The Case Against Broad Government Surveillance

For a while I thought I might be coming at the matter of government surveillance from a different perspective then a lot of people. I read comments from others who say they are a little concerned but they say they just always figure the government is listening in anyway.

I'm a product of the Vietnam generation and we came to learn that President Nixon had agents going to peace rallies and document participants. Of course their efforts were remedial by surveillance standards today but the fact is they kept file on people they considered a threat to this country because they exercised their constitutional right to assembly to protest our involvement in Vietnam. Think what he could have done with the technology available today? I'm relatively confident that Nixon was so paranoid of average Americans that he would be salivating over what the government is doing today to you and I.

I was both encouraged and discouraged by a PEN America survey of American writers that found 85% are worried about government surveillance and 73% have never been more worried about privacy rights and freedom of the press as they are today. The encouraging part is writers are paying attention. This is a good thing.  Of course the concern doesn't alleviate the erosion of privacy. And beside from the concern there is another down side... it is impacting how writers conduct themselves.

The PEN survey indicates the 28% or nearly a third have curtailed or avoided social media activities and another 12% have seriously considered doing the same, all because of the threat of surveillance. And nearly one quarter (24%) have deliberately  avoided certain topics in phone and email conversations. Another 9% have seriously considered this avenue.

One chilling effect this is having on writers is 16%  have avoided writing or speaking  about a particular topic. Another 11% seriously considered it.

The report goes on....

• 16% refrained from conducting searches on the Internet or visiting websites on topics they consider controversial.
• 13% have taken steps to disguise or cover their digital footprints. 
• 3% have actually declined opportunities to meet in person or electronically with persons how might be deemed security threats by the government. 

In each of these instances there were measurable numbers who seriously considered taking these same drastic steps.

It troubles me that writers, be they journalists or or in the literary arts are finding themselves self-censoring over fear from our own government.

The 4th Amendment, freedom of the press is necessary to assure the survival of the republic against the kinds controls the brought to power fascist governments in Germany, the Soviet Union and China in years past. These are some of the same kinds of extremes we are seeing in many middle-eastern countries as well.

I am not convinced that a more secure America is one in which we are all under the watchful eyes of the government. That is an awesome power and one that can very easily lead to dangers in our democracy right here at home.

The press, the arts were all under watchful eyes in  Nazi Germany. The government controlled the flow of information and yes even the arts. Knowledge is a powerful freedom for people. The control of knowledge too is powerful but in subverts the liberties of people.

Confession Tuesday - Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory Edition

 I'm off to the confessional...

Dear reader:

Two weeks it's been since I was last here. I confess I cannot recall what was going on two weeks ago when I should have been do this , I just know I wasn't here.

It's funny but for some reason I think of the confessional like it's some kind of penalty box. Like in hockey. God would look funny in a black and white striped shirt and black slacks and a whistle ring on his hand, patrolling the rink of life and pretty bad assed on skates.

So I'm in the penalty box until I spill it all. Two weeks worth.

I confess that I could be a glutton for Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory Cereal - Limited Edition by Kellogg. I mean this shit is good. Good sized hunks of chocolate, almonds lightly sweetened corn type flakes and chocolate flakes as well. I could easily eat a sinful amount of it but I haven't so far. This is good right?

I confess that recently it seems that I started looking as everyone else as in one age group and me in another. (I'm in the old group) I don't know what this is about. I confess that aging has always been stressful topic for me but it's like as I slowly got older I kept moving the goal posts a little further and so I would think to myself "you are getting older" I would at the same time dismiss it as "well isn't everyone?" That was my fall back. So what, everyone else is getting older, we are just all doing it together. I don't know it this evolves from something in a conversation with my wife recently or what  but somehow I feel like while I wasn't looking  someone did a sneaky and  brought the goal post back to me.  I like to believe you are only as old as you feel. But right now, I feel I'm there. (sigh)

I confess that the K.C. Chiefs are 9-0 and I could care less.

I confess that I've been more diligent about my writing since being back in my office at home. I also confess I probably waste too much time on Facebook and Twitter, still I do find at times that I see things of value on there. Maybe not enough for the time I'm on though. I think it tends to feed my ADD.

I confess as the news of the typhoon that hit the Philippine Islands this weekend seems beyond human comprehension.

I confess I thought  I heard Anne Sexton speak to me this weekend. I wasn't profound... it was something like, "It's all about the words..."  But maybe that's more profound than I think.

Monday I was biding time waiting for a furnace repairman at my daughter's house by reading a Sharon Olds book of poems when I read something that struck me as so perfectly written that I sank in the couch and thought  what on earth am I doing?  I texted a poet friend and explained that I had read this poem and had written a lot lately but all of a sudden I was like why? I felt so totally inadequate. I confess the friend had good advice and I'm working on it.

I confess that I should be due for an acceptance or a rejection any day now. I can handle whichever.

I confess it's 91 days and 2 hours until pitchers and catchers report to spring training if anyone besides me cares.

Amen!

The Mag 193

Danseuse ajustant sa bretelle, 1895-96, Edgar Degas

 The Ballerina's Private Warm Up

She feels the constriction 

of a cocoon and the solitude- 

therein lies the crystalline craving 

to spin herself free.

A twirl to unwind- to whip-up

the motion to unclog the black and white

all around her-  she wishes for wind

she wishes for a spin-off of gale force

to extricate her from this morose.

She rises on her toes - shaky first

then in a solid stance her arms rise 

overhead with poise a momentary pause.

There is no music, except that alone

in her head- the composition

comes with spontaneity 

Is a powerful turn 

she thrusts herself into a running leap,

long legs scissor in defiance of gravity

then another, and a third

with a solid land- quickly

rising again to a pointe

she spins again 

shaking free of the grayness

her heart pounding

her chest heaves 

as she drops down

arms collapse to the floor

head bowing supplication...

