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.