Reoccurring Themes



It is my feeling that Time ripens all things; with Time all things are revealed; Time is the father of truth.  ~   Francois Rabelais

Time tends to be one of the reoccurring themes in my own poetry.  What are some of your reoccurring themes?

Photo credit: DesertUSA.com and Digital West Media, Inc.

Perfect Understanding Vs. Pleasure

Even when poetry has a meaning, as it usually has, it may be inadvisable to draw it out... Perfect understanding will sometimes almost extinguish pleasure.



A. E. Housman

Confession Tuesday

I just finished working on a project I carried home from the office and before I move a way from my laptop I should get my confession over for the week.  Let's go to the confessional...

Dear Reader:  It has been four blog posts, 3.1 Lbs lost, news of one accept poem for a fall print journal, more heat the suitable for man or beast, and a second week of a bum knee since my last confession.

Two weeks ago I my right knee swelled up almost overnight.  A protrusion like a golf ball developed below the knee cap and left of center (I'm starting to sound more political then medical here) and it looked far worse then it felt. At first anyway.  I confess my week (last week) was far too busy to take time out from work to go to the doctor and I assumed it was simply an inflammation and it would go away. This was greatly annoying to my daughter Shannon.

By Monday morning I could not  put off the doctor visit any longer.  The assessment tended to support a major inflammation ant nothing more serious. Unfortunately it had gone from mildly annoying to quite painful, especially when driving. Day two post Dr. visit it's slightly better but the anti-inflammatory is playing hell with my stomach.

In addition to my dieting, I was planning to get the bike out for some exercise several nights a week, but the knee issue nixed this idea... for the time being. I confess the heat would probably be a little rough for starting a bike ricing program, but I was/am serious about it and I'm pulling for better weather and knee both next week!

I confess that I wanted to lose just a little more weight this week. I would have been happy with about 1.5 more lbs. simply because it would have psychologically broken a number that was a benchmark I would have been so psyched by dropping belows.  I know loss in the range of 2 lbs per week is ideal and going beyond should make me very pleased just the same.

I confess that seeing Congresswoman Gabby Gifford's return to Congress to vote in the debt ceiling increase was the most uplifting thing to come out of Washington D.C. news in longer then I can honestly recall.That woman is quite an inspiration! 

I confess I feel there is little to applaud in the outcome and process used to to reach that outcome in the debt reduction plan that was passed and signed into law.

I confess I'm out of confession!

Best wishes to everyone... see you next week.

Magpie Tales 75 - Poem : Cycles Sirius

All she ever wanted
was to ride
to let her hair down
to be a human streamer
on a world stage
far from her tunnel
childhood 

ride she did
a circus act
big as the night
she was Sirius
brightest of light 

taking the curves
smooth— feral flesh
blinking under a hot blue
sparkler strobe
woman reborn


2011 © Michael A. Wells


Magpie Tales75






Magpie

Couple of poems that caught my attention today...

Christine Klocek-Lim - editor of Autumn Sky Poetry has another steller edition.  Two of the poems that particularly caught my attention I have linked here.  Perhaps you will enjoy them as I did or one or more of the others. Happy reading!

• The Empty Playground by Zeina Hashem Beck
• Arriving Home Late One Night by David Hubbard
  

Sounds Like A Spot for a Writing Weekend

Among a number of other unique spots featured on AOL I found the Point No Point Lighthouse - complete with a lightkeepers residence this site is available for vacation rental at only $215/night + tax.

The Lighthouse dating back to the 1880's is about a hour from Seattle. It provides a bird's eye view of what goes on in Puget Sound and a view of Mount Rainier.

From a Seattle Times Review it sounds like an awesome place for a weekend retreat for writers.

Where are some places you have gotten away to write at and how did the writing end up?  Tell us about your successes or otherwise....                          

At A Loss

Then it rained
my hair wet
streams pulled it
over my forehead
I gushed with thoughts
I could not keep
soon I was up to my ankles
in loss

2011 © Michael A. Wells

Confession Tuesday - Weighty Edition

Dear Reader:

To the confessional...  It's been one week of hot-air in Washington, D.C. since my last confession. <sigh>

A confession that I have tonight is one I'd like to just be a secret.  I started a diet on Sunday and I'd just as soon it not be historically recorded on the Internet, but alas I some notion that as I confess it here it establishes some accountability. With that in mind I will swallow my pride and confess that yes, I am intentionally attempting to lose weight - reduce body mass, take up less space, etc, etc. My first weigh in was on Sunday. I stopped by the Y and weighed in again this afternoon. Result - 3.1 lbs lost.  So what did I do?  I went to lunch with out office to celebrate birthdays this month. We went to Winslow's BBQ.

Now you are no doubt thinking.... hum I'll bet he could put the 3 lbs right back on in a place like that. I was a relatively good boy... I skipped any fries opting instead for the BBQ beans and the Smokey Sandwich I ditched the bun on eating only the meat. My drink... ice tea.  Taking everything into consideration I didn't do bed for the day.  I'll try and remember to weigh in next Tuesday as an additional measure of accountability.

Where has July gone? I confess the summer feels like greased pig slipping through my arms. As we are nearly to August that leaves like two months of baseball left for the regular season. Football will soon be encroaching into it. Oh how I hate that!

