What I am Reading Now

In my post AWP days, I am kind o getting grounded again and I have plenty of reading material I came home with. One of my favorite publishers is University of Akron Press - (I purchased three books from their table.)

I have selected one of them,  Brazen Creature by Anne Barngrover to begin tonight.

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Confession Tuesday - AWP Edition or Sylvia in My Midst

Dear Reader:

It's been one round-trip flight to Tampa, Florida, 35990 AWP Steps in 4 days, one out of body experience involving Sylvia Plath, the discovery of mini-moon pies, one cortisone shot, a pack of steroids, a lot of new books, and two weeks since my last confession.

This year was my third AWP. My second in a row. I skipped LA three years ago After attending my first in Minneapolis, Minnesota. I confess, some things never change about AWP. I confess that AWP is both exhausting and exhilarating. It's four days of highs and lows and it must surely mimic in some ways living with multiple personalities. Okay, I'm pretty sure that is an exertion, but you get my point. There are people you are so damn excited to see. There are people you miss. There are people you never knew, but now you do. Meeting these three poets for the first times were highlights for me:
All three of them have work that I have read, so I was familiar with them, but this made it extra special.

With Heather Derr-Smith

Before I left, (actually the Friday before) my left knee became very swollen. I stayed off of it Friday night, Saturday and most of Sunday. It went through various stages of being very painful to semi-tolerable.  I called my doctor  Monday and she saw me after work.  I received a cortisone shot and a package of steroids and the probability I would be in good enough shape to leave Wednesday morning for my flight out.

I did, and I confess the trip was not pain-free, but it was for the most part tolerable. So from Wednesday through Saturday night, I logged 35,990 steps. Now, I confess that I was exhausted by the end of each day, but that is how all of my AWP trips have been. Still, it didn't help that my knee was not 100%. Actually, it still isn't.

With Maggie Smith

I love the various swag that comes with AWP. It is always fun to see what new buttons are floating around.  New this year was a red button that read, 'Make America Normal Again.'

There was a series of Cat buttons associated with the various writing genre. My poetry Cat button is awesome. The cat has a red beret on its head.   There was a Teenage Gothic Cat who had mascara streaming down from her eyes.

The absolute best panel I attended was on Confessional Poetry.  The panelists Were Jerico Brown, Maggie Smith, Rachel Mennies and a fourth person whose name I forget at the moment. I must confess that this panel was both serious and hysterically funny in large part to Jerico Brown.

Oh, and going back to swag, one booth had Mini Mood pies in all six flavors. As a diabetic, this size is a better serving size. Not that I don't enjoy the larger size. I have already had to order some from Amazon.

I was able to meet up with two other mentees from the Writer to Writer program. Michelle Cerulli McAdams and Erin Robertson. Michelle and I attended the keynote speech and Eran and I met for dinner one evening.  My Mentor Ken Waldman was there and the two of us spent an hour at the Writer to Writer booth talking with potential future mentees and mentors.

With Rachel Mennies

                                                                                                                                            

I went better prepared this time. I packed light and I was able to collapse a good sized leather bag into the suitcase.  If you don't go to AWP and come back with tons of books, something is wrong.  I once packed with books for the return, this was the heaviest of the luggage I had. No contest.

Perhaps later this week I will share some of the titles of the books I brought home.

I confess that I actually wrote two decent poetry drafts while I was in Tampa. I'm in the mood for a full court press of writing and submitting.

My out of body experience as Sylvia Plath

And finally, in the spirit of fun, I confess that I entered into an out of body experience with Sylvia Plath.  I have proof here to show.

Until next time, be safe and peace!

Confession Tuesday - A Word On Thoughts and Prayers

Dear Reader:

It's been 13 more indictments in the Russia Election Influence investigation by the Special Counsel Robert Mueller, Untold self-injurious tweets by our president,  two more legitimate draft poems and untold musings, mummers, pointless scribbles, one Amazon order, one meeting with my old mentor Ken and an event, and three weeks since my last confession.

You can almost count the passage of time based on your Amazon orders. Well, at least that is true with certain consumable products like our calcium supplement. Not so much books, because they get ordered in spurts.  I'm not sure this is a good thing, but I suppose if I wasn't having it delivered to my door, I'd be driving over town to purchase it.

Time has been skipping along and whistling a happy tune and then, I realize it's only 16 days till AWP. That means I need to get people at work ready to cover my responsibilities. It means I still have to narrow down my schedule for the conference, and at the same time throw myself into a stress frenzy. Oh wait, I confess the stress frenzy has already started. It just seems that time has been flying like a bat out of hell.

The meeting with Ken Waldman came almost as a surprise. We write each other just after the first of the year to catch up with each other. They a week ago I got an email from Ken saying that he signed up to work the Writer 2 Writer booth at AWP at the same time slot I had taken so we could be there together. Then he let me know he was doing an event at a local bookstore if I had time to stop by. I did have time and I did stop by. I confess it was one of those crazy things that came about almost on the spur of the moment. Time always seems full of surprises. Some better than the others.

