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

  

Talking to Poems

So it's Friday night and what are you doing?

Me, I'm transitioning from Diet Coke to Chardonnay.  I've been working for several hours on a poem and our conversation had grown old and tiring so I've stopped for now.

Do you talk to your poems? Ok, more specifically your poems in progress. Drafts. First drafts, second drafts, twenty third drafts?

My conversation with this evening's poem-in-making has started out asking  a single line where it would like to go. It said take me to the other side of what you just said. So I said ok and abridged. I asked what will we do after we've contradicted our opening line. I go no response. (sipping wine) I don't know about you but when I ask a direct question of a poem-in-making I expect at least that it will clear it's throat and appear to be thinking of a reply. I was about to repeat the question when it said you assume too much.

I'm not sure how I feel about a poem - especially one in the making assuming it knows what I'm assuming. I thought it important at this point to make it clear that I had no preconceived notions about where this poem was going. It quickly shot back, "Good!"

I studied my words on the page.  Flipped a stanza. Cut some words. Another "Good" arose from the page. "You approve then?" I asked. I was told yes, but for the time being. I thought about moving the opening line to another location in the poem. Cautiously I was told that was worth considering, but encouraged to consider too making the opening line the title of the poem instead. I said I'd keep that in mind.

My head is spinning at this point and I suggested that I really thought it might me time to step back and let this all rest upon the page a while. Maybe overnight. There was a sigh...  "No offense, but working with you can be tiring."  I responded, "Oh, you think so?" and I saved the work in progress.

Confession Tuesday

It's Tuesday and I'm moving slowly to the confessional because it's been the kind of day and evening where I'm not to certain it's good to put too much stock in my forward motion. But I'm here so let's get started.

Dear Reader:

I confess that there have been a couple nights this past week where I've come home and pretty much blown off the evening. This is easy to do if I've had a particularly crazy day at work. Actually today would be a good example. A day when you are just beaten down with work and after a full day of it feel you have not made any headway against your work load. It's days like that I come home - do the minimal I need to do, then crash and burn. Don't like it when I'm like this - looking to break from this, find a way to slowly unwind and then do something productive. 

For several years now I have observed the annual anticipation of, the hoop-la and the afterglow of AWP. I must insert for the record that the observation has all been from afar. I've not been to AWP. I've seen people rave about the contact with other writers that they might not have met otherwise. They talk about great panel discussions, swoon over treasure troves of books and of course there are the readings.  Occasionally I have read blog posts or Facebook post from those who start by indicating they are not going to AWP this year and then in some silly and demeaning way poke fun at the conformance. I confess I have chuckled as I have read through some of these pieces, yet I wonder if the writer is not really just using humor to mask disappointment for not being there.  I confess that I'm intrigued by what I have heard of the conformance and     

yes a bit jealous of those attending. 

I confess the return of sunlight after all our snow has been uplifting. I confess that we still have mountains of snow and that the sunlight on it is blinding, but I was going blind from the abundance of white everywhere anyway. 

I confess that I'm ready for Spring. 

Amen.

The Planning Poet

Friday and Saturday I did some writing and was pleased with the progress. Tonight I've taken another route. Tonight I'm the Planning Poet. I've spent time scouring the various venues for publication with concentration on submissions for the next 90 days. I'm identifying who I want to submit to and matching my calendar with their reading periods.

One thing I'm being is realistic. I'm not trying to send work to 10 places in one weekend. First, I want to be able to stay on a steady work schedule. The last thing I want to do is set myself up for failure from the start.

Knowing at the beginning of one week what publication I am focusing on that coming weekend allows me time for quality forethought to each submission package.

I've gone crazy cranking out submissions in the past like all in one weekend and they instantly cold for months. It's no secret, I said it many times before, I dislike the process of submitting work. Still, I'm well aware that it's all part of the process. Unless I'm just going to write and throw all my work in a trunk and forget about it, then I need to get real about my commitment to the whole process.

By the end of May, I'll let you know how this is all working out for me.

Confession Tuesday - Recklessness and Poetry Edition

Welcome to the confessional  - I'm just about to start...

Dear Friends:

It's been a week and maybe 17 inches since my last confession.

I confess that if it's Tuesday, I'm confused. Or Snow Blind, or both!  Confused because due to a big storm that dumped maybe about 11 inches (give or take) on us last Thursday - I ended up with a 4 day weekend when they shut down work.  I go to work Monday but another winter storm advisory for Monday -Tuesday caused them to shut down again today.  The conditions this morning were complicated by a mixture of sleet and snow. It looks like about another 6 inches on top of the previously 11. All of this change in work routine complicates my cognitive view of the  calendar.

There was a very nice man that helped free my car on Thursday when I drove back from the office only 40 minutes after arriving when they shut everything down. I don't know his name but thank you!

I confess that if we have to shovel the drive for any additional snow, I have no clue where to put it. It's stacked out front about as high as it can go.

Normalcy is now abnormal and it is challenging in ways I'd never imagined. It's easy to feel stir crazy inside, but it seems so white every which way you look that everything outside looks the same so it's hard to feel there is much deviation inside or out.

I confess that Monday at the office it became clear that snow was not the only thing piling up. So were phone messages and work. I confess that it is to the point that being away from the office is not relaxing but stressful because at some point I will have to deal with what I can only imagine is a dam breaking and the work flooding everywhere.

Sunday I had the marvelous experience of auditing a Dean Young Master Class at UMKC. I confess that I am even more impressed with Dean Young then I was before and he had already been on my radar. What I found Sunday was that his whole view of poetry so fits into my own concept but he is able to articulate what that is far better then I have been able to.

I also had reservations to attend his reading/New Letters interview Monday night at the Library.  Even as they were telling us mid-day that the impending storm was going to be severe enough that they would already shut down the offices the next day, I hoped that the evening weather would relent. I hoped that the Library would not cancel the event.  I stayed in town at 5:00 instead of heading home. I checked with the library and they were closing the library at 7PM but the Dean Young event would go on. So with reckless abandon I chose to risk it and go to the event. By the grace of God the sky that looked so ominous held off until the event was over and I pulled into our drive. The the sleet came, then the snow.

I confess that I now have to read The Art of Recklessness: Poetry as Assertive Force and Contradiction.     

I confess that I am trying not to think about the mountain of work growing at the office, but I think I can actually hear it and it's hard to ignore.