Michael A. Wells

The Mag 193

  

In Memory of Anne Sexton

Anne Sexton November 9,1928 - October 4, 1974

All day I've built

a lifetime and now

the sun sinks to 

undo it.

The horizon bleeds

and sucks its thumb.

From The Fury of Sunsets

Some time back I selected Anne Sexton as my Dead Poet Mentor.  Sometimes I lose sight of her in all the everydayness that bleeds over into my life. Once in a while I've been hung up on a poem that I'm rewriting and I'll ask myself, What Would Anne Do? (WWAD) If nothing comes to me right away I'll go to my poetry library and pull out my copy of The Complete Poems - Anne Sexton and just open it wherever my thumb takes me and start reading. Sometimes something will speak out to me about what I'm working on.. Other times I just read. But in the end, her voice leaves me feeling that I'm not along. That this is the road all poets go down. Sometimes we struggle for what to say. It isn't easy. Did we ever think it was supposed to be?   

Let The Day Begin

Meeting the morning sun along with a crow that can be distinctly heard from my office. I don't know if he is celebrating the new day or hearkening me to get my butt in here and start my day.

I came home last night exhausted and ate and we settled in to watch a movie and called it a night.  I do feel an energy building slowly like a steam engine in my body and I have the knowledge that having a three day weekend is an opportunity; one I intend to use wisely.

So I start the day... Submission Saturday planning to get my submissions out and get some writing done.  I've got some older stuff I need to work on.  It was Justice Brandeis who said, "There is no great writing, only great rewriting," something I would do well to always keep in the back of my mind as a guide.

As I post this... I say, let the day begin...

The Poetry of Baseball

It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone. You count on it, rely on it to buffer the passage of time, to keep the memory of sunshine and high skies alive, and then just when the days are all twilight, when you need it most, it stops." ― A. Bartlett Giamatti

The Mag 192

Resurrection Reunion 2 - Sir Stanley Spencer

Resurrection Dance

They shake out bugs

the webs

the claustrophobia

the ground  above

has opened

dark loam scattered

among sharp green blades

They link hands

rediscovering touch

 kick up their heels

circle and shout
they are all out!



Michael A. Wells


The Mag

Finding the Poems You Never Knew You Had

Think of it as a Kick-Starter. The dynamic writing duo of Kelli Russell Agodon and Martha Silano have created a tool that that can prime the ink of any writer. The Daily Poet is chucked full of opportunity, just add yourself to the mix.

The idea for this book came about as a result of Agodon and Silano sharing writing prompts over a period of time. Recognizing the value of this practice to each of their own creative efforts they decided to produce a volume of prompts that will guide a writer through 365 days of spark that can ignite many new poems in the process.

I don’t know if it was planned this way but the timing of the release of The Daily Poet is perfect. In advance of the holidays this book is an ideal gift for the writers in your life. In addition, it is excellent fuel for anyone who might be looking for a realistic approach to a new year’s resolution to write more. With this book you can commit to daily writing and never worry as you sit down – “How am I going to start?”

Each prompt is a trigger to something inside, something waiting to be told.  I’ve reviewed the contents of this book  and tried several of the prompts myself. Any writer regardless of level of experience can find value in these exercises. While there are so many wonderful ideas among them,  a few of my favorite prompts area:

• January 12 – Letter To An Artist
• July 27 – Grateful Dead
• October 13 – Who’s Afraid of Any Author?
• December 8 – Letter to An Abstract Noun
• May 25 – Taboo You
• January 22 – Couplet Lost

Of course you’ll have to get your own copy of this prompt packed book to see for yourself the details of these fabulous exercises and no doubt you will have your own favorites.

I see this as an investment in writing exercises for many years over as you can use the same prompt at different times and find it will take you different places.  It's my recommendation that you add it to your own library and enjoy the journey.


The Daily Poet
Authors: Kelli Russell Agodon & Martha Silano
Published by: Two Sylvias Press

Available in paperback and ebook

Confession Tuesday on Wednesday

Dear Reader:

It’s been 8 days, two rejection letters, a flat tire and a novel finished reading since my last confession. I’m cranking this out at lunch time so let’s going to the confessional.

I confess I’ve over the unplanned expense of a new tire. I was over the rejection letters as soon as I read them. I don’t dwell on work rejected. I always consider that in order to have work accepted I am going to get rejections so I expect that I will be told no many times and that getting a no means there is a yes coming soon.

This time of year is odd because I enjoy the cooler weather. I don’t like extreme cold but we get some pretty nice fall days. Then there are the rainy ones like today when the coolness and the overcast skies tend to bring you down a bit. I confess days like today I want to stay home and under the covers. Of course I don’t do that but the thought is nice.

It seems like any more it’s always cold and rainy on Halloween here so if today Xeroxes itself for tomorrow it will be right in style. I confess that while I realize Halloween has become almost as much an adult holiday as it is for children, I or we’ve never every gotten into the adult dress-up party mode and so the day seems rather remote for us.We have dressed up the dogs a time or two but that’s usually been with the help of one or another of my daughters.

Speaking of help and daughter, I left work last night to go to the new home of one of my daughters to help her with the hookup of a washer. I had only been to the house twice and one of those times I did not drive and I didn’t come from downtown so I was trying to get there as direct and quickly as I could in rush hour traffic. I used voice input to put the address into my phone GPS and what should have been the number 68 was understood to be sixty or 60.  I confess I was nearly to the 60 destination before I realized it did not hear 68. I pulled over and restated the address. Again it read it as 60. I tried again annunciating v e r y   s l o w l y and it heard something else altogether that was not a number. I confess at this point I was about as angry as one can get with an inanimate object. This was disturbing to me as I realized how unbecoming it was. No one else was in the car but it did incense my own sensibilities that I was so angry over this. I finally typed it in after numerous voice attempts all failed. I though what a jerk this person is in the car…  I confess he’s not coming along next time.