I finished a Journal I believe I started in September. I confess I'm always excited to get a fresh refill and start again. It's kind of like a cleansing thing. I can step on the floor mat and wipe my feet off before entering the new one. I have untold numbers of journals - I can't quite recall what year I started writing but I know it was before 2000. Maybe this summer I will attempt to arrange them in chronological order.  I still flip through them periodically to get old bits and pieces of writing to bring to the page and try once again to bring some life into them. I confess I don't revisit these as often as I should. Maybe that is something for me to work on this year. After all, how we feel about something we've written sometimes strikes us quite differently a week, six months, three years down the road. This means we can refine it or embellish it to modify where we are going with it.

Lastly, I confess that I am tired of public officials replying to school shootings by saying they are playing for the victims because we all have much more we can do. I'm not against prayer, but if you are not going to offer prayer and commit to taking some positive action to assure efforts to minimize the gun violence will be personally made, your prayers are hollow.

Until next confession, seek joy, be safe & peace!

Her Poetry is in the Beads

Beadwork by CJ Wells

My wife completed her first beading project of the new year.  I'm going to brag a bit about it because I really love the colors and texture of this piece of beadwork. She is very accomplished with her bead art and has done far more challenging projects but this one is so nice because the colors and design are just so pleasing that it is calming just to look at.  

One thing that I have always wanted to do is collaborative where she does a piece of bead art - perhaps abstract and I wrote a poem the response to it. We've talked about it - though she is not into abstract as much as I am. Still, one day I think it will happen. 

Confession Tuesday - The Personal Identity Edition

Dear Reader:

It's another hit of cold and snow, another birthday, $145 (at last count) raised for the Blind Cat Rescue and Sanctuary, three more fricking recorded calls that start out "there is nothing wrong with your credit cards..." WELL DUH! They are all paid off! Lots more reading & writing, my DNA results arriving, and another week since my last confession.


So Monday, the long-awaited, much-anticipated email arrived with the results of my "spit" in a tube.  On the right, you will find the results. I confess I am not majorly surprised. I anticipated the Irish, Scottish, Welsh role in my ancestry would be maybe 20%.  I also anticipated England would figure in...  I was maybe surprised that it was as much as 38%.  Europe West at 35% seemed like a lot, but when you realize that it accounts for all the influence of ancestors from Belgium, France, Germany, Netherlands, Switzerland, Luxembourg, and Liechtenstein, that 35% could be quite splintered up.

The 3% Iberian Peninsula represents Spain and Portugal.

The 3% Scandinavia represents  Norway, Sweden and Denmark.

The Caucasus would include  Armenia, Azerbaijan, Georgia, Iran, Iraq, Syria and Turkey and the made up 2%.

Finland/Northwest Russia less than 1%

Europe South - as in Greece and Italy, less than 1%.

East Europe - This includes  Poland, Slovakia, Austria, Russia, Hungry, Slovenia, Romania, Serbia, Ukraine, Belarus, Moldova, Lithuania, Latvia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Croatia also less than 1%.

The other surprise is the Caucasus leaves me feeling a strange connection to these countries whose history is steeped in war, conflict and sadness.

I confess that I think it is good for people to have a realization about from where they have come. Who their ancestors are, not just parents and grandparents. Would so many people today be up in arms about immigrants if they realized where their roots lead back to?  Would the world seem so big? Would we feel as steadfast in a singular "American" nationality? And unless we have native American roots, American nationality is a bit of a misnomer.

I confess I have been fascinated by this information. I already have a family tree mapped out a bit and have slowly been trying to take it back further, but this information adds a new dimension. It sort of jettisons me back in beyond the individual family trees.

Perhaps another reason this all feels exciting is that I grew up with very little contact with my father and the whole paternal side of my family. This always left me feeling as though I didn't really know who I was. It was like a piece of my identity was missing. As a child, I always felt I was something less than most everyone else.

I am wondering how this information may inform my writing in the future. I confess that I see it as adding some texture to my view of my life, and that can't but help make me a deeper writer.

That's my confession for this week. I hope we all remember we came from someplace, even if it was from under a rock.

Is Marginalia For Me? or Would You Could You In A Book?

Perhaps I owe my respect for books to my mother. I don't particularly recall as a child, but someone must have given me some foundational basis for an almost reverent veneration of books.
My own children read some of the same books I read as a child, their condition mostly with only normal wear.

Continuing into adulthood, my books receive the utmost care. Nothing more than normal wear will do. It is precisely because of this the concept of marginalia, though seemingly fascinating, is hard for me fit into my routine related to my books.

A good many of my poetry book collection are signed by the author. Those have been the only allowable markings otherwise acceptable. However, on occasion, I have been sort of reawakened to marginalia. Usually, this comes about by reading something that has touched on the subject and again my curiosity is opened; I wonder then if I might be missing something.

