Confession Tuesday

Dear Reader:

It's been a week since my last confession. This is where I usually say something about how I can't believe how fast the week has gone. I confess that I don't feel that way.

I confess that when I see that my last blog post was on Thursday, a longer interval then I usually go or at least like to go without posting and yet it seems like an eternity ago.

I confess that my weekend seemed to kind of start late Thursday night and sort of been in a state of suspended animation except that suggests movement and this is more like a mobile hanging in a child room. Hanging and hanging and hanging.

I confess that I have strayed from my writing schedule and other than journaling I've really not written much of anything since last week.

I confess that last night I didn't even think of myself as a writer, a poet, for the first time in I don't know how long. This is a pretty devastating feeling since I think it's been a part of my own self identity for so long I don't know myself.

I confess that I did not want nor plan to post anything today on my blog. Yes, I confess I wasn't going to confess. How's that for honesty?  But I did, and I'm not sure why.  I'm off work today but was working on some work anyway. I think I just needed a break... I don't really know why.

I confess that I'm looking for a miracle for my San Francisco Giants.  They have started playing awesome again but winning the division is beyond their self determination at this point. They could win everything else and be close, but they need Arizona to stumble as well. Still they have an impressive string of 8 wins in a row under pressure. Let's make it 9 tonight!

I confess I feel the baseball season slipping, slipping out of my grasp. I can't hold onto it and stop it any more then I can stop the seasons.

I confess that I've had all I can take of robo calls from charities and collection agencies looking for someone else. If they get your contact information from a credit reporting agency that has your social security number but the person with the same name as you has a different social security number (which the agency has) should there not be some culpability?

I suppose this looks like a confession from Debbie Downer. Honestly I don't want it to seem that way, but you know what is all the rage to say these days... it is what it is.

Next week...  I hope.

It's all about the destination...

During the morning drive time I heard a piece on NPR about songwriter Annie Clark who uses the stage name St. Vincent. Speaking to NPR's David Greene about her latest album "Strange Mercy" she said something that I so totally feel the same about when it comes to poetry.  She told Green, "I think in some ways, it can do a listener a disservice to explain a song, I think I'd rather leave a little room for people to put themselves in it."

Thank you! I prefer not to hand out road maps with poetry. Let the reader arrive at whatever destination they can.  Really, the journey will mean so much more.

Anyway, I like what I've heard of the new album.  Check it out on the NPR site!

REMINDER - AMY LEIGH DAVIS TOMORROW AT WRITERS PLACE

Amy Leigh Davis Reading September 16

Friday, September 16, 2011 ~  7:00 PM 

 

THE WRITERS PLACE ~ 3607 Pennsylvania, Kansas City, MO

Amy will be reading poems from her new book The Alter Ego of the Universe as well as new work.

Confession Tuesday - Positively Rejected

September and I'm pinching myself. I'm like for real? Already? But it is and I can see little signs to confirm this. Let's go to the confessional.

Dear Reader: It's been two rejection letters since my last confession.

I confess that when I say that I've had two rejection letters in the past week I'm really not distraught or anything about this. In fact I really feel pretty good about it. I suppose because I've been much more proactive about submissions this year compared to last. I know that you are going to get more rejections then acceptances - it's the reality of the beast. The two recent rejections were very reputable journals so these were not cheap rejections. If I was just sending to any old place and getting rejected I might not feel so good about it, but these are journals that have rejection rates in the mid 90% range.

Today I was reading about the Poets on the Coast in Oregon [here] a women's writing retreat and I confess I was jealous. I truly believe women poets tend to be far better organized the their male counterparts. I suppose I understand women in the arts have been marginalized over the years and this has no doubt diven them to take on projects to support their female peers. I think that is great but I'm still jealous.

It's been cooler here in Missouri the past few weeks. Weather closer to the San Francisco weather I love on a couple of them. And the mood last night was mammoth! I know summer is over the verge of leaving us. Baseball season winding down, I confess that I'm at least subliminally aware that SAD is just around the corner. A period in which many people including myself struggle with melancholy.

I'm about confessed out at this point - thanks for stopping by! Have a great week!

Unconscious Mutterings Week 450

You say and I think:

1. Submission :: poetry
2. Lucy :: Linus
3. Feather :: pillow
4. Magnetic :: personality
5. Bowling :: for dollars
6. Stress :: deadline
7. Sweetly :: charming
8. Creamy :: Lemon meringue
9. Awaken :: early
10. Beaten :: up

Get your own subliminal list weekly here

Sealing the Deal

A kiss seals two souls for a moment in time.  ~Levende Waters

Magpie Tales / Poem: Revenant

That I was surprised
at his return
an understatement
at the cold calculation
of his every move never

would the diabolical
alive become anything
less upon return
from the grave

perhaps in the depth
of his rest he might
think about our past
but can the dead think
and if so what would be
the difference

the cerebral gift he had
was plotting not thinking
certainly not feeling
not emotion     the cold
in life could not thaw
could not warm the heart

Freon pumped throughout
his body he must be
brittle cold -- unnerving
what can he want
from me --  in death
but to possess
the very warmth
of my breath
suck it out of me
and pull me under too.



Michael A. Wells


Magpie Tales



*photo credit - The Revenant, 1949, Andrew Wyeth