To name something...

To name something is to wait for it in the place you think it will pass.   ~  Amiri Baraka

Saturday Morning

the bed amiss

sheet and covers at odds
the morning smug
coffee half gone and cold
to-do list full 
neglect

On Happiness~

"THE ONLY TRUE HAPPINESS COMES FROM SQUANDERING OURSELVES FOR A PURPOSE." ~ William Cowper


Got this from Gretchen Rubin's daily e-mail this morning & thought I'd share.

Confession Tuesday on Wednesday...

Dear Reader:

I missed Confession Tuesday. If you are a regular reader you've perhaps realized this already. I confess I have no excuse.

It's raining and dreary here, perhaps it is in your neighborhood as well. I actually think it is quite November. November I think is perhaps the dreariest of the months.  Baseball season is over. The diamonds go dormant for the winter. The sun seem to be creeping out of sight and then weather like today's just adds to the general melancholy. I confess that I'm not much of a November fan.

November is also the month that you write a poem a day. Okay, some people do. I've done it before successfully. I've also started to do it and failed - falling off the wagon two or three weeks down the road. Today is the second day of the month and I don't have two poems. I don't even have the first.  But I will write here in a short while and see what I can do. But let me confess right now, I'm not going to adhere to a poem-a-day routine this month. I'll do my best to pull together 30 poems or drafts -  but what I am not going to do is stress over having a new one come the end of each day. I have more then enough stress in my life currently and I refuse to turn this already downer of a month into something even more dreary.

I confess that I fell over the weekend and I believe I hyper-extended my left knee. It was about a 9.8 on a scale of 10 in terms of pain. I'm doing better but it man did it hurt during the weekend.

If I get one more solicitation cold call on my cell phone someone is seriously going to have to restrain me. This is both a warning and a confession combined.

I'm trying to cut out as many distractions as I can during my writing time. I downloaded a trial copy of a program called Freedom. They make it for both Mac and Windows. You set a predetermined number of minutes you want to work Internet free and it blocks it. If you have the discipline to just not go there - great! Many of us don't. I confess that while I need at times to research something in conjunction with a particular write, I can schedule to do that during off writing time. I confess I should have started this long ago.

That's it for this week. I hope you can all absolve me of my tardiness. Have a great week ahead. See you Tuesday!

Magpie Tales 89 / Poem: The Gritty Facts

The Gritty Facts


There are vague memories
some fond some not
so. Much has changed.

The delete key absolves
a multitude of sins and wasted
paper. I don't miss

purple hands from carbon paper
if you know what I mean.
My youngest daughter doesn't.

When you were wired (old use of the word)
your hands would light up the keyboard.
The sound had its own poetry.

When you were stumped
the silence was killing.
No music to stream in

the background and shores to surf
at your fingertips. Your world cloistered
It was hard work. Dirty work.  



Michael A. Wells


Magpie

Magpie Tales 88 / Poem: Espresso Spoiled

Espresso Spoiled


So many angles to consider.
Some within others

and building blocks
to something

bigger down the way
something maybe broken

or maybe just a portion
what we have discovered
of ourselves;

windows to see
what is real
what is fantasy
but the lines
blurred.

Einstein said—  "Reality
is merely an illusion,
just a very persistent one."

If the linear stuff is raised
or lowered on one end
what is the story line then?

You drove me into the city
today for something daring—

my two shots of espresso spoiled
with talk of your stained childhood

even if it wasn't so
I wanted to hear crisp clean lines.





Michael A. Wells


magpie88

My Top 10 Living Poets Crush List~

So yesterday I announced a new poet (new to me) to teeter on that threshold of my current favorite poets list. Admittedly it's a list new that is somewhat in flux due to my changing experiences,  mood, exposure to new poetry material and poets. Sometimes poets may move on or off the list in a slow subtle fashion than at other times the shift may be more swift and dramatic.

So I've thought about his yesterday off and on - even between pitches during the World Series.  What constitutes my say top ten poet crushes currently. Crush being defined here as poets whose work rises to a heightened level of admiration that exceeds the normal limits one expects of most other poets.  A person on the poet crush list is someone you would drive miles out of your way to get to a reading.  You likely own multiple titles of their work or would if you could. You would prefer a hard copy to that is signed then some impersonal ebook pdf. You would love to have lunch with them and pick their brain about anything poetry related. A copy of their work could likely be found on your night stand. -That my friend, is my definition of a poet crush.  Perhaps you would use different criteria - I'd be interested to know your criteria.

With that in mind I give you my current top 10 Living Poets Crush List ( in no particular order):

1. W. S. Merwin
2. Sharon Olds
3. Beth Ann Fennelly
4. Ruth Stone
5. Charles Simic
6. Kelli Russell Agodon
7. Donald Hall
8. John Ashbery
9. Ada Limon
10. Katrina Vandenberg

Yes... Limon I have decided has made my top 10 list.  There you have it! Any thoughts about what this list says about my poetry tastes? So, who is on your Poet Crush List?

* NOTE~ As I look over this list I'm wondering just how many years of writing experience these 10 poets have accumulated?