In the poetry department I confess that I've been hanging onto drafts a lot longer - tweeking - tinkering - turning them around and standing them on end. I confess I'm not sure if this is a good thing or not. Yes, we can close the book on a poem and send it out in the world too early.  Sometimes I thing we can tinker too much as well. I think time helps just to allow for perspective shifts, changes can be made without wearing the words on the page out. I confess I am not likely to change how I approach this anytime soon.

That's a wrap for this today... have a great week and see you again on Tuesday!

Do no wrong

Writing away - in free write while listening to my playlist. No care given to what comes out - it's choppy and all over the map and that's cool because I will come back to it on another day and mine for gold. For now it's words - phrases and that is  all that matters. I can do no wrong.

Rainy Sunday Morning

Opening the front door this morning I stepped into the heavy smell of rain. The sidewalks still dark gray from the wetness. Sun straining through the moving cloud cover. There is nothing in this picture to suggest  however, the oppressive heat will be moving on.

For a Sunday morning I already feel good about the weekend in terms of
writing. Yesterday I pushed throw a new poem draft and tinkered in rewrite with some other material.  In terms of recent weekends I've felt better in terms of creative mind. I've been able to unencumber it from a lot of recent baggage that has cluttered it.

Constantly Comparing Yourself To Other Artists

Before I delve into this, let me reference a post on The Book of Kells where Kelli Agodon shares a list of How to Feel Miserable as an Artist (Or What Not to Do).  There are 10 entries to this list and two that especially jump out at me are numbers 1 & 8.  I'm thinking I will over the next couple of weeks post a response to all of these but for today. Number 1 it is!

When I was reading the list and saw the very first item I thought, Don't we all? Is there anyone who doesn’t compare yourself to other artists? Do I see any hands? I didn't think so. I think I do it in so many ways.... so and so just won the Best Darned Chapbooks Award this side of the Mississippi Award and what have I won lately. Suzy-Q has 7 poems in No-Tell Motel this month or Sam has poems in three journals in a month.... what have I got **heavy sigh**

The inclination is to use others as a yard stick to decide how you measure up. Right now if I list my top 10 favorite poets and you ask me to write next to their name when I think I might measure up to each of them beside their name I can tell you the answer in each case is going to be the same. Never!

The odds are each of them probably can make a similar list and likely answer it the same. In art especially, I'm pretty sure that we do the yard-stick test with others and it is a failing proposition.

Any one of the ten items on the list is probably not a healthy activity but when we start collecting 3 or four or more of these faults, I'm pretty sure that a frustrated if not miserable artist begins to emerge.

When someone I know has a new book come out I try to make a conscious effort to congratulate them. First of all being supportive of your peers is a good thing. But if we don't look at these achievements of others in a positive light I thing the opposite begins to creep in and take over our psyche. We start to feel short changed and even jealous. I have several friends who have new books that have recently come out or are due out in a matter of weeks. It becomes so easy to allow their successes to place you and an important manuscript project you are working on into a "woe is me mode" and then you start to think about it and you say as rationalization, "ah yes, but I'm not that good and I never will be."

I know if you are a writer you have doubted yourself. And probably by comparison to some other writer. So share your secrets... when you realized that you've slipped on this slippery slope how do you get yourself back on your two feet?

Thoughts on the Fall of Borders

News that Borders is closing down is no surprise to me.  Anyone who follows the bookseller's industry could have suspected it even long before they began shedding stores a while back in order to try and stop the bleeding. The fact that Borders has not had a profitable year since 2006 is probably due to a variety of factors including but not limited to the current economic climate, a business model that was well behind the e-book curve and competitors that were successfully bleeding their profit share. 

If I'm not surprised I can still be sad. My family and I enjoyed occasional trips to Borders - usually to check out their bargain book tables. I've done a reading or two at Borders in Northland. I'm sad too for the some 12,000 employees that will be without a job as a result.

Some people will argue that this is a sign of the demise of traditional books in our culture. For many who like browsing in a bookstore to ordering online this may have a silver lining. It could be that the loss of Borders may leave a small opening for smaller independent neighborhood bookstores.

I don't deny that I have also been a frequent Amazon customer. They are relatively fast in shipping to me.  Barnes & Nobel and Borders generally don't have new poetry releases when I want them.B & N has had a dwindling inventory altogether.  What I did like about Borders is they did have some more specialty type  titles the B & N ever did.

If the price of shares in Amazon.com is any indication of their health, they are doing quite well. I'm sure their decision and marketing of the Kindle has been a part of their success.  I remain more interested in traditional books. For now, they still meet that need.

Confession Tuesday - #poetparty edition

Dear Reader: It's been one anxiety ridden doctor's check-up, 3/4 of a lawn mowed, a visit from one of my out of town children and one more #poetparty since my last confession.

Sunday I actually made it on time to #poetparty (on Twitter) for what I confess is probably the first time. So that may well taint my representative view of what #poetparty offers, but one thing it usually delivers to me is frustration.

I love the concept of #poetparty (which aside from an occasional virtual piece of cake or glass of wine) isn't really much of a party. What I like about it is that it is a co-mingling of poets from anywhere a poet wants to come from, all assembled in bombarding tweets into smart phones, onto laptops and desktop computers all over the United States if not the world.