It seems the practice dates back to ancient times.  What's more, there are recorded instances of well-known writers who have taken to the practice when reading other people's work. According to an article by William Giraldi, writing in the Los Angeles Review of Books, the author Herman Melville was rather partial to the writings of John Milton. His copies of Paradise Lost and other poems were said to contain numerous personal notations on the pages.

I acknowledge the thought of picking up someone's copy of a book with such notations is quite intriguing. I am fascinated, for example, of the personal writings of other writers.  I believe they give more insight into the thinking of that person. It would only stand to reason I would likewise relish the possibility of reading works with such notations. The conundrum for me is personally moving beyond my hangups and become a marginialest myself. (is that a word?)

I am curious how many poets or avid readers of poetry, or any writing for that matter, make such notations in their books?  Did these people find it difficult at the start?  Are their others, like myself, who have been conflicted on this matter and how have they gotten over it? To this point, I am asking readers if they would mind taking a survey on the subject. You will find it in the top right sidebar.  Your participation is appreciated.  Anyone who feels like sharing more specifics may post in comments or email me directly.  I will keep you posted in the future on my path towards or away from marginalia.

Confession Tuesday - First of 2018 Edition

Dear Reader: It's been one car wreck,  two poem drafts, one check-in with my #W2W mentor from last spring, one haircut, and 9 days since my last confession.

Last year was the pits. I'm being kind in this description so some reason I cannot explain. So much negative stuff went down I'm still dealing with it.  That said, I was anxious for the new year to come just to be rid of 2017. So you will find pictured above our baby. The Scion was making a routine drive to work on the 5th when we were rear-ended while stopped at a light.  The gentleman who hit me commented he hoped this did not ruin my day.  Ha! This is going to ruin a lot more days than one.  Alas, no one was hurt - except baby Scion. There is that to be thankful for.  Beyond this, however, I refuse to let this incident suggest that the new year is going to be another crappy one. It's my year and I get to say yea or nay, on the whole, another bad year thing.

I got my plane reservations today for AWP18 in Tampa. It's going to be here sooner than you would think. I confess I've never been to Tampa and I confess I never really wanted to go there. No one asked me, but I wouldn't have put it there this year.

I confess that I am almost intrigued by the letters of poets and other writers as I am their writing work.  I have volumes of collected letters of numerous poets. Off the top of my head, I have T.S. Eliot's, Allen Ginsberg's, Sylvia Plath's Letters home, and I added volume one of Plath's collected letters that just recently came out. Seems like I have another writer's but it is escaping me now.

Correspondence between two writers is fascinating because it is communication that is personal but on perhaps a higher level because these are people who make their whole life about the choice and arrangement of words to convey their thoughts. I wish more poets today exchanged mail. I wish everyone was more into writing. It's a lost art.

It's been 23 days since my DNA sample was mailed off. Still no sign of ancestors. Will they be wearing Kilts or Lederhosen? I confess I was less anxious about it before I started thinking about it again today. One of the poem drafts I wrote recently was about sending off my spit.

I started wondering yesterday how many poets engage in marginalia?  I think I will do a twitter poll on the subject.  I confess my feelings are conflicted. I have quite a few poetry books that are autographed and I think that ads to my desire to keep them especially nice looking.  If you have an opinion,  let's hear it.

Until next time, peace, joy, and the American Dream (whatever that is anymore)

2018 Poet Blogger Revival Tour

I've been doing this blog for more years than I care to admit. Sometimes with more dedication than others. I have always liked blogs. I prefer them over Facebook and Twitter, though each of them have their own place in this world.

When I realized that others were kicking the dust off their blogs or maybe starting new ones, that there was a renaissance of poetry blogging I was quite hyped. There have been a number of blogs that I have gleaned so much good advise from over the years and I'm excited to know they will once again be offering new material.

You can find a list of those participating  (blogging at least once weekly) at the link below.

Poet Bloggers List for 2018 

I'm looking forward to reading a lot more poetry blogs this year. 

Confession Tuesday on Sunday 2017 Wrap - Wild Things Edition

Dear Reader:

I'm overdue for Confession Tuesday so I thought I'd get in one more confession before the new year.

It has been a dip into arctic temperatures, one DNA sample, one visit from fat man in red (not intended to be a disparaging comment on physical looks - just a plain old adjective), one homemade Giants card from a poet friend, one lost diamond stud earring (in the house) one new bookcase in and an old one out, many more claims there is no  collusion with Russer, many more indicators otherwise, one dog escape from the backyard, some stuffy and crusty nose stuff, an immeasurable amount of stress, some weird dreams, three weeks and 5 days since my last Confession Tuesday.

I confess that the end of the year is always fraught with a tugging and pulling over resolutions for the coming year. This year is no exception.  I find in part that resolutions for a new year seem to automatically come with the caveat that they generally are broken. So, once again making resolutions seems like an exercise in futility.

