world events. It's time again for confession so let's get going...

Dear Reader:

I confess to feeling silly for sitting on the edge of my seat watching the clock and score of the Monday night football game to see if my fantasy team was able to maintain their lead and eek out a win. I mean we are talking football not baseball.  (I did win)

This past week was the fifth week of a six week session of working with another poet on my writing. I confess it has gone too fast and I'm not ready to take the training wheels off yet. I want to cram so much work into this last week - not wanting to miss any opportunity to better myself. This is the second year I've done this and I confess that I believe every writer should block out some time each year to work with another writer.  I'm reminded of therapists who go to therapists and so writers doing sessions with other writers to better their skills makes sense to me.

I noticed that my heel on my right dress shoes seems to have worn down some on one side. I confess that I really like these shoes and this annoys me.  Years ago I used to sometimes put new heels on shoes. I've not done this in a while, in part because I would wear out the rest of the shoe first.  I'm not sure if you can still find shoe repair shops to do this.  I confess I still try to keep one foot in the past. **sigh**

I recently read a Pablo Neruda poem that I really liked. I've read some that I just didn't find very appealing and I was telling someone the other day it has occurred to me that I may have been reading poor translations.  I remember Martin Espada - a Neruda scholar, one time saying there are many translations of Neruda's work - some good and some not so good. I confess that I need to explore some of these translations further. I may like him better then I thought.

I confess It doesn't seem like the holiday season to me presently.

I confess I've been anxious about writing lately.

I confess that right now I want some black walnut ice cream.

He Writes - She Submits

There is writing and there is submitting. One is creative the other administrative.  While I haven't always felt this way, I've come to dislike submitting work. I suppose that is why I found Suppose someone submitted all your poems for you to be a fascinating interview over at Very Like A Whale. 

Magpie 43

Bridging the Gaps

The space that separates
becomes the mortar that binds—

lava winding through the highlands
of Nepal downward without care

a hardened dental filling
closing the decay

unifying all measure
of humanity.

2010© Michael A. Wells

Magpie Tale 43

Recommended Reading

A couple of  things I've read at other sites that I though were noteworthy.

• Lessons from Pre-Schoolers  a delightful commentary on lessons adults could take from pre-schoolers. 
• 
  Negotiating Death with Ivy Alvarez  The fascinating international poet and author of Mortal  is interviewed by Alec Patric for Verity LA
  

Thoughts on Poets #6

Poetry is an act of peace. Peace goes into the making of a poet as flour goes into the making of bread.

 ~  Pablo Neruda

Thoughts on Poets #5

Poets are like baseball pitchers. Both have their moments.

The intervals are the tough things. ~Robert Frost

Thoughts on Poets #4

A poet must leave traces of his passage,

 not proof. ~  Rene Char

Confession Tuesday - Stuffed Edition

Quickly…. I’ve much to do so let’s get started.

Dear Reader-

It’s been one week, one turkey, one Monday Night Football and one 4 day break from the office since my last confession.

I confess that I did not want to get up this morning in spite of the fact that I slept like a log last night. When I awoke the hear dog bladders calling and looked at the clock I wanted to stuff my head under the pillow and shut it all off. I didn’t though. There was the whole bladder thing and besides they start to get ravenous this time of morning.

It’s the time of year at the office when they start cranking up the heat before we arrive. I confess that I cannot understand why they think it is any more comfortable to bake in to bake in the office then be cold. This therefore is the time of year that I must go into the office and issue my “cranky” warning. I confess it is true that as the heat goes up, I’m a far less happy camper. At least I give disclosure.

I confess to cheating on baseball last night. I met my son and others at a bar to watch the 49ers football game. My Arizona daughter was at the game with her boyfriend and I confess to “Text-Trash –Talk” as the 49ers never had to look back in the game. Towards the end I asked them if they were having a good time which I suppose is a little like asking, “Other then that Mrs. Lincoln how did you like the play?”

So how was your week? Hope this next one is exceptional!

Thoughts on Poets #3

Women make us poets, children make us philosophers. ~ Malcolm De Chazal

Thoughts on Poets #2

We all write poems; it is simply that poets are the ones

who write in words. ~  John Fowles

Thoughts on Poets #1

The poets are only the interpreters of the Gods.  ~ Socrates

Opera Company of Philadelphia "Hallelujah!" Random Act of Culture

First - Credit to Suzanne Frischkorn who posted this - which is where I originally found it. I love Handel's Messiah and in particular the Hallelujah Chorus. Thanks Suzanne for making my day!