Pope Peeps

My wife was searching the web and sent me a link to some items that she though would interest me and bingo, we have a winner! (She knows me well)

What would Easter be without Peeps? I love Peeps - probably not the best thing for diabetics. They do make a sugar free variety these days and they are not bad.

Fortunately for Catholics worldwide, well will not have to go through Easter without a Pope. And as you can see at the left, we has Pope Peeps thanks to The Monkey Cage. They outfitted a whole Papal Conclave of Peeps in red felt Cardinal suites. Is that not a crack-up?

Confession Tuesday - Lazy Edition

Another week has come and gone. Let's go to the confessional.

Dear Reader:

I confess that I'm being lazy tonight. I'm doing this blog post from my phone because I don't want to fire up my laptop.

I confrss that I've slacked off on reading. I have several books started and this psst week have not gotten much further into any of them. I hope to read some tonight when I finish my confession.

I have say that I enjoyed getting reacquainted with Bailey's Sunday. It's been a while since I have indulged in any. I confess I like it a little bit too much.

The past two nights I've had itchy eyes. I went out and bought some eye drops last night but I confess they are again annoying me. Right now i'm so annoyed by them I feel like poking them out. Ok,  not really but obvioudly have had the thought enter my mind.

I don't know what it is but I've read a bunch of really good poems the past few days. These are for the most part from poets new to me. I confess it's strange that so many of them have struck me as especially enjoyable.  Perhaps I will share links to some of them in a blog post later this week.

I confess that's all I have to give tonight. Have a good week...

Amen

An Irish Blessing

May joy and peace surround you,

Contentment latch your door,

And happiness be with you now,

And bless you evermore.

Hey Hey it's Saturday...

 So what's the big deal?

Ok, the big deal is this... I started organizing myself so that I do my submissions on Saturday. I just finished this week's. Yeah!

Last week was the start of this new plan/habit. Maybe it's too early to call it a habit yet, but I have accomplished my planned submissions now two Saturdays in a row. In addition, last Saturday I was an over achiever and submitted someplace in addition to my plan.

Now about the plan. I am trying to plan at least three months in advance. That assures a couple of things. Each quarter of a year I now want I need to do for that period of time. Since I check the reading dates I can make sure I'm getting material to the various Journals and venues that I want to be in and not miss their deadlines or like I've often done, realize on Friday night that a deadline is two or three days away and I've given no thought to what I'd be sending so in the pressure of it all I say, "F it" and just let it pass.  "F it" is a well developed form of procrastination for me.

So you see, this not only affords me better control over my calendar of submissions but it also assures that I have time to explore the best fit for my work. Let's face it, if you don't take the time to explore best options and you just slap together three to five poems and send the out, can you really be surprised when they come back in your face rejected?  If you want an editor to truly take time to consider your work, take some time and be thoughtful about what might be a best fit for the Journal you are submitting to. Are you always going to nail it? No, but it's better then throwing the spaghetti noodles on the wall to see if they stick.

I've said it before, I hate submitting work. I'd rather write then submit. But no one has ever come up to me and said "Hey, give me something, anything and I'll publish it." And if they did, I might not want to be in what they just published.

So from now on, if it's Saturday, It's Submission Saturday! I've actually felt good these past two Saturdays after achieving my submission objective. So maybe I'll start to like this thing. Or, at least not hate it so much.

In both instances I've felt so good when I was finished, since I was at my laptop I just kept on working either with rewrites or starting new stuff.

Confession Tuesday on Wednesday

Dear Reader:

I confess I’m slipping into the confessional late for Confession Tuesday. I see you are already aware I am tardy. In my own defense I was at a poetry group meeting last night.

We did an impromptu write – pulling our prompt from a box passed around. I prompt was to write about my favorite trip or vacation during my teen years. I confess this was really hard because as I thought about it, the most remarkable thing about vacations as a teenager was that they were unremarkable. I got something down on paper but honestly I had to really lower my standards to choose a favorite.

Arriving home last night my wife had not eaten yet. I went out to get us fast food. Later, we were watching TV just before turning in and my daughter who had just come home came in to say good night. My wife asked if anyone had any chocolate for her. I confess that she has been dropping not too settle hints for several days she is craving chocolate and I confess that I’ve been neglectful in appropriately delivering on the chocolate hints. Note to self, don’t home without chocolate tonight!

I confess my body is still rejecting the time change from the weekend. Maybe I’ll get it together by this weekend.

I confess that I've been trying to hold out the past two days from making a call to my chiropractor to see if she could work me in on an emergent basis. I have my regular appointment tonight for adjustment and trigger-points. I see the light in the tunnel.

I confess that I have so many apps on my phone that if I were ever to get stranded in the woods someplace I’d have to immediately dump all my apps to conserve battery until I could be located. 

I confess I have no idea why I was even thinking about the possibility of being lost or stranded someplace.

Amen~

The Mag 159: The Cycle

Meal Beach, Burra Isles, Shetland by Robin Gosnall

Listen to the power.

A clean white foam pushed

from behind by a blue-green hand

then pulled back.

The sand wet,

beach reticent briefly-

then the flapping 

and laughing of disquieted Seagulls

in the distance; then closer

until deafening.  

As the white foam reappears

the gulls circle out to sea

watching, awaiting 

the powerful wall of water 

once again push in 

and take back.

In mocking fashion 

the birds do it all over. 

 

Michael A. Wells

The Mag 159

The Mag 158: All Is Spilled

Photo by TheFoxAndTheRaven

All is spilled

There is nothing more

I romanticize. Not bath

nor sleep. Not the ache 

of empty night. 

The voices are of no comfort.

They press me awake endless hours

Is this an inquisition? 

Must I answer? I am pulverized, 

strained through a cauldron 

of one sided talk-

I look to my wrist

I look for answers

I look, I look...

Michael A. Wells

The Mag 158