Frederick Nietzsche points out that the major distinction between humans and other animals is the ability to make promises.   He notes they are often broken but insists we should keep making them least we lower our selves to the animal level. It's an interesting argument but one that only adds the stress of not only keeping your promise but uphold the decency of humankind by making them to start with.

I feel what works best for me this year is to be more general in my resolution rather than saying I am going to submit 125 pieces of work this year, or my goal is to get 100 rejections or write X number of new poems a week, my resolution should maybe look something like this:  In 2018 I will live a life of poetry, looking for the rhyme and reason to life. Informing myself of the many works of others and finding the value in them. Be authentic, in that I can appreciate other marvellous poets, both living and dead, that I can learn from them, but in the end, I cannot be them. Accept my own uniqueness and, endeavour to bring writing/poetry into the world that reflects this.

There is always the other important general stuff like being an advocate for peace, justice, for those with whose voice is ignored or lost in the world.
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I confess that I love mail. Mostly I never get any bills any longer by mail. I still get a lot of junk mail and that I could do without, but when I order books and they come or some other surprise is in the mailbox, this is really cool.  Recently another person, knowing my passion for the San Francisco Giants sent me a homemade Giants card.  I was amazed when I opened it.  I wish more people exchanged snail mail.

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One of my Christmas gifts this year was an Ancestry DNA test.  I confess it seemed a bit gross spitting in a tube and mailing it off.  Still, it's not quite as disgusting as some of the smears that the doctor has had me mail back to the lab.

I'm keenly interested in my heritage and for some reason, I think everyone should be. I confess that is probably a bit of an overreach on my part. I just think there is some comfort in knowing more about where you came from.  This, in my estimation, is one of the great travesties of slavery. It makes it extremely difficult if not impossible for many slave descendants to be able to take that linkage back very far and that is

Awaiting the results of the DNA testing is both exciting and torturous.  I have certain expectations and to some extent, they are based on some things I already know about my own genealogy. I am anticipating that I am descended from a mixture of  Irish, Scotch, Welsh and English heritage. I'm expecting that there is likely some western Europe influence - though perhaps lesser, I'm totally prepared for surprises.

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I confess that I am thankful for being a part of the spring session this year of Writer 2 Writer mentoring program through AWP. Thankful for my mentor Ken Waldman.  I'm also appreciative of being able to work recently with Ivy Alvarez.  I confess I never want to stop learning.

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I confess that this year has been difficult for sustainability. Selling our home and moving was traumatic and really still is. My mother's passing in November added a new layer of emotional challenge. Sometimes it seems these kinds of years give you something to write about, and to some degree I have. I just have not found a theme in which to begin to pull it all together. I suppose there is loss. So much has already been written on loss. I guess I deep down want to be found.

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My biggest disappointment is perhaps that I did not publish more this year.  I confess that I did not submit as often as I normally have. I've been expecting more out of my own work before sending it off and for the most part, raised the bar on who I send work to.  That means I especially hold the key to that success or lack thereof. No blame on this press or that journal. I confess it's me and I know what I need to do.

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Finally, I confess that you are never too old to appreciate the Wild Things....  Above right is a picture of one of the Wild Things overlooking my desk. Just one of my muses.


And with that, I've performed my last Confession Tuesday for 2017 being fully aware it is actually Sunday.  Forgive me.  ;-)


Wishing you all a very happy new year - May 2018 bring you ample supply of peace, love, joy and hope.

Confession Tuesday - 100 Years Edition

It's confession time, won't you come along with me?


Dear Reader:

It has been one low key Thanksgiving, one house lockout, one damaged book from Amazon, untold breaking news stories on the investigation into the Russian influence on the 2016 campaign and  Trump family, et al., another guilty plea, a promise this will all be over by the end of the year and Trump cleared (I have some prime swampland for sale at bargain price), the end of the cleanout of mom's apartment, one Super Nova Moon and two weeks since my last confession

I confess that I missed a week, that just gives me more to work with today.  I'm home from work taking a half day vacation. I have this problem that requires me to do this from time to time. I have accrued nearly my limit in vacation hours.  To go over means I will be truncated. In other words, I lose any new hours acquired during that pay period in order to stay at the max. When this happens I get a little note from our office manager telling me to take some time off,  or sometimes she just writes GO HOME! on the vacation and sick day form, we get bi-weekly. It seems I am the only one in the office with this problem.  I will use a bunch of hours in March when I go to AWP18.

So going back to Thanksgiving, it was low key this year.  My wife and I had a small no-frills meal together and in the late afternoon, she left with two of my daughters to drive to Tennessee to see my third daughter for a few days. I enjoyed our time together. I confess I missed not having a pecan pie, but who would not miss one if they didn't have one.  So, I was mostly home alone for the holiday. at least the extended portion. I managed to find interesting things to do, like lock myself out of the house. It's a long story and I confess that's all I'm going to say about it.