Collin Kelley and Deborah Ager of 32 Poems co-host the event. They have effectively drawn together a wide range of poets with various levels of proficiency in the art. I must confess however that I am relatively inept at staying up with the tweets. Yes, I confess that I am guilty of coming late and even at times leaving early, but it is frustrating to me because it seems that so much (or at least to me) is lost by the format. For example there have been Internet meeting rooms/chat rooms etc available for years now and it seems to me they would be so much easier to keep up with. Plush there is that darned hashtag(#). It is sometimes hard to remember that if you don't have the #poetparty in your tweet it just goes out there into twitterland and is lost from the actual party.

If you haven't been to one of these, there are usually a series of questions along a topic line and people respond individually and then there is often some give and take in the conversation. I admit it is a little easier to follow on a computer then on the twitter application on my blackberry. But even within a twitter application like Tweet Deck on my laptop it is no picnic.

So even though Twitter is the newer medium, it seems to me that something as "old School" as an online meeting room might be less confusing. At least to this old poet.

There you have it... I confess I'm inept at something. Shocker!  ;)

Hope everyone has a great week. Stay out of the heat and be safe!

In an Age of Information Overload or...

Things I learned yesterday...

• You don't have to get Crabs if you eat at Joe's Crab Shack
• Kansas City made the 40 Worst Dressed Cities List coming in at #37
• Price Chopper on 291 has  watermellon slightly smaller the a football for $7 - making their filet mignon appear to be a steal
• If your dog keeps burping just after he ate his food might soon be found on the floor
• If given a choice between two things, a kid will make the "non-adult" choice
• Patience pays dividends
• You cannot write your way out of being alone

Going to Poetry the Bigger Picture

The other day I posted a quotation that I came across via a tweet by Terresa that struck me profoundly.  The quote I posted here on Thursday.  I posed the question - why do you go to poetry and so far there has  been not a soul come forward to share their response.  But the quote is worthy of more then just a retweet or reposting. It is worthy because it opens up my mind to larger questions.  So to start with... here is the quote again:

"The reason we go to poetry is not for wisdom, but for the dismantling of wisdom." - Jacques Lacan


Over the years there have been any number of essayists that have tackled questions about to what degree if any that poetry can make a difference in one's life.  I don't imagine what I am going to say is groundbreaking, but the degree to which one approaches the reading of poetry I believe can inform one's perspective on some of the more philosophical questions involving life today.  

Take the business world... Author Tom Ehrenfield writes, "entrepreneurs, like poets, invent new ways to connect people, ideas, and organizations."  It is the inventiveness, the creative approach to things that is perhaps the most important things man has going for him.

Today's economic issues could use some inventiveness.  When certain people believe that the current debt crisis can be simply approached by not increasing the debt ceiling and to cut spending and then think others "stupid" because they cannot see what is so simple to them they fail because the problem is more complex then that and their solution ignores so many factors. These people are probably the first to run from a poem holding hands over their ears chanting loudly I don't want to hear it, don't read it. Considering the many factors in such an issue requires more thought commitment then they are willing to out into the equation.

As a people we have achieved much over the history of man by reason of our creativity. Our willingness to look at things differently then that first one dimensional approach.

Without stretching our mind, penicillin is never discovered. The Wright brothers are grounded indefinitely.  There is no moon landing. Cancer, diabetes, Alzheimer's will never be cured.

I have read that more and more Fortune 500 companies a looking for qualified employees that have experience/interest in poetry and literature.  It's not because they, the CEO's are looking for someone with such interests to chew the fat with over lunch, but because such people are adept at creating solutions to problems and not just adding 2+2 to equal 4.

So when someone asks you if poetry really matters... if it can save you, the long answer may just be yes!

I submit that the solution to our many environmental challenges, finding cures for many incurable illnesses, solving our economic woes, feeding the world hungry, and living a peaceful coexistence with people people from different cultures around the world all involve the poetics of creativity. Personal enjoyment aside (which I consider one very good reason to go to poetry) its model may very well our very salvation as a people.

Magpie Tales-73 : Poem: Citizen Athlete

White cap waves
Atlantic in origin
breed man's self-indulgence
from biceps digging 
in the waters to full
blown sails pushing waterline
the nonchalant splash and slap
or power about breast
strokes their propulsion.
On the shore the fun
spills over - flat hand paddles
bang out points over
makeshift netting.
By night Martha's Vineyard
crawls with crab meat and oysters
soothing the hunger pangs
of the citizen athlete. 

2011© Michael A. Wells

 Magpie Tales -73

*photo credit: People of Chilmark, Thomas Hart Benton, 1920

Why we go to poetry

"The reason we go to poetry is not for wisdom, but for the dismantiling of wisdom."  - Jacques Lacan



Thanks to Terresa who lead me to the quote!



Why do you Go to poetry?

Confession Tuesday - Time Edition

Yes, it's that time again. Another Tuesday and here i am at the confessional.  Let's hurry along, I'm not sure how much time I have.


Dear Reader:  It's been another whole week and a whole bunch of emotion since my last confession.


One way or another time has been doing a number on me. I must confess that I have never considered time to be my friend. When I was young it seemed like time would drag on in an eternally slow crawl.  As a kid I was oh so anxious to grow up and decried the cruelty of how long my childhood was taking. 


Somewhere between then and now something changed and time began to move with  breakneck speed.  Like the cautious adage, it to good to be careful what one wishes for. I grew up and have been fighting time every since. Time seems to inform a lot of what I write about.  I confess that too often time creeps into my poetry riding the backs of other topics it will almost always find safe passage past my internal censor. This past week especially, I've thought a lot about time.


