Confession time has arrived again. I feel like I have a lot I'm lugging around so what do you say we get started?
Dear Reader-
It's been another four poems sent out in search of new homes, a snow storm, a birthday and a tragedy since my last confession.
This weekend was surreal. It was surreal in the context both of disbelief and yet a feeling we've been here before. Of course we haven't actually been here, but I confess that this feels in a very sad and very senseless way like that summer of 1968. The assassination attempt on Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords, the death of a 9 year old girl, a federal judge, one of Giffords staffers, and at least 3 others dead and something like 14 more wounded. The number is staggeringly hazy to me even now.
I confess that I fail to see why anyone in the public sector needs to be able to purchase an extended magazine clip for a firearm. If you are not police or military it seems senseless. Between Sept. 13, 1994 and Sept. 13, 2004 The Federal Assault Weapons Ban (AWB) or Public Safety and Recreational Firearms Use Protection Act as it was subtitled, prevented the sale to individuals of such ammunition. But during the second Bush presidency, the NRA prevailed in creating a climate in which neither President Bush or the bulk of Congress had the courage to support renewal of it.
I confess to feeling a sickening indignation over the lack of common sense in this country where firearms are concerned. It's a sad commentary - not unlike that of MADD (mothers against drunk drivers) that for many to become proactive, they have to lose someone close to them before they realize the price we pay for our cultural affair with firearms is simply not worth it.
Yesterday, I turned @&. I confess that I've been bothered by my aging for far longer then most people are. I know lots who are bothered come the big 40. Some even at 35, and a few at 30. I think the 30 year old cases must be pretty hard core. But I'll go one further. I was starting to feel the anxiety come age 25. Yes, you heard it right... 25. Of course now I confess I'd be tickled to go back to 30 again.
That's about it for this week. I've got several things to do before bed time tonight. May your week, what's left of it, be a good one!
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Magpie Tales - 48 / Poem: I Can Imagine
I Can Imagine
Somewhere between the cotton weave
of a sheer web smeared across the flatness
of old sheets of inked notes silent
on pages as brittle as the print is delicate;
and the stuffy air of a concert hall
far off in some other time, I can imagine
the Cantata’s rising echo of voice
on the tail of instrumentation
jostling back and forth
each fighting for their due
recognition— the orchestra
in a winning moment heeds
the directors baton— going allegro.
Voices bow to strings and horns
until a disquieting roll of timpani ushers in
one final melding of chorus and instruments.
2011 © - Michael A. Wells
Sunday, January 09, 2011
Unconscious Mutterings - Week 115
You say... I think:
- 1.Speech :: free
- 2.Meredith :: broadcasting
- 3.Consensus :: maker
- 4.Attack :: plan of
- 5.Sue :: litigate
- 6.Voted :: democracy
- 7.Epic :: journey
- 8.Checking in :: at home
- 9.Dishwasher :: liquid
- 10.Underneath :: car
Get your own list here
Friday, January 07, 2011
Magpie Tales 47 - Poem: Deranged
Deranged
The drip a mystery,
the puddle, rust flavored;
the drain too far away.
A contorted idea-
a trick knob,
the mirror of a sick mind.
2111 © Michael A. Wells
Thursday, January 06, 2011
"...point out the inequities, nothing to lose but our chains."
I read this blog post today by Kristin Berkey-Abbott: Artifacts from the Deep Freeze of the Cold War. It was her trip back into the past as she visited the Cold War years and concluded a poem she had written. The final stanza reads:
Over a year ago, another poet introduced me to Carolyn Forché, an incredible poet who has established a reputation as a poet of witness. Carolyn very often writes poems that take us very gently into social injustice. I'm not sure if she is changing the world one reader at a time but she certainly has the ability, with great subtlety to unmask things that might otherwise go unnoticed by many.
What do you think? Can poets change the world?
These lines so expressed what I believe many of my generation put so much stock in. Thinking that calling out inequities would lead to an end of a multitude of injustices. Idealistic? Naive? Still, as I began to adapt to the life of a poet, putting such things into "my poet perspective," I've had to ask myself if I really believe I can change the world with poems? Do I think anyone can?