The Mag 191

le Jardin, 1962, by Max Ernst 

Cartographers Woman

He is one given to meticulous detail,

appreciates boundaries, and topography.

He has an eye for cityscapes, rolling hills-

the arches and clefts.

He sees beauty in the world

where others see the mundane.

Everywhere the lines and curves 

converge for him and they come to life.

A rivers path carved out of the land

over time reveals swaying hips. 

In rolling hills he sees the waves of hair

falling over shoulders and too the fullness

of breasts and the cleavage that runs between

the rounded tops that softens out into the larger plains.

In the contours of it all he sees her face, 

her long white legs and feels her every bit alive.

He believes he is the luckiest man for he sees

his woman is everywhere. 

Michael A. Wells

The Mag

Confession Tuesday - Safe Place Edition

Dear Reader...

It's been one rejection, one home office reclamation and a week since my last confession.

This morning I stopped for a Diet Coke in route to work and when I cam back into the parking lot and entered my car I looked up and saw the Safe Place sign. I confess I don't know if these exist in other metropolitan areas but here certain public establishments are designated as such primarily for that children facing eminent harm within the community have a very public place to retreat to for safety. The idea is marvelous but that's not my point here.

I confess that as I looked at this sign it caused me to consider the reason we even need a safe places. The sad fact of the matter is that society is so saturated with things that pose significant threats to the safety of everyone.

For instance, many times I see people who are so short on patience with others in stores, while driving, at sporting events, there is a degree of hostility that is so potentially volatile that these very public places seem to breed unhealthy conduct between persons who often have little or no connection in life but decide to spew forth impatience that sparks rudeness and sooner or later people are in each others faces, flipping each other off, and now with most states having concealed carry somebody draws a gun.

Guns seem to be everywhere these days. Children get access to guns at home and tote them to school and the next thing you know we are reading in the paper that three-four or  maybe a dozen or more are dead in some school.

I confess that this sign this morning really brought to mind how many places that are not safe.  We hear of gunmen in Offices, Malls, Theaters and this says nothing of domestic violence in our homes where the perpetrator and the victim actually know each other.

I confess I think of places like Syria and Afghanistan and wonder what they would think about safe zones or houses that people could flea to to safety. Wouldn't they all be there? We aren't a nation at war with an occupying army... or are we? Have we become our own enemy?

What is safe? Where is it? I confess this is becoming  unclear. We are a terribly polarized nation. For a country that is supposed to be a shining example of freedom, so many are ready to tell everyone else what is right and what is wrong. Who we can marry, who we can worship, what personal health care their employees should have. Where we have to pray.

I confess that I have no answer to the question, how do we become a caring and unified nation again? Maybe we never were. Perhaps this nation was all smoke and mirrors. But I do know that it is too easy for people to get their hands on firearms.

I confess that next week I will still likely be wondering about the irony of an America that needs to designate safe places for children to run to. And where do the victim of domestic violence go, where to the children trapped in a room with a gunman go, or a Shopping Mall or a late night movie at a theater?

Just Saying....

Reclaiming My Office

The past few weeks I have been in the process of reclaiming my office.  This was vacated when my daughter Meghan and her husband Brandon came here post college until they could get work and save for a place of their own.

Note the San Francisco Giants banner - re-personalizing it one of the first acts that has to occur. Actually I plan for everything to be pretty functional by tonight.

Confession Tuesday - On the ledge edition

Dear Readers:

It's been a week since my last confession. I've impressed myself that I'm here on time.

This past week I stepped out on a ledge so to speak.  I've been toying with trying watercolors and acrylics. I painted in oils when I was a teenager but not since them and we are talking  oh about  #@ years.  So I've had material that I purchased about a month ago and I've wavered back and forth between starting with watercolor at one point and acrylic and finally back to watercolor. I don't really have a reason that I can put my finger one for what I decided to start with, but I'm pretty sure that the wavering was simply procrastination to stave off the fear that I had of actually putting  the brush to the paint and then onto the medium.

I confess that when I pulled out the material the week and finally started, I felt a tiny bit of success. Not so much in what I did (generally I am just working on some technique exercises) but I felt some success in meeting my fear head on. This is a good thing. No?

Yesterday, I was feeling a bit unhappy with my writing these past few days and I confess that I am wondering if it is due to divided attention. I suppose it could be, or it could be me just trying whip up another reason to engage in fear.

I confess that I ready to continue to tackle my fears this next week and not let them own me. I will continue to work on some painting and I will write and write and write through this period until I again feel that  what I'm getting on the page is worthy.

MAG 190

Dog by scavangercat808

 

 

My Parallel Universe

another world out there

framed in my view— 

a world of ruckus

fast moving cars

I can chase

only in my imagination 

a postman strolls unflinched

oblivious to my bark

 

children chasing balls

will pass and give a nod

hey you they offer

no hand to pat my head 

there are noises

I can’t even identify

people   cats   birds

smells the permeate

my universe 

I know these things exist

all beyond my reach



Michael A. Wells


The Mag





Confession Tuesday - The Naked Truth Edition

Tuesday has come... Hey, I'm on time!  It's been a long day so Let's head to the confessional.

Dear Reader:

It's been a long day because I left the office and drove to northland looking for a PetsMart before going to a poetry group meeting. Then I made a stop by my office again before returning home.

When I left work I went looking for a PetsMart that I have never been to before. The driving instructions looked easy enough but  the roads were a nightmare, with roundabouts and loops that went in circles.  It was during this state of mental confusion that I realized I had left my cell phone at the office. At this point  I am both stressed that I can't find the pet store AND that I don't have my phone.  While I don't consider myself a legitimate techie I felt like I was naked without my cell.  I considered driving back to the office but that would make me late for poetry so with a big old sigh, I moved on arriving at the group meeting  on time.