The past has been just one aspect of this time obsession.  It has been a series of recent events that has reminded me all too well of a part of my childhood that I was anxious to leave behind.  I confess that I was not prepared and may never be prepared to deal with the combined feelings of anger and hurt that I am reminded of.  This is something I had fairly well buried, walled off and stepped back from.


The surprise recurrence of these feelings manifests itself in several ways.  Anxiety, lower self-esteem, and anger are just a few of the readily identifiable ways it has impacted me. I confess that a big part of the frustration is that  I seemed unable to control how any of this unfolded. 


I confess that this resurgence of residual feelings from childhood at this time clearly means that growing up is not an escape route.  Two other things that have plagued me because of this, battling to keep writing recently from sounding like teenage angst, and speculating every day how old I will live to be.  Both which seem to fail the test of proactive ways to spend time.


But enough of this! Tonight is the All-Star game.  I'm ready for the National League to win! 


May each of you have a winning week too!

Wanted - A Radio Station in Kasnas City

Seriously folks, when KUDL 98.1 disappeared from the radio airways early this year - a long tradition of adult contemporary music was lost and the station became 99.7 THE POINT[less] KC lost more then a radio station... it lost a cross-generational entertainment media. What has taken the place of KUDL is a variety of no-name, and lesser-name performers that may or may not be remembered 5 - 10 years  I've tried The Point[less] several times since the change over and  it hasn't gotten any better. We NEED a new station with the old format that was big name music spanning the 1970's through 1990's & contemporary hits as well.

Somebody... anybody - are listening?

Journal Bits

I'm overdue for my Journal bits post, so here goes...

• June 23 - "you asked how I felt/about the aggregate-/I tell you that is quite a sum/a lot of cookies/I feel overwhelmed"
• June 25 - "clouds speak endlessly in a limited vocabulary"
• June 28 -"I'm stuck at 22 likes on my Facebook writers page - three away from what I need."
• June 29 -"it's my desire to scream right now..."
• July 1 - "I would like to have gone to First Friday at the Crossroads but the heat is oppressive."
• July 3 - "It is the summer of discontent/thick with verbiage that subsides/rolling back in white foam/a quiet lace that always predicts /another round of roaring waves."
• July 6 - "...I have last weeks register receipts/for no particular reason..."
• July 8 - "Lunch with an untruth/gimme a stiff drink/should have ordered takeout..."

Alone

Against a wall wet with past
she leans- the musty memory
soaks her cloak    and lingers-
days to nights to days
the acherontics shuffles between
them and there is no deviation
nothing tangible to separate
one from the other -
darkness like the husk
of a walnut shell    encases her.
Who will crack the shell?
Can anyone?

2011 © Michael A. Wells

photo credit -  Amanda Slater


Magpie Tales 72 - Poem untitled

Wheat Field with Rising Sun, Vincent Van Gogh, 1889

Torrents of amber and goldenrod
highlights wave to the wind
under blistered sky

grasshoppers fleeing
ahead of us the field
ripe for a day of toil

tomorrow it will be
combines and us
against the fever

2011 © Michael A. Wells

Magpie Tales 72

Confession Tuesday - Strange Correlation Edition.

Tuesday again. It seems like only yesterday. So let's get going to the confessional.

Dear Reader:

It's been one week since my last confession and a weekend of minor explosions in the neighborhood followed by barking. Oh the joys of the 4th of July.

Today, when I returned home from work,  I found my copy of She Returns to the Floating World  by Jeannine Hall Gailey waiting for me in the mail. This was a treat because I had earlier received an e-mail rejection letter so I had a little good to compensate for the bad.

When I went to Duotrope (which I use as a submission tracker) and reported my latest rejection the control panel has a percentage figure of your acceptances in the last 12 months. Following my % number was the following... Congratulations! Your overall acceptance ratio is higher than the average for users who have submitted to the same markets. I confess this amazes me more then it encourages me. And then my mind began to correlate writing to baseball. In baseball a hitter who is batting .300 is someone who reaches base safely roughly three out of every ten times they come to the plate. Such a batting average is considered above average. A good player. Assuming he has other skills, defensive, power or speed, he may be better than good. But flip this around and think about it... that same player fails 7 out of every 10 times he comes to the plate. It almost seems absurd to think that someone who fails 7 out of 10 times is a success, but in baseball, it is just that! Writing it seems is quite the same. I confess it may be in part that chase... that battle with the odds that I actually like.

Well, it’s late and I want to read some tonight in my new book before I hit the sack.  Have a good week.

Reflection on the 4th of July

July 4th is an air born holiday. Fireworks like fireflies dot the night sky and the smell of sulfur permeates the air, strong enough at times to get choked up.

It's a day in which we will often go outside into that summer heat and start the grill and burn burgers and brats, etc. and  hep our plats and dig in. A day families gather and there are so many smells on this day.

Less tangible but more important are the freedoms that we have. Freedoms that have come and continue to be protected at a very high price.

The freedom to express ourselves creativity in all forms of art. The freedom of the press... perhaps the most critical cornerstone of the success of our democracy.

In many places around the world people are not free to practice journalism without fear for their families or themselves.  A free press is a paramount checks and balance to democracy. It's something to celebrate and not take for granted. 