I write my own poems. I imagine they will change
the world, that all I must do to rid the planet of injustice
is to point out the inequities, nothing to lose but our chains.
Over a year ago, another poet introduced me to Carolyn Forché, an incredible poet who has established a reputation as a poet of witness. Carolyn very often writes poems that take us very gently into social injustice. I'm not sure if she is changing the world one reader at a time but she certainly has the ability, with great subtlety to unmask things that might otherwise go unnoticed by many.
What do you think? Can poets change the world?
Tuesday, January 04, 2011
Confession Tuesday
A new year and a first confession of the new year. Come follow me to the booth...
Dear Reader:
It's been one week since my last confession. One week of crazy weather ranging from nearly 60 down to the mid to lower teens. A week of sniffles (go figure) and reflections (looking back on the year, not staring in the mirror in an act vanity). But I confess I am I am already getting acclimated to the new year.
As a rule I don't plan out resolutions as such. But I do hold some hopes some goals close to my heart. Some things that will require me to be better at things this year then past.
On New Years day I cranked out my first packet of poetry submissions of the year. I posted this in my Facebook status to which Diane Lockwood replied, " Don't brag. It's unattractive." Her remark made me laugh, but I confess I've come to resist submitting my work these past two years like the plague. But my post was my way of establishing some accountability. The next day, I sent off a second packet. I'm finished for the week except for some home work of planning my next victim, I mean venue to submit to next week. The thing is that I kicked myself in the butt to get started and I want to keep some feeling of momentum.
If I'm happy and upbeat about submitting my work, I'm cranky about the price of gas. I confess that every time gas nears the $3 range or above I get this way. I'm trying to be more positive and upbeat about things, but it seems that not only are we shelling out more for gas, we are driving a lot more these days. When I hear on NPR about countries paying $7 a gallon I don't know how they do it.
Someone at the office cheered my up this week reminding me that pitchers and catchers will be reporting to spring training camps soon. (mid February). "Right around the corner." I believe where her words. I confess my interest in Football has run it's course since my fantasy league is over. Even the Chief's surprise of reaching the playoffs does little for me. For one thing I'm under no delusions about the team's chances. I'm ready for baseball. But, when have I not been? ;)
Dear Reader:
It's been one week since my last confession. One week of crazy weather ranging from nearly 60 down to the mid to lower teens. A week of sniffles (go figure) and reflections (looking back on the year, not staring in the mirror in an act vanity). But I confess I am I am already getting acclimated to the new year.
As a rule I don't plan out resolutions as such. But I do hold some hopes some goals close to my heart. Some things that will require me to be better at things this year then past.
On New Years day I cranked out my first packet of poetry submissions of the year. I posted this in my Facebook status to which Diane Lockwood replied, " Don't brag. It's unattractive." Her remark made me laugh, but I confess I've come to resist submitting my work these past two years like the plague. But my post was my way of establishing some accountability. The next day, I sent off a second packet. I'm finished for the week except for some home work of planning my next victim, I mean venue to submit to next week. The thing is that I kicked myself in the butt to get started and I want to keep some feeling of momentum.
If I'm happy and upbeat about submitting my work, I'm cranky about the price of gas. I confess that every time gas nears the $3 range or above I get this way. I'm trying to be more positive and upbeat about things, but it seems that not only are we shelling out more for gas, we are driving a lot more these days. When I hear on NPR about countries paying $7 a gallon I don't know how they do it.
Someone at the office cheered my up this week reminding me that pitchers and catchers will be reporting to spring training camps soon. (mid February). "Right around the corner." I believe where her words. I confess my interest in Football has run it's course since my fantasy league is over. Even the Chief's surprise of reaching the playoffs does little for me. For one thing I'm under no delusions about the team's chances. I'm ready for baseball. But, when have I not been? ;)
Sunday, January 02, 2011
My attempt at algebra for today
If, as Carlos Fuentes says, "Writing is a struggle against silence" ~
then I'm thinking submitting is a struggle against failure.
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