Did I put the missing phone behind me once we started? Of course not! Doing that would be a healthy rational thing to do. I confess it is time like this that my body screams stress!!!!!!!!!!

When we were finished, I hit a drive through to get  some food and then to my office. I go through security and take the elevator up and onto a pitch black floor where I play bind mans bluff all the way to the door, insert the key after several tries I'm in. I retrieve my phone that was right where I left it, tethered to my  PC to charge. With the PC off, it was not charging and by now was dead.

I could have put the phone out of my mind during the meeting. I could have even gone one home, the phone would be there awaiting me in the morning but no, I'm not that kind of person. I confess that sometimes I wish I could be that person.

I don't leave my phone behind often and this is a good thing because it truly unnerves me.  I confess that  I know it would probably be a positive thing if I left my phone behind intentionally and allowed myself to simply take a deep breath and let it roll off me.

Do you  have something you find it hard to be without?  I'd love to hear about what leave you feeling  naked.

The Mag 189

 

Photo credit crilleb50

 

 

RUMINATION

 

The ticking-

the constant ever after ticking.

I sit for this

I sit for that

it weighs one the mind

it bends at the heart

 

of it all, I see no reason

I hear no rhyme.

I do not cherish this passage

of time-

 

after which I know nothing of.

The grass it grows

and flowers and blooms

and goes to seed-

My knees ache

 

all the while I ruminate;

then conjugate things

of despair-

 

things I remember

that brought me here-

those that were painful

and some that were dear.

 

this ticking continues

I suppose that is good-

it's all quite foggy now

like I knew would.  

 

 

 

Michael A. Wells

 

 

 

 The Mag

 





Confession Tuesday - The Delayed Edition

Yes, it's Wednesday and I acknowledge, even confess if you will, that I missed the appropriate day for confession Tuesday. Let's get down to business.

Dear Reader,

It's been Two GI prep bottles, 4 glasses of water, a lot of discomfort, a day of strictly liquid diet, one upper, one lower GI scope, one government shut-down, the last episode of 24 and no acceptances and no rejections since my last confession.

Yesterday was a day if prep for a double GI scope which occurred this morning. It's probably been 10 years since I've done one of these before and I forgot how much I hate the prep for them. First there was the liquid diet. It went exceedingly well till oh about 3:30 yesterday and at that point I was craving  something to eat. I didn't know what I wanted (specifically) but I wanted something besides bullion, Gatorade, or White Grape Juice. I might add it's a real juggle to keep your blood sugar numbers steady on a liquid diet if you're diabetic.

On the way home I stopped to pick up a prescription for my wife and was introduced to rows of Halloween candy on displays. I confess I could  inhale the sweet smell of Candy Corn. I was week at my knees with want for it, but of course I was a good boy.  Throughout the evening there would be other foods to crave but today I still crave Candy Corn.

So I've moved past the prep and procedure and am getting back into the swing of things and will return to office tomorrow. I confess I've looked at my office email and can already tell I have a challenging day ahead.

This week our family  lost another dog. My son's Mastiff named Church died without any kind of warning. My son found him dead and his body was still warm. Church was one of Mike's dogs that I would dog sit from time to time when he was away. Church and Hoss were my writing buddies when I would stay over to sit. Both have passed.

I confess that  I'm still emotionally a bit tinder as a result  of the passing of our own dog Mo recently and the news of Church added to my  broken heart. We are dealing with some health issues for my Dachshund Barry  who has been diagnosed with exocrine pancreatic insufficiency and requires special enzymes added to his food in order to derive nourishment from it. He had lost  lots of weight but is coming back slowly.  It's tough when your pets are getting along in age.

The arrival of October  has been hard to believe. I confess that it  sort of sneaked in under my radar. So three fourths of the year is gone. I can honestly say that I already consider this year one of my best for writing and publishing. I believe much of the success is due to my strict adherence to Submission Saturday.
I've sent out  more material this year them any since I've been doing this and the results clearly tell me that if I get my work out there, it  will find a home.

I confess that I am not ready to put a nail in  2013 yet. I've still got nearly three months for icing on the cake.
Two poems that were recently accepted will appear in print in January so I feel like am already loading the bases for next year. Anyway, I confess that it's nice to feel like something is going right and I am ready to raise the bar for the future.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Church

Sometimes Words Just Won't Do

A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous. ~Ingrid Bergman

Will Extremes End The GOP Control Of The House?

I'm going to take a little time and a little space here to veer a bit from poetry. I owe this juncture to the likes of Representative John Duncan (R-Tenn) and Representative John Fleming (R-La) in the House and Senators Mike Lee (R-UT) and Ted Cruz (T-TX) who have been hell bent on playing blackmail with the health care of Americans and risking the stability of a fragile American economy.  

The question I have to ask is this... Are the House Republicans about to go the way of the dinosaur?  As easy as it would be for me to say what do I care...  the bigger question is why do these Republicans wish to crash the stability of this nation's economy or play with the health of millions of Americans. These are the two options they are sending to the President. 

I realize that not all Republicans are happy with that extremes have been brought to the table by those who make up the Tea Party members of congress, but the House GOP leaders have failed to show any sign of leadership in this instance. We are talking about members of Congress that should well recall that impact the last government shut down had on their own party.. The obvious is that the Tea Party members of Congress want something that has nothing to do with keeping the government funding and they are willing  to piss on everyone else to get what they want. They really are the Pee Party... and they just want to piss on the Affordable Health Care Act. 