Magpie Tales 71 - Poem: String Bikinis



String Bikinis

pantylines air brushed
into the night
blush Clorox bright


2011 © Michael A. Wells






Magpie Tales 71





Confesson Tuesday - Size Matters Edition

Dear Reader:

It's been one week, one more anniversary, a blissful piece of Italian Wedding Cake and finally watermelon since my last confession.

Growing up and visiting my grandparents often in the green hills of north central Missouri I tasted some of the best watermelon. I confess a weakness for watermelon that has not diminished as the years have passed. But, I'm telling you that last year something happened to all the watermelons that made it to our stores.  Evidently some disease stunted their growth. Further, their price was inverted to their size.
It's been the same this year.

We actually now have bought two that were on sale at HyVee and for their sale price and size I'd say the two were almost a good fit.  Now I confess these two melons were to die for.

So last night I'm back at HyVee but the price is back to $7 bucks for a melon that might be good for three servings. I kid you not!  I passed on them. Where are all the normal melons?

~0~

My Facebook Writer/Poet page is stalled three "Likes" from becoming an official page.  I confess that you can make this poet happy by going here and "Like" the page if you have not already.  If you already did....  Thank you - Thank you!

That's it for this week...thanks for stopping by - may all your watermelons be big, juicy, and withing your budget!

The Whole Poem Experiance or the Poetics of Location

Some recent chatter about the "multi delivery system" of poetry has me thinking not only about the topic but broadening the spectrum even more. I mean I guess I never thought a lot about the idea of the poetic experience very much until the conversation.  I mean even before the advent of a multi delivery approach to poetry there were varying delivery systems.


Of course newer on the scene is the e-reader but we sometimes read individual poems in a journal and later find them in a published manuscript by the author. Or we may find them published in an anthology. How do I feel about the impact on the source of the poem I'm reading? 


Another question that could be asked is how much credibility, artistry, etc. can be transferred to a poem by where it is found. What can such transfer if any add or detract from the overall experience of the poem. 


Examples could be  Filter Literary Journal - see here and here.  Such craftsmanship and individual artistry are something a traditional publisher doesn't match.  Then of course there is the difference between a very well established Journal like Paris Review, Missouri Review, Rattle as opposed to say a new Journal or one one to three years old.  Who else in in that same Journal, can that make a difference? Reading a poem in Norton's Anthology surely must seem antiseptic compared a Journal or The New Yorker. Then there is a well strung together manuscript or one of those same poems in a book of the author's collected works 1972-1998 surely this experiance is different.


I'm guessing that in reading a poem as well as my observation of many thhings, I am enfluenced by the sideshows more then I think. With this in mind, the whole discussion that Nic Sebastian has sparked is not a new issue, just a different version of the one above. One that I've never really explored till now.

Hey Dad.... let's go for a walk?

The humidity is pretty overwhelming here today. Barry and I went for a walk a while ago and I was jealous of the people at the Disk Golf course playing. I've never seen so many in spite of the fact that it's I'm a killer day to go walking up some of those greens. Still, I haven't played for a while and I had been thinking about it several weeks ago so of course it brings it back to the forefront of my mind. 

I've been doing some office work I brought home and was ready to take a break and write some, but the idea of some exercise won over. I do need to write after while.

Kudos to Kelli Agodon for yet another award for her book Letters from The Emily Dickinson Room. I knew when I read this book that it was no ordinary book of poetry.

This is just a quickie - I've got to pick up my wife. I have several other things to blog about today but they will have to wait till later.

My Facebook Poet's Page

This week I set up a separate Facebook Writer's page. I say separate because it differs from regular Facebook format because it is intended for individuals who are especially interested in poetry in general and what I'm up to . Announcements about readings, newly published items, recommendations of other poets and books I think are worthy of mention.  If this sounds like information you'd like me to share with you then by visiting the page and clicking on the LIKE button you will there be kept abreast of  my world of poetry.  You must have a Facebook account to do this.  You can make this poet a happy poet by going here and clicking on the "like" this page button. 

Thanks in advance!

Confession Tuesday - Saint Monica of the Console Edition

It's that time again. Yes, it's been a week since my last confession. A week in which I laughed at Father's lame jokes during Mass, cleaned the dog-do off my wife's tennis shoes and swore life was too short to let other people's crap bring me down, and then I promptly let it. Now for the record, the crap I'm referring to was not what I scraped off my wife's shoes. Now to the confessional....



Dear Reader:

I confess that I'm worn slick by the drama of others. I've looked for ways to shake the negative drama dust off me but it seems to blow back with the wind. It gets all over other people, even people in our household, people you love just carry in (not wanting too) it just comes in on their shoes, in their hair, on their shoulders like it were dandruff. There is no shampoo for it, and this stuff ain't magic glitter!



And who swiped my creativity? I confess I've gone through a week of such lousy writing that this morning I wanted to post lost posters on poles asking if anyone has seen my missing creativity. I confess that I suspect a linkage between the drama dust and the absence of my creativity. It may also have been responsible for burnt corn dogs and the shocking escalation in grocery prices at Hy-Vee.



None of these things I've confessed are personal failings mind you, but I have another confession. The confession of a sneaky poet, a conniving poet, but a well meaning poet just the same. There is no one in my family who shares my appreciation or love of poetry. I'm not sure any of them suffer from metrophobia, that's quite severe, but they are clearly lacking the poetry DNA in their blood.