Then, I confess that there is so much I want to say to Donald Trump's face, but I won't go into details. Let's say that none of it would be friendly or in any way complimentary.

I confess the Super Nova Moon was awesome. I told my wife in the car the other night that I believed the moon was God's gift to poets.I know that so many poets have written about the moon that many believe it is overworked in poetry.  That may be, but it is up there and it's like a mirror in the sky and it is so fucking inspiring sometimes. Say what you want about the number of moon poems, but the best one has never been written yet...

You already know that my mother recently passed away (if you've been reading my confessions) and in addition to that a former boss of mine died rather unexpectedly at the end of November. John was 69 years old. I confess, as I've mentioned in the past, that I have been compulsively obsessed with the combined elements of death and time.  This started sometime between age 20 and 25 but was certainly blow wide open at 25.  I think it's roots were probably bedded in the "quarter-century what have you done" complex.

In more recent years say maybe the past two, I've dwelled upon this much less. Almost none. But here I am again, back for more punishment.I suspect I have the recent deaths to thank for that.  The Five For Fighting song, 100 Years keeps going on in my head. I like the song but it's somewhere between nostalgic and melancholy.  But it's when I'm obsessed with death that I feel the most pressure about writing. The feeling that I am up against a clock ticking till the end and when it comes, that's it. What I've got, what I've created, achieved, that's it. That's what I leave behind. A really burdensome thought.

 Thank you, dear reader, for joining me. Until next time, I'll just be looping this song in my head...

Confession Tuesday - First Class Fantasy

Another week already?  How does that happen?  I'm off to the confessional, come along.

Dear Reader:

It's been two surreal weeks since my mother passed away, one new released book review, another poetry book ordered, countless poem drafts written, one submission deadline overlooked, a free bottle of Chardonnay and a major pain in the neck since my last confession.

Last week I mentioned how my mother's death was like fake news. Yes, I was there and witnessed the final breaths, but everything since has been surreal. She did not want a funeral, was cremated per her wishes, and so it is like I just walked away from her that evening and that was it. I confess that I remain bothered by the fact that nothing has changed two weeks later. I don't think there has been a real outlet for grief and that seems like it's never going to happen and that feels totally awkward, unnatural, fake. It's like her death is fake news. Unreal.

So, I've got to do better, A submission deadline for some work I've been tinkering with came and went on November 15. I thought I still had plenty of time (which is partly because I still can't believe it is November already) until it hit me today that we've passed that already. The thing that sucks is that this is among my favorite journals and I always try to submit to it each year. Yeah, I don't have to confess that I'm not especially organized at the moment, but I'm definitely trying to get there. I will be making better use of my planner, that's for sure.

It seems the more I write, the fussier I get about my writing. So, I've been writing up a storm and I confess that you could say that I'm not too pleased with the weather.

I got a bottle of 2016 Lamoreaux Landing Chardonnay that one of the bosses brought in the other day. He had been to a wine event and came back with a number of bottles of wine and sent out an email saying they were here for the taking, one per person. When I was able to get away and check it out, there were only two remaining bottles left. One was Chardonnay and the other some red that I would never drink. I confess I am a Chardonnay person so this match was meant to be.  I haven't opened it yet, but I will when I'm relaxing over the holiday. I'll pop the cork, pour a glass, and snack on two Biscoff cookies and pretend I' heading somewhere fun - flying first class.

Evidently, I slept wrong the other night because my neck has been tormenting me daily since. I confess that it cracks and pops so loud it scares me sometimes. That can't be a good thing. I'm just saying.

Until next time, may your week ahead be better than the one that just ended.

*Note - My review of  Thrush by Heather Derr-Smith can be found here.

Confession Tuesday -- Fake News Edition

It's that time again. Won't you come with me to the confessional?


Dear Reader: 

It's been one new issue of AGNI, one paid vacation day, one new poem draft that has promise, two back to back dreary days, and a surreal week since my mother passed away.

It was my mother's expressed wishes that when she died, she be cremated and that there be no funeral service. Her wishes have been honoured. So a week later I sit here feeling the whole thing some kind of a dream. I was the only family member present at the time of her death. My sister had just left maybe 30 minutes earlier and was to return. So, while I am the only family member who witnessed it, it still seems totally unreal. I confess that at various times of the day I think about it and it just all seems somehow less than real. I've had people inquire as to if I'm doing okay like my boss did today. I just shrug and say something like I guess so. I'm relatively certain that I have not really experienced any grieving period. I think I would know if I had.  I've felt sad, but not like any other family member's passing. I feel like her death should bother me more than it has. Mostly I have been bothered by how I watched her die and it still seems like her death was, I don't know, fake news?


Once again I have to confess that  I had a good day at the mailbox.  I pulled out a book-sized envelope and there was Issue #86 of ANGI.  Anytime a book arrives or a lit journal, I feel like doing an Irish Jig right there at the curb by the mailbox. It tends to brighten my day immensely.