In this weekend's actions the Republican House added these extremes to a straight up and down government funding bill:

• de-fund the Affordable Care Act
• repeal a tax on medical devices that helps finance the health care law until December 15 in order to delay Affordable Health Care Act
• to allow employers to opt out of women's preventative health care coverage including contraceptives

Quite frankly I'm tired of people in government that are acting like spoiled children.If they want to act like spoiled children within the parameters of their own family life that's up to them, but imposing this behavior on the rest of our lives has no place our government. 

The Pee Party Republicans have a one track mind. Stopping "Obamacare" as they like to refer to it. This nation had this debate and it is over. I have been fortunate to have health care coverage for many years now. Delay or repeal is not going to directly impact me,  but I remember the days when my  family and I did not have health coverage. This country has come a long way to get to this point and I seriously am tire of the lies and efforts to stop this from happening. I've heard some members of Congress encourage people not to sign up for coverage. What self-centered assholes. 

Removing Obstacles - September 2013

anticipation contains an element of doubt
they agreed not to shake hands
agreement is good - right?

some will always want failure
act quickly - but not too fast
it seems peace often is left
to some degree of chance

Tuesday Confession on Wednesday

Dear Reader:

It's been 3,657 coughs (more or less) one dysfunctional DVR, another child out of the nest, 2 1/2 boxes of Kleenex, one Minsky's Pizza, another season of 24, and two new light bulbs since my last confession.

I confess that I've driven myself over the edge coughing and blowing my nose this week and very likely others around me at the office as well. I'm so ready for this to be over, especially since I have a GI scope next week and I don't want to have to delay it.

We had Minsky's Pizza tonight. Usually I would really enjoy a Minsky pizza. I confess I was so-so about it tonight. Cathy felt the same. She felt there was not quite enough hamburger on it, I felt it was too limp. I confess I do not care for limp pizza.

If I sound cranky, I might be. I mean feeling crappy has been the order of the day since oh, Friday afternoon. I'm thinking that tomorrow when I get up I am going to disavow this sinus crude. I confess that this approach is an exercise of mind over matter (or mucus) but I'm ready to try a fresh approach... a positive one.

Our DVR is not working tonight. it actually stopped doing what a DVR does yesterday. I need to get to Comcast tomorrow to replace it.( New season of Glee starts tomorrow night.)

I'm looking for a positive charge all-around. I'm coming into the blue season. The time when I often feel down even if I'm not feeling sick. It's time to do a head check and try and move forward with a positive frame of mind no matter how things are going. So here's to a upbeat week ahead!

Weekend Postmortem

Thursday and Friday were especially grueling days at work. As a result I was so looking froward to the weekend to relax and recharge my batteries. But Friday, my work day was so intense I was only vaguely aware how lousy I felt till I arrived home and the rest of the world  stopped moving a warp speed.

Friday evening it became crystalline that I was being held prisoner by a sinus-mucus-drainage-headache-burning chest, loss of appetite thingy that kicked my ass into bed.

Saturday came, more of the same. Lots of fluids, medicine, Kleenex, hacking (I know, we are getting a little too graphic) but my weekend that I needed to be normal was anything but normal.

By Saturday evening I attempted to work on an essay that I had due but my eyes hurt so much that reading was simply too frustrating and I gave up on the essay that was due by 6AM Sunday morning eastern time.
This left me sick and in a bad mood.

Mid-day Sunday I was feeling better but not especially steady or energetic but I ventured out to help load a trailer with varying furnishings of my daughter Shannon and my wife and I drove them to her new house where the two of them mostly unloaded. We returned and a second load was taken over by Shannon and my wife. I again crashed.

Of course the better part of the weekend is over. My eyes are able to read with out adding to a headache and although my nose is now running like a faucet, I am setting up and able to do this post on my laptop. Clearly the weekend is a lost cause and emotionally I will head off to work tomorrow mostly feeling like no weekend ever happened, of if it did it wasn't  one worth remembering.

 Also lost on this weekend was my submission Saturday. I've been so diligent about it for so many months it feels like another something important is unresolved. I suppose I could try and crank out something yet tonight but I really have been giving a lot of thought to these submissions and I don't want to do something half-assed just for the sake of doing it. Perhaps I can do something during the week to catch up.

I'm nursing a 52 ounce diet coke (which is half gone) and thinking I need to stop and do a breathing treatment. Maybe tackle a little reading before I go to bed and see what the world looks like on the other side.

Confession Tuesday - An Emotional Knot

Tuesday night... It's time to confess again and it's getting late so let's head to the confessional.

Dear Readers:

It's been a long seven days, an emotional seven days, a worrisome seven days. It's also been a week in which I had two poems accepted for publication and another poem hanging next to an awesome painting at the Albrecht-Kemper Museam of Art that inspired the work of art.

I've just come from a Royals - Indians baseball game. I was a bit conflicted because both teams are within reach of the wild-card for post season and the Indians are my second favorite baseball team behind the San Francisco Giants. But the home town Royals have not had a winning season like forever. I wanted to see a good game and confess that I kinda was pulling for the Tribe but wanted it to be a good game - not some blow-out. The Indians came from behind and won 5 to 3. Wahoo!

Some weeks from one Tuesday to the next seem to zoom by and I wonder where it all went. A week ago we were saying goodbye to our beloved dog Moe. I confess this continues to be hard for me to deal with but I'm somewhat sobered by the fact that our long hared dachshund Berry is sick as well. He has been shedding weight like crazy and after some blood tests it appears he suffers from EPI or Exocrine Pancreatic Insufficiency. I confess that the emotions related to Moe's death and the decline of Berry offer a very rocky emotional ride. The loss, the fear of losing another, coupled with cautious optimism  that there is something that can be done for Berry and yet the ongoing struggles to get him eating again and keeping food down. It's this mixture of emotions that has stretched this week like taffy, and me at times to a breaking point.