So this morning as we were driving into the city for work I carried out to the car my copy of Saint Monica (chapbook by Mary Biddinger) and strategically placed it on the faux turtle shell console between my place on the driver’s side and the passenger seat that would soon be occupied by my wife. I've done this before... a sneaky way of putting poetry out there within her reach. This time, I stopped at Quick Trip for my 52oz Diet Coke (what else?) and upon returning to the car, she was caught! Red handed! There she was reading, Saint Monica! She had finished one poem.... Saint Monica's Sweet Sixteen. I'm not sure but she may be scared.



Tomorrow is our 37^th wedding anniversary. I confess I’d like a do over. The deal is I want all the same players for the repeat 37 years. Same awesome woman… the same children.  I just want to relive those years again with them!



That’s it for today. Until next week, shake off all the negative dust!

Fathers

"It doesn't matter who my father was; it matters

 who I remember he was."   — Anne Sexton

Confession Tuesday - Where is my book edition?

It's been one crazy fantasy baseball week since my last confession. My team worked it's was to 4th place briefly and tumbled back to 8th place out of 12 teams.

Dear Reader-

Patience is not one of  my strong points. Oh I can be patient about some things... actually many things, but never when I've ordered a book.

It's one of the reasons I often order from Amazon. They tend to get be relatively quick to ship. I guess I  had a soft spot and ordered direct from a publisher recently.  I thought hey, let's support the small publisher.  I confess I am however sitting here tonight thinking, where's my book!  And yes, I did check my mail box first thing.  Ok, I admit I was wanting my book a hour after ordering. I know I'm unrealistic. It's a sickness I have when I want a book.  I won't even suggest that I'll try to be more patient in the future. I swear on a stack of poetry books I cannot lie.

~0~

As you can see from the intro to this post my fantasy league baseball team has been on roller coaster ride. It's a new week and my team goes head to head against another team.  I'm reminding myself the academic lesson of baseball managing in real life and fantasy league. The season is too long to get hung up on highs and lows. Things change. I confess I've been repeating this over and over all weekend.

~0~

I saw a poem on a poetry site recently that I had written several years ago, I confess that while I recognized the title and my name appeared attributed to it but it read better then I remembered it.  I actually had to go back and find a copy of it I had save just to make sure it wasn't another Michael Wells that had authored it.  Boy do I feel silly.

~0~

I confess that I'm all confessed out.  Thanks for stopping by - See you next week!  Be safe & have a good week!

Poetry Helps Us Connect

[I received this as an e-mail today - passing along]

by Michelle Obama, U.S. First Lady

When I was young, I was a passionate creative writer and sort of a poet. That's how I would release myself. Whenever I was struggling in school, or didn't want to go outside and deal with the nonsense of the neighborhood, I would write and write and write and write. I think it was my writing that sort of prepared me for so much of what I've had to do in my life as an adult.

Robert Frost once wrote, "A poem begins as a lump in the throat." In writing poetry, you all put words into that kind of emotion. You give voice to your hopes, your dreams, your worries and your fears. And when you do that, when you share yourself that way, and make yourself vulnerable like that, you're taking a risk. And that's brave.       Read more

Let me recommend a blog...

If you have a spare moment this weekend and you have not already seen this blog, I recommend it.  For several weeks now I've been reading Writing with Celia.  Her Friday post was really a good reminder of things I should know and need to keep reminding myself.  The post Poetry Revision 101, Lesson Four: Do I Sound Fat in This Poem?  As the title implies she has been doing a series of these poetry revision posts.


On another note... weather turned out fine for last reading last night in Excelsior Springs.

Bubble Wrapped Morning

When I started the day it looked like the near future had rain in store for us. Suddenly the sky got the green light and the rain came. 

Tonight I am supposed to be in Excelsior Springs for a reading. North of Kansas City - more small townish than urban and what seems to be a somewhat well beaten path for sever storms that pass north of Kansas City.

My fingers are crossed that the weather isn't cause for people staying away from the event. 

Of Ponderance and Brain Freeze

Great questions posed by Jeannine - Relative Success, Relative Failure - Life as a Poet.  Lots of food for thought.  No easy answers to these questions. Also the dialogue Nic Sebastian has been having on exposure for poetry - (see her post at Want Poetry Readers? Publish in multiple formats - some free) gives poets a lot to think about.  Then I read an article today... The author as entrepreneur, and the dangers it poses.  The author talks about a program similar to Kiskstarter but specifically for writers.

There are just so many things for writers to ponder today.

Everyday Saint

 After absorbing the Mary Biddinger interview that appeared Febuary at The Fine Delight - Catholicism in Literature the newly receased chapbook has moved on my radar from want to read to must read!

It seemed to me upon reading the interview that (the idea) Saint Monica came to Mary in almost a casual way and I find it fasinating - the transformation from this inception into a series poems bringing the saint into the everydayness.

I've only read one of the poems at this point but have seen the titles of a number of them this has been enough to hook me. That and the cultural aspect of Catholicism and poetry molded together.  The book just came out on June 1st and is available at: Black Lawrence Press  or Amazon.

Confession Tuesday - Daydreaming Edition

Dear Reader...

It's been a week since my last confession and I'm back to lay everything out in the open.