Brightening my day was a great thing upon arriving home this evening because I have felt the last two days were pretty gloomy. I know the weather is part of the problem. I do suffer from SAD and it is that time of year. I confess that baseball being over for the year doesn't help. Sylvia Plath one time said, "There must be quite a few things a  hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them."  I could substitute hot bath for a baseball game.

I think we have this stationary weather thingy hanging around over us so I can almost be assured that tomorrow will be another gloomy day. I confess what would really make me feel good about now is more indictments in the Russia/Trump matter.

May your week ahead be better than the one you left behind!

Confession Tuesday -- Writer With A Untold Story Edition.

It's been more visits to a hospital and a care facility than I can recall off the top of my head, the death of a family member and two weeks since my last confession.

Come along, let's get started.

Dear reader:

I confess that processing much of this is still a matter of digestion.  My mother passed today at about 3:33PM after a very short but fatal fight with cancer.  A small brain tumor was discovered - thought perhaps early, however it was very aggressive.

There are lots of things that are floating through my mind. My relationship with my mother is a complicated one. It seems we are always hearing that about mother-child relationships. Much of the complication in this instance is related to life-long family dynamics. My mother was divorced from my father as I was an infant. I learned in my adolescence that unbeknownst to me, my paternal grandmother had been writing letters addressed to my mother and me.  Through the years she had kept these from me in spite of a desire by me to locate my father's side of the family.

I confess that there developed over the later years of my life some ambivalence towards mom as a result of those lost years of opportunity to connect and finally the difficulty to know how to establish anything close to a normal relationship. I can't say that I didn't love her. Hate was never an emotion associated with her personally, though I did hate that I was prevented by here from establishing earlier contact with the Wells side of my family. This had a circular impact on the family dynamic as it did circle back and cause some feelings of ambivalence at times.

I confess that I am experiencing sadness as an emotion.  I think one the saddest things  I'm feeling right now is that I know one of the things she wanted to do was write a memoir on her days of nursing that went back to the old General Hospital. Mom had written some short fiction - stories, nothing longer.  She often talked about the memoir. My wife even offered at times to assist her while she dictated. She had a laptop, her ability to utilize it seemed challenging to her. I cannot believe she has much if anything started on it.

She was quite proud of graduating from General  Hospital's Nursing School and working at the hospital. I confess that I am sad that she was not able to realize the completion of her memoir.There have to be few things in this world sadder than a writer with a story to tell that goes untold.

Until next time -  love, peace & joy!


PS~ One of the positive experiences of the past few weeks I owe to Maggie Smith.  One evening while she was lucid I read Maggie's book Good Bones to her.  She like the book very much. Would comment on the poems and was especially interested why Maggie was drawn to write so many poems that contained references to hawks.

Confession Tuesday - Wednesday Style / screaming light!

Dear Reader:

I'm a day late already for confession so I must hurry along. Follow me to the confessional....

Reader,

It's been one week and one day since my last confession. I'm seeking special dispensation for being a day tardy and I hope it is granted. I will make no flimsy excuse, at least once last night it occurred to me that it was that time, but somehow it simply did not get done.  I confess that I must do better.

Postseason baseball has not gone well for me so far. Now that the World Series has started and it's between the Dodgers and the Astros I naturally am hopefully of an LA Dodger loss Go Stros! I confess that any SF Giants fan worthy of the orange and black would be rooting for the Astros.

This weekend I believe  I had some positive results from my writing. Will be talking soon with my mentor about it so I'll see what she sees in it.  I confess that I have been brimming with writing ideas. Kind of scary since sometimes I hit a wall and well, I have to put all the pieces back together before I can get going again.

Yesterday I was thinking about a quote from Pablo Neruda - "Every day you play with the light of the universe."  I'm still thinking about it today. I think of it as an affirmation. It's not played - past tense, but "you play!"  I also think about the universe as a constant stream of light. Even at night, the stars are screaming light at us.  It makes me think of the universe as a playground. A continual source of inspiration and creativity. Kind of a simple but awesome concept.  Anyway, I'm embracing it.

Till next time--  Go Astros!

Confession Tuesday - Maple Leaf Edition

Dear Reader:

It has been one fall week since my last confession.

I confess that when I get new reading material (especially poetry) in the mail I get crazy happy.
This week Laura Kasischke's latest book "Where Now" arrived in my mailbox. This was cause for some dancing. I did it inside so the neighbors did not think that I was crazy or at least confirm their preconceived notions.

While we are on the subject of things that add a smile to my face, it's fall and I love the bright orange and red Maple leaves. And as I mention this I confess that a bit of sadness comes over me as I realize that since we sold our home and moved, I will no longer have the two surprise Maples in the backyard to admire. They were a daily infusion of joy. The Iris flowers did the same for me, but that is another season. They will be missed as well.