Friday two good things came my way and I confess that they have helped keep me sane.  The opening of the Jennifer Rivera Exhibit "Between the Lines" Pictures with poetry at the Albrecht-Kemper Museum of Art. A poem of mine shares wall space next to one of Jennifer's pieces of art. I am honored to have a poem that is part of this exhibit.  The other positive note is that I heard on Friday that two of my poems were accepted for publication in January in a venue that I've never been in before. This offsets the rejection I received this week.

I confess that sometimes I have be open to looking for the little things. Just as I will be looking for little signs of improvement in Berry this coming week.

Miss You Mo-Mo

Moe Cooling Down 

In Loving Memory September 9, 2013

The Poet Prism

Always a poet, always searching in wonder.  To me, some things can only be seen through the prism of a poet's mind.

 

Its seems to me that much of my life has been an internal dialogue which in the past twenty years has manifested itself in written word. The Welsh poet R.S. Thomas has remarked that "All people talk to themselves. Some are overheard, and they are the poets." I suppose this is so, and I was trapped in this path long ago.

 

Maybe there are more people that are on the cusp of becoming poets and don't quite realize it. I've always felt that there are people I know that express disdain for poetry and yet I feel they don't really know what it is they don't like. It's more of a idea that they are arguing with themselves over they any concrete purpose. They just haven't quite figured out how or to whom to express it. If they did, maybe they world cross over the line and become one of us. 



Confession Tuesday.. Er Wednesday

Dear Friends & Readers:

Another Tuesday has come and gone. This one slipped through my fingers and I didn't realize it because being off Labor Day made it feel like a Monday. That’s my story and I’m sticking by it. So here I am heading to the Confessional a day late. At least there is no line.

I confess that it is hard to believe that it’s September. Hard to believe because it seems like the first pitch of spring training was just thrown out yesterday. Hard to believe too, because I usually make some provision for coaching/mentoring in the fall and I've done nothing towards that end this year. This I just realized today.

I've been so busy writing and submitting that I confess that I have in some ways been less aware of the world around me. Oh, I’m not neglecting to interact with my family. I’m not hold up in a room writing and forgetting to eat (though that might be a way to shed a few pounds) and I know about Syria, I know about sequester, and I’m aware that poetry & the world lost Seamus Heaney. It’s perhaps the more subtle things around me that are racing by.

I confess that days seem long and months seem fast. Does that make sense? Is this what getting older is like?    

True, time is an arbitrary measurement created by man but I confess that I wish it were more arbitrary to me personally. I’d like to stop the clock at times or at lease slow it down. True, I’d probably speed it up weekdays between 8 and 5 but I’m sure that as soon as I realized that I couldn't get all my work done I’d be more responsible or judicious in how I allocated it. At least I could make sure I got my confession done on Tuesday and not Wednesday.

Amen!

Slipped Out Of Her Jeans - Liquid Imagination

LIQUID IMAGINATION Issue 18 is live and I am fortunate to have one of my poems with so many other really outstanding works.

You can catch Slipped Out of Her Jeans HERE and an additional treat is that there is an audio read of the poem by the vary talented Nic Sebastian. Here voice gives depth to the poem and I was thrilled to have her share in this publication with me.

LOSS

Seamus Heaney 

13 April 1939 – 30 August 2013

The completely solitary self: that's where poetry comes from, and it gets isolated by crisis, and those crises are often very intimate also.

Confession Tuesday on Wednesday

Dear Reader:

I confess to being absent minded yesterday. Yes, yesterday was Tuesday and that's Confession day here except my mind was, we it was somewhere else because It didn't even remotely think of  confessing anything.

Some days I think about it and I'm too tired and just put it off a day. Sometimes I'm out till late and by the time I'm home it just seems like it can wait. Not yesterday... yesterday was out of sight and mind.

                                                                ~0~

I'm starting to realize that summer is not long for this year. Of course today the heat wouldn't agree, but the shadows that fall across the yard this time of evening, the fact that schools are starting and this weekend is labor day weekend, these things are a reminder that the season of color is coming. Maybe an even stronger indicator is the fact that baseball is at that stage in the season where people talk of magic numbers. The number of games remaining till post season nearly half my age and a melancholy umbrella seems to shield me from exuberance. I confess that I'm feeling fall in my bones.

                                                               ~0~

My wife is a bead artist. Some days she will tell me she doesn't feel much like an artist but some days I feel like it's a stretch to call myself a poet. Don't all artists do this to themselves at times?  I've shown some pictures in past years of work my wife has done and it you would look at it you would likely agree that there is artistry in it. Every once and a while I get to thinking that I wish we would collaborate on something - maybe an abstract bead-work with a poem.  I confess that I realize there are real challenges that couples who are artists have in dealing with each others artistic approaches and work itself. Cathy is not particularly a poetry person though she is very supportive of me. The one art issue we most would butt heads over would be when my work tends to be more abstract. I confess that I love working in abstracts. I confess that I have no hope of convincing her to work in abstract given how she feels about abstract poetry.  Still, I can dream.

                                                           ~0~

I confess that lately I've been challenging my own tendency to want to procrastinate over things that I am anxious about. I would not say that I'm in danger of getting kicked out of procrastinators anonymous but I'm sure the general membership would disapprove of some of my minor successes of late.

That's it for this week.

Amen!

   

Letting Wonder Come to You

The sea, once it casts its spell, holds one in its net of wonder forever. ~ Jacques Cousteau

Everyone  would do well to find the poet deep withing themselves that allows wonder to come, take hold of their life and change it. 

Recomended - 4 for Sunday

It's Sunday and I've realized that I have not been posting nearly as often as I used to. That's not necessarily a bad thing if you really don't have anything interesting to say, or you do but haven't the time to get it said right. It's often been one or the other. I have however seen a lot of interesting stuff this week that I thought I'd share case you may have missed any of it.