I confess that as I was driving this evening after work I was daydreaming.( For the record, this was before I picked my wife up. She thinks I can't drive and do anything else safely.)  At the right you will see the Center for Preforming Arts here in Kansas City that is under construction.  This morning as I passed it I wished I had taken a picture of it so tonight I did.  And as I proceeded to drive I thought about what a cool place if will be to attend the Symphony Orchestra. Then a funny thing happened. I suddenly got to thinking about the building filled to capacity for an event. Actually it was an unlikely event. Yes, I pictured thousands of people, myself included attending a poetry reading at the new facility. Can you picture this? Wouldn't it be awesome?

I'm not sure what brought this on. Maybe it's because I've had readings on my mind lately. But I admit it would be cool to see a packed house in a building this size taking in poetry.  I understand that in Russia they have filled stadiums for poetry readings.  I confess I wish more people valued poetry in America they way they do in many other countries.

On a side note I have been in a pretty good sized theater for a Mary Oliver reading that was packed. Nothing the size of the Center for Preforming arts though.

What am I Doing this Week?

It is the function of art to renew our perception. What we are familiar with we cease to see. The writer shakes up the familiar scene, and, as if by magic, we see a new meaning in it.  ~ Anais Nin



It's a new week.  I'm thinking about Anais Nin's words.  I'm thinking about the difference between writing and writing that is meaningful. Note to self... Step back and look at what you write and revise this week. Even if it is about the familiar, how does it offer a fresh perspective, a different view or image. Am I writing or is this meaningful. If it is not meaningful can I call it art?

Influence

The life I touch for good or ill will touch another life, and that in turn another, until who knows where the trembling stops or in what far place my touch will be felt. ~  Frederick Buechner


Reading Frederick Buechner's words above struck me tonight in many different ways. While Buechner may well have been thinking more in terms of the example our life leaves for others, I was also thinking about how far our influence goes in other areas such as art. Our own tastes in art. Our own creations in art. The influence of one's creativity on others. Really any influence we have on others can ultimately travel far. When we write a poem - paint a picture or create a song don't we really hope that it touches someone else?  The more someones the better.

Stepping Out

Unfolding before me
an accordion of dark.

Leaving behind
incandescence,
hope, italicized security.

Each step grayer
in doubt than the last.

Each footing more
to the dark side

a narrowing aperture
a pinhole possibility.

2011 © Michael A. Wells

Confession Tuesday

Dear Reader:

It's been one week since my last confession. One week that was shifter to create a 3 day weekend.  Let me start by confessing that yes I think all weekends should be 3 days long.

To the right is a picture taken recently of Barry on a walk with me. It's not a great photo but it's a family photo. This brings me to my first confession tonight. Okay, it's really my second for admitting what should be the obvious... 3 day weekends rule!  But back to the photo thingy.  All my life I've been fond of photos. During my teenage years I started a practice that continued for years. I would shot a roll of film (you remember rolls?) and pitch it in a drawer. This would be repeated many times. Seldom did I unload the camera and run to have it developed. We wouldn't want to do anything rash!

So periodically I would reach in a drawer - usually under some entirely different pretense, but pull out a roll and get it off to process. The beauty of this approach is you were often totally surprised at what you got. Sometimes pictures 4 to 7 years old. Yep! I was that bad.

Imagine how excited I was with digital photography. The only problem is that I recently though about it and I have not been good about pulling all these photo files into a singular location. I'm sure I've lost some on computer drives I no longer have available to me. Or phones... though I think most of them recently I've been able to back up.  But this whole worry over photos came about as I was reminiscing recently over photos we shot as the kids were growing up. I confess that I not only want to pull all the digital stuff together, I'd like to (cough!) get hard copies of many of them printed and organized in an album.

~0~

While I've fallen the last 45 days off the submission wagon (this is a confession) - I began my rebound over the weekend.  And I've already received a rejection!  I think it hit me in the but when I turned around.  Alas, I will be sending more this week!

~0~

I spent some time this weekend cleaning out e-mail. Yes, I admit I am an e-mail hog! I confess that I keep e-mail I should delete and it grows overnight in my inbox. I swear it reproduces!  Every once and a while I will do a tidy up - but I admit, I would do well to delete daily.  Sometimes I just think I may need to go back to something so I don't immediately deal with it. I think it's disease.

~0~

I was at a similar today so I've actually been out of the office since Friday.  I confess tomorrow looms intimidatingly close. (sigh)


Thanks for stopping by. Have a great week and may your e-mail be under control!

Journal Bits May 8th to May 29th

An overdue sampling from my journal:

• May 7: "The summer sun ray/shifts through a suspicious tree,/though I walk through the valley of the shadow/it sucks the air /and looks around for me" from Noon Walk on the Asylum Lawn - Anne Sexton
• May 15: The evening feels like it is sagging under some melancholy weight. I think about pictures of our past. Pictures in the dining room on Baltimore of Cath and the kids making chocolate candies in the molds.
• May 15: I want sidewalks of ribboned parchment where people stop to take note of thoughts. - I want a big dark riped Black Diamond watermelon for a buck ninety-eight.
• May 17: I confess I'd like to do a writing residency but I don't see that happening anytime soon. ...I would surely be a basket case being away from home.
• May 17: His sigh became mine/in this we found common ground/mine was round and hollow/ringing true to the exasperation...
• May 21: Listing a few words that I'd like to incorporate into writing soon- pollen / flicks / abrasive /preens / condense / peril / khaki /muzzle
• May 22: there was a browning/of mountains that/marched downward...
• May 25: There isn't time to percolate/there's calamity in the cosmos/we should walk it off/crying is for sissies
• May 29: We followed the almanac/in the night sky   except/for the ten days we could see/nothing but overcast smokers//breath...