During this past week, I had some worry about  Silas, our rescue German Shepard. He was not keeping food down and had diarrhea.  I am happy to say that he seems on the mends. 

Like I suppose everyone else, the disasters - Hurricanes, tropical storms, earthquakes and most recently the California fires have occupied my mind. (at least that part not consumed by our moronic President) These disasters underscore just how fragile life can be. I know so many people that were within the striking path of the fires in northern California.  The many of you have been on my mind and in my thoughts and prayers. I confess that it seems totally incomprehensible what life for those in the path of the horrific fires. Not only lives threatened but homes and whole communities. It is times like these that you wake up, inhale and count your own blessings to be alive.

I think art, writing, music & especially poetry are the medicine for our souls. I confess that in these times, the arts seem less like the luxury some believe they are and more like an essential ingredient ofday to day living.

If you are reading this, you may be suffering in ways that none of us can imagine. For those, I know your pain is real and you have my thoughts and prayers. But if you are reading this, you also have life. I hope you will rejoice in that fact. We have ourselves & we have each other.

Until next time - be safe!

Confession Tuesday - I know who the moron is, edition.

Dear Reader:

It has been seven weeks since my last confession. These things happen. You get busy, you get tired, you find yourself in a trance, or lost in a poem whose end has not been written yet and you don't know how the hell to get out of it and seven weeks have passed and you are asking forgiveness for being such a lousy confessor.  

I guess seven weeks ago I was marvelling at the sight of the solar eclipse. Today, I confess I'm just happy the sun came up on another day. This causes me to ask a serious of questions that I can't believe I even have to ask... Like:

1. Why do we need a president anyway? 
2. Why is he hell-bent on constantly keeping us on the brink of war?
3. Why has he sold out to a foreign adversary?
4. Why does he coddle Nazis and white supremacists?
5. Why is Trump more immature than the average 4-year-old? 
6. Why is he challenging a cabinet member to an IQ contest to prove who the real moron is? 
7. Why is all this for real and not reality TV?  Why can't we just turn it all off and make it go away?

I have started working with another poet who is mentoring me specifically towards more impactful poetry. So far I believe that there are some positive developments in the way I approach my writing. I confess that it is too early to see the changes I want to achieve but I feel good about it and that is a good starting point. 

I have a reading at the end of this month and I confess that I want to read some new stuff that no one has heard yet. This means reworking several drafts that I have been sitting on. 

Trying to be a better writing steward I have agreed to work with other mentees from our Spring W2W session to help facilitate discussion among the Fall W2W session mentees on Facebook. I confess that I enjoy seeing the excitement that these writers have for their particular genre. I think it's infectious. I believe this is something you would want to catch. 

Ivy Alvarez turned me on to the poet Brigit Pegeen Kelly by introducing me to the poem "Song" I confess this is one of the more powerful poems that I've read for quite a while. 

It turned cooler last night. It's feeling more like October. Oh, and there is fall ball!  While I miss my Giants - I am happy the Indians have played a great season and right now they are tied with NY in the divisional series. Fingers crossed that they win the world series this year, I confess my eyes are crossed too but that may be because I'm especially tired. 

Until next time, be safe and stay sane. Someone has to. 

Confession Tuesday - The Totality of it All

Dear Reader: 

It has been precisely one trip to the butterfly gardens and one total eclipse of the heart - I mean the sun since my last confession. 

I confess reader that I don't have a lot to talk about this confession, but what I do have to fall back on are positive confessions. 

First, my wife, granddaughter, and niece all did an outing to Powell Gardens for their butterfly garden.  It was my first trip the butterfly portion but I have done other events there in the past. Harper, my granddaughter, had a delightful (albeit hot) time. We all sweltered in the sun and humidity but the event featured in addition to butterflies - a whole host of flowering plants and greenery.  I think we all felt that we would be inundated with butterfly clouds about our heads but this was not the case. There was, however, a good number of them and we or at least I was well pleased with the exhibit. 

It was funny because they had a buffer area in the entrance where you walked in and closed a door behind you, then opened another and proceeded into the garden area. Upon leaving we had to stop and turn around to be checked for any butterflies that might be trying to elope with us.  I thought they were going to pat us down and check our pockets too. 

This brings me to Monday. The day of goofy glasses. When I left the office in the morning it has been raining. The prospect of seeing any sun, much less the eclipse seemed remote.  As the morning progressed, we would check out the windows from time to time and alas it looked like we might be in business. I confess I had been wildly anticipating this event. 

I have always held the moon in high mystical esteem. The sun and moon eclipsing was like two opposites attracting and coming together in a dance. I have indulged the concept of great romanticism associated with this event. I had, in fact, hopped that my wife and I might share the experience together but I confess that was not to be. 

The sun goddess looked favorably upon us because the sky mostly cleared and just before totality a stream of clouts momentarily threatened but quickly moved on.  Hazza! A magnificent halo around the moon with a tiny spot that had a starburst creating a wedding ring effect was before our eyes (covered with protective glasses of course). 