Martha Silano at Blue Positive posted her Ten Poetry Rules and while there is a slice of humor in them there seems to me to be a heap of wisdom in there too. Martha is the author of The Little Office of the Immaculate Conception, winner of the 2010 Saturnalia Books Poetry Prize and one of my favorite reads this year.

Then there is Jeannine Hall Gailey the Poet Laureate of Redmond, WA who writes Feeling Discouraged about Poetryworld?  First let me say that I like hearing a Poet Laureate talk about discouragement and poetry together. It's comforting to know that even a laureate can feel the pain of discouragement. I also like that she used the word poetryworld as I do feel like I live in that world.
Jeannine is the author of several books the latest of which is Unexplained Feavors which came out this spring and while it's on my list to read I have read earlier books and enjoyed her work.

In interesting read I found this week was Wolf Girl by Nic Sebastain. I love the second stanza.

And finally, a poem by the late Denise Levertov titled The Secret. What I lovr about this poem is the amount of depth she achieves in relatively simple verse.

If you missed any of this, not you have no excuse not the check it out. 

Confession Tuesday - Going Goats

Dear Reader:

It's been another week. How does this happen?

I'm headed to the confessional, care to come along?

Yes, it's been a week since my last confession.

My daughter takes this picture on the right and shows it to me tonight. This is one of two pygmy goats that my daughter informed me are at the shelter where she works. I confess I want a pygmy goat. I know with the pets we currently have this is not really an option. The neighbors probably would not take too kindly to it either but it's sooo cute, isn't it!! I don't know their genders but  I can just picture a boy goat named Gruffy and a girl goat named Greta.  I think we could probably stop mowing the back yard.

I confess sometimes I have a vivid imagination. That's a good thing right? I mean I think it's paramount to an artist's work isn't it.

Thinking back to my childhood, I have a history with goats.  I'm mentioned here before that as a child I had four imaginary goats that I used to keep alongside me on leads. If I needed to make a trip to the bathroom I would hand them off to another to hold for me. Looking back on this I see now that I man have been more suited for artistic endeavor then I realized until later in life.

I confess that I do wish at times that I had approached my writing life differently. I would certainly have begun it at an earlier age and perhaps the trajectory that I took might have looked different.

I confess too that I have learned in life that it really isn't of particular value to focus on regrets. Nothing positive really comes of dwelling upon what could have been.  It seems much more important for me to redouble my commitment and efforts towards my writing and utilize what time and what knowledge I have to move forward. So I will I will hope that Gruffy and Greta find good homes and in carry on writing with my four invisible goats in tow.

Submission Saturday Check-in

I have my Diet Coke (DC constitutes a food group) in for the morning but haven't thought beyond that for breakfast. It's Submission Saturday, something I generally devote my afternoon to. Once and a while I got a jump on it and get my submissions done before noon.  We'll see how this all happens later.

Of notable interest this week -

• I discovered a poet that strikes me as too good to keep secret.  So if you have not heard of Melissa Broder check out a few of her poems here. If you peel back her humor there is something genuinely serious about her. If you scrape the edges of her serious side she is deathly funny.
• Something really awesome happened related to one of my poems but I'm not telling just yet.
• Mail man brought my copy of Victoria Chang's The Boss yesterday. Poetry in the mail box gives me a real high. I'll have more on this book in a few days.
• Two new drafts this week that I have to work on refining.
• Number of Submissions past 12 months - 79. Still pending 29.
• Tuesday night met with some other poet friends.
• Watched way too many episodes on 24. I'll probably do it again this next week.

Confession Tuesday - Gratitude Edition

Dear Reader:

I’m a day late, but I had a poetry group meeting last night and rather then head to the confessional, I elected to watch some TV with my wife. So I confess that it’s been a week and a day since my last confession. Shall we get started?

 I confess that I have a wonderfully supportive wife when it comes to my writing. I know not all writers have supportive families that encourage or help in other ways. My wife may not always understand my writing but what she understands is that writing is a central tenet to my life. It’s like water. It’s air. It is the lifeblood of my day to day mental health. Okay, no wise cracks…. I’m as normal as any writer.

 Sometimes I will come home from work and there will be an event that evening and it’s been a rough day and I may say, “I just don’t know if I’m up for it tonight.” She will sometimes say something like, Oh go on, and you’ll feel better in the end.” And many times I will buckle up and go. But if I’m really dragging and elect not to go, that’s okay too. She is not going to make me feel bad about my decision.

 A few months ago when we feared the crashing of my 6 year old laptop, she made sure I got out and got a replacement one in time. This weekend I was trying to get set up wirelessly to one of the printers on our network since I've been displaced from my home office and it was not easy for me to get to my old printer, she took time out of her busy day to see that this happened when I had trouble with the network.

 I confess that I could not ask for a more supportive person in my life.

 Amen!

Confession Tuesday - Not with football you don't edition

Tuesday, so I'm off to the confessional. Won't you join me.

Dear Reader:

It has been a week of  umpteen episodes of Glee and 21, one poetry acceptance, two rejections,  and a haircut since my last confession.

When I arrived home tonight the little snot nosed kids that play football were all assembled on the baseball field across the way and cars lining the street. Parents all in their social circles of folding chairs jabbering with one another in the great pee-wee football frenzied. Orange cones sprang up in the grass for use by the coaches in conducting drills

I'm certain the moms and dads are watching their little tykes with some degree of pride, Perhaps a dash of trepidation as well, knowing that at some point these kids will come head to head with another person whose job it is to flatten them.

Now I'm sure I sound like the curmudgeon my daughters and wife are periodically suggesting that I have become. But I confess I have nothing against these youngsters at all. The problem is that when we bought our home, I delighted in the fact that there was a baseball diamond a few hundred yards from my doorstep. I've played catch on that field, shagged flies on that field, held batting practice on that field, and enjoyed watching others do the same, and to wit, baseball for me is synonymous with poetry and poetry  synonymous with life.