Capturing that Childlike Wonder

"It would not hurt that we live our lives with childlike wonder. Have you asked yourself lately: "When was the last time I saw something for the first time?" ~ Cecilia Borromeo

A Place to Kill Some Time. You Won't Regret It!

If you are looking for some awesome poetry to read / listen to - I have just the recommendation. Today I settled in and took in Nic Sebastian's Forever Will End on Thursday .  Just as Nic had done with the audio of poems by many others, she delighted me with her readings.  The writing is strong, the reading is captivating. I've heard so few people even come close to adding such a positive dimension to any one's work orally. Some people are more into spoken word poetry. I don't considered myself one of them. While I personally do enjoy giving readings and going to readings-- if I had to choose between the written word and spoken word I would choose written hands down. I'm pretty visual about poetry in that I like to see how it fills the page. That said, Nic has the ability to make the words on a page mystical.

By the way, one of my favorites among her poems as part of the link above is Oboe. In the Poems II section there are three poems that are titled  Places of Happiness (followed by three different places) each of these have such a bright lyrical quality.  I can't really do any of these poems justice here... go and listen for yourself!  Which ones speak to you?

An Editor's View

We sometimes received - and I would read - 200 manuscripts a week. Some of them were wonderful, some were terrible; most were mediocre. It was like the gifts of the good and bad fairies. ~ Marilyn Hacker

Magpie Tales 67 / Poem: Dangerous Liaison

just past the hour of lunacy

I made love on my Mandolin

melody riper then the grapes missed

on the vines

bread  broken and settled

the talk fallen to slumber

women seriously quiet

music all there was between us

fools we were drunk on our own

magical creations

2011 © Michael A. Wells






Magpie Tales 67

Confession Tuesday

Dear Reader:

It's been one week since my last confession. One week of monstrous tornadoes. Here I am tripping over the clock to make it to the confessional before midnight.

I confess that I have the people of Joplin, Missouri on my mind. And those in Oklahoma, Kansas, Arkansas and anywhere else that have been faced with loss of life and property due to the mammoth sized tornadoes that have struck this week - more even tonight.  I've spent my entire life living in tornado alley so I'm not unaccustomed to tornado watches and warnings.  While these were not a threat to our immediate area, when you live in the the states of Missouri, Kansas, Arkansas and Oklahoma you never take your safety from such storms for granted.  A good part of Joplin, Missouri was just decimated and the death toll is something around 120 and people are still unaccounted for.  Shocking and sad.

I have to admit I've fallen of the submission wagon. After a really good start to this year I confess I just seem to have fallen and can't get up. Considering I had really good response to my early flurry of submissions it seems like you would think I would learn that submissions are the key to successful publication where as those who don't submit don't publish. Hitting myself over the head - well duh! I confess I need like a week long campaign to get back up to speed. I think I will plan to start that over memorial weekend.

With that affirmation of a plan to do better - I'll call this confession a wrap.

May your week be a safe and productive one.

Under The Influence...

There is a boundary to men's passions when they act from feelings; but none when they are under the influence of imagination.  ~    Edmund Burke
I'm thinking I need to write more often under the influence...

Dead Poet Mentor Series Part 3 - Censoring Yourself

This week Anne seems to be reinforcing a notion that is not new to me but one that I still neglect (perhaps intentionally) to adhere to often enough in my writing.

In reading some of Sexton's poems from her book Transformations again, I see a poet (artist) stretching her work in what I must presume to be beyond a comfort level. Sexton is not at this point in her life new to taking her work into what would surely be uncomfortable zones for most people, but for example in Rapunzel she approaches the poem in what for 1970 must surely have been a most difficult light to offer to the general public to read. She writes:

"A woman / who loves a woman / is forever young...
they would play rummy / or lie on the couch / and touch and touch / old breast against young breast"

In a September 22, 1970 letter to her agent Claire Degener, Anne speaks of two of the Transformation poems (Rapunzel and Sleeping Beauty) as her best. She tells Claire they have been turned down by the New Yorker. Of course I could only be surmising if I suggested the New Yorker found the poems to have pushed the envelope a little too far for the time.  There could have been any of a number of other reasons that they were not picked up by the magazine, but Sexton was no stranger to them. Sexton had no less they 21 poems published by them making her a bit of a New Yorker hog!

Transformations was published the following year - 1971.  Even a writer familiar with and critical of the work prior to publication came around and decided he had over reacted to it.  Transformations went on to become highly acclaimed in spite of taboo subjects.

Was Sexton brave or simply not at all concerned about public perception?  Did she truly have the discipline as a writer to not self censor?  Whatever the answer is, the fact remains that her body of work exhibits a willingness to take her writing to places that most would intentionally back away from.  And to her credit, Sexton has to be viewed as a significantly influential poet of her time.
Her lesson here... You've heard if form others coaching you.. don't let fear dictate what you might have written, move past your comfort zone.

Dead Poet Mentoring Series:

Part One - My Selection

Part Two - Anne Sexton From Beyond