Now I admit that for days I've had Bonnie Tyler's "Total Eclipse of the Heart" going through my head. I've always been fond of the song but it's looping in my mind this very moment. 

Am I any different from this experience? I confess that I believe these two celestial bodies coming together made me feel more in communion with the universe. That's belonging t something really big!  

I think the eclipse was meant for the poet that resides in every one of us.  Including the ones that don't know it or would deny it. 

Until next time - be safe & Peace!

Confession Tuesday - Got Respect edition

Dear Reader:

It's been one house sale, several rejection letters, the Giants have gone 16 -21, North Korea has launched 2 ballistic missiles, and the President has given aid and comfort to neo-nazis, white supremacists, and the KKK and 6 weeks have passed since my last confession.

Follow me to the confessional:

My dear readers, the very thing has happened that I so mentally fought for all of this past year and a half. Our house sold. Actually, it sold the first day on the market. But it is done with now. I confess this has been an extremely unsettling feeling and I loved almost everything about our home. The layout, the location, the Great Room, the trees in the yard, the Iris that came up every single spring, except this one for some reason (I think they knew we were leaving) and openness around us.  I won't pretend that I am okay about this for now because it is not that easy.

Through this, I learned a new word. Hiraeth is a Welch for which there is no direct English translation.It is a mix of longing, yearning, nostalgia, wistfulness, or an earnest desire to return to a place you can never go back to. I believe this experience will very likely inform my poetry writing for a long time to come.

I have been a Giants baseball fan for in excess of 30 years.  I confess my team which is generally highly competitive is having one of the worst seasons imaginable. Still, I would like the record to reflect that Michael Wells is no casual or lukewarm Giants fan. They are still the team I love even if they are having a crappy season. There will be better days and I will be there still.

I would be kidding you if I said I was not bothered by the increased activity towards nuclear warheads by North Korea. I am after all a cold war kid. Yes, we have lived with a nuclear threat all these years since then but at a substantially reduced risk. What we have not had is a president who in the wee hours of the morning tweets stupid stuff about North Korea and talks about "Fire & Furry like the world has never seen." In return, they have talked about launching ballistic missiles in the vicinity of Guam (a US Territory)  Neither Kim Jong-un or Donald Trump appears to be rational. I confess I don't know how got to this place?
Yesterday was a pathetically sad day for this country. I confess I never anticipated I would see the day that our President would give aid and comfort to White Supremacists, Neo-nazis, and KKK.Trump's words this week in connection with the violence in Charlotteville are despicable. There is no excusing them whatsoever. He has no moral authority as president.

Since I was last here confessing, I acknowledge that I have come across a poet that is new to me and has remarkable ability to write with a level of intimacy and emotion that is rare. There are many reasons this poet is awesome, not the least of which she is non-degreed and in fact did not finish middle school. She is my patron saint of non-degreed poets. Her name is Francesca Bell and you can see her work here Francesca Bell- Poet.So who are you reading that is new to you? Let me know.

Until next time, write, read, be safe!


P.S. - Got Respect? This world needs more of it!

Confession Tuesday Baby - Caroline Edition

Dear Reader:

It's been a a whole month since my last confession. Far too many disgusting Trump Tweets,  too many fucking fireworks going off as my wife is trying to nap and the dogs are going buck crazy with each boom. I'm at wits end myself.  I can only imagine what it will be like after dark. On an exciting note, we have a new granddaughter that arrive just yesterday.

But reader, I degrees....

My head is hosting a giant headache and has been for much of the day. At the same time, I have some neck pain going on. All this was sufficient to leave me feeling depressed earlier.  Fortunately, an alprazolam later I'm doing a little better, except one of the dogs now has been barking for a good 10 minutes straight and it honestly feels like it is going to be a very long night. I confess, I want to strangle some neighborhood assholes engaged in the firework crap.

Yesterday, was an exciting day in the Wells family.  Caroline arrived making a second grandchild for my wife and I. She joins big sister Harper in the Porter household. Above is Caroline in my arms. I confess #2 is just as exciting as the first was.  We've had Harper much of the last couple of days while mom is preoccupied.  It has been interesting to watch her reaction to her new sister.  When we went up to see mom and newborn last night they gave Harper a "Big Sister" sticker to wear. I thought this was really cool myself.

Earlier last week I felt I was back on a spell of positive creative Karma but the past few days I have failed to utilize and sustain it. Now, I find myself trying to get it back. I confess that feeling stressed about it and trying to force and magically wish it to return is likely counter productive. I will try to do some reading from material that I often find helpful in stimulating the right atmosphere for writing, I'll let you know this week how this is coming along.

Have a safe fourth! Enjoy family & friends and celebrate our nation & the things that make us free.

Potter Milestone

Twenty years ago today the first HARRY POTTER arrived in stores. Lot of people have grown up on Harry Potter.

JK Rowling - Author