It's a Jolly Holi-dog Celebration!

Magpie Tales 45

Blessed Mother, May I?


Called in the midst
of copious play

to draw stick pictures
in the clay.

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

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

So much
for a child prodigy
to do.

2010© Michael A. Wells

Magpie Tales

Poets - Life & Death and their work

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

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


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

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

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

Confession Tuesday

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


Dear Reader:

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

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

I confess too that I miss here not being here.

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

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

Until next week, everyone stay safe - best wishes!

Five Favorite Poetry Reads for 2010

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

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

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

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

Flurries and Wind

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

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

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

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

Miscellaneous mourning mental magnets

Non-Sugar Plum Visions dancing in my head:

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