Folks, the ink on the August calendar isn't dry yet and these football types are committing sacrilege
under my watchful eye.  I confess that I don't wish harm to come to any of these people, but is it wrong of me to wish that a half hour before their next practice there were already two ball teams occupying the field and they had to go someplace else?

Of course I'm asking this rhetorically and It is not necessary for anyone to actually comment as to how mean spirited this sounds. I'm pretty sure God in his glory prefers baseball and is just as miffed about the encroachment of this baseball field by shoulder padded mini-refrigerators.

 

Confession Tuesday - Junkie Edition

Dear Reader:

It's been two weeks since my last confession.  Follow me to the box and let's get started....

I confess that I used a mind mapping program last night to brainstorm for an approach to a themed poem I am working on.

I confess that  my San Francisco Giants are in a free-fall. You can't get much lower then being swept by the Cubs. In each game it was by a single run but still...   They started out strong but the wheels seem to be falling off. Yesterday they stopped by the White House and Obama joked that the have a "habit of stopping by the White House". In honoring last years World Series Champs he reminded them, "Hey, you're a second half team."

I confess I need an acceptance letter this month. Does that make me seem like a junkie?

I confess this has become the summer of melons. Watermelon and Cantaloupe have both been exceptional this year and have become a staple in our household.

I confess I've been watching old episodes of Glee and 24 for the first time. I'm always a day late and a dollar short.

That's it for this week...  you are returned to regularly scheduled activities.

Shadow

 

 

 

 

"I thought the most beautiful thing in the world

must be shadow."- Sylvia Plath

The Mag 178: Moon on the Horizen

 

Andrew Wyeth - The Man and the Moon - 1990

 

 



When the land spreads out against the horizon
no man made obstacles to block the view
the moonrise breaks over natural terrain
is a sight to behold

And summer nights when the air is split apart
by the resistance of your bike on the road
your veins are rush with blood
as your body grows goose bumps

Not another soul in sight and the only sound
aside from the song of nature is the putt-putt
of your engine as you throttle down to a stop
dismount the bike and stand stark still

Facing the rising night light
in silent homage and obedience
to the calling stars
even a grown man cries



Michael A. Wells

The Mag

Confession Tuesday - All-Star Edition

Dear Reader:

I confess that I am aware it's actually Wednesday but if you know me you know my world revolves around baseball. Yesterday was the All-Star game and my mind occupied elsewhere. But here I am tonight to clear everything up for the week.

I confess that something is amiss and the finger seems to be pointing to me. But maybe it's not. Maybe it's all in my head. For the better part of a week now people seem to be asking  me questions for which I have no clue. I'm not talking about the answer as much as I am the question. If I have a blank look on my face when the question is asked it's because I have no idea what the basis of the conversation is. It's as if people are assuming that I know things that  I don't. This is of course frustrating but more significantly it's actually bashing the hell out of my self esteem.  It has happened so much that I'm feeling pretty stupid. There is no accounting otherwise for the look I'm getting when I'm totally clueless. What else am I to think.

The dogs are restless tonight. God are they restless. Who gave them energy drinks? But it's not jet me they are driving crazy. My wife has about had it with them tonight.

And who is putting all the good TV shows against each other making the taping of them on our DVR difficult. I confess that we've gotten hooked on too many shows but we can only do two recordings at the same time - three requires magic.

Well, I've got a couple more days left this week and I hope I can find a little magic. Don't all poets believe in a little magic?

Realizing it is Us...

It's a quiet Saturday where I sit this morning. Everyone else in the household is off doing something but I've been reflecting about an article I read this week in Poets & Writers.  Actually I've been sort of triangulating between art, community and literary journals.

Most who read this blog will have no problem grasping the significance of art an/or literary magazines in daily life, but I do have friends who don't get it. Why should they, for most have no interest in poetry and any reading they do is for pleasure (nothing wrong with that) but I'm thinking for the most part what they are reading is pretty superfluous.

What has sparked my thoughts this morning is an arts magazine call The Newtowner. Founded in early 2010 this journal of literary, visual and preforming arts is produced by a volunteer staff in a small Western Connecticut community  that became a house world this past December with the tragic shooting of twenty children and six staff members at the Sandy Hook Elementary School.

The Newtowner is a quarterly magazine. Following the that tragic December, Georgia Monagham, magazine founder reports that she felt like she didn't care if The Newtowner ever went to press again. But that changed as she considered the magazine had an opportunity to do something for the community. The Newtowner could actually play a role in helping to define the community rather then allowing it to be defined by the events on December 14, 2012.

What has happened since that time is to move ahead with a tribute issue to Newtown. Also a goal to put a free copy in the hands of everyone in Newtown, Connecticut.

Monagham's idea is a significantly positive message reflecting art. If a community can be defined by it's art, doesn't that make it's art all the more relevant? I think it does and I love the idea that out of this tragedy such a vision is possible, but must we have tragedy in order for us to define ourselves by art? Must it take such darkness in our lives to realize we are the art? I think more communities should explore their art. Newtown could be a ripple that undulates through communities around this country that allow themselves to find their talents and allow others locally to see those talents first hand.

Others who have lent a hand to this special issues include:

• Nationally acclaimed authors and illustrators  Wally Lamb, Lois Lowry, Katherine Paterson,and Steven Kellogg
• Pulitzer Prize-winning poet Yusef Komunyakaa
•   Sesame Street’s Alan Muraoka

I'm always hearing people say, "poetry is just not relevant to me" and perhaps when we see that  we are all poets, painters, photographers, singers, dancers, story tellers we will meet art and realize it is us.

Note: you can help with funding the project to put a copy of The Newtowner in every home in Newtown by making a contribution here.     Or pre-order get your own copy.

Daily Challenge

I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day. - E.B. White