If I were not doing this already, knowing what I now know, would I start doing it again today? This is one of the questions at the end of a chapter on Creative Procrastination that motivation speaker Brian Tracy asks … Continue reading
Tag Archives: writing
That’s about what I’m talking, baby
Am I good or what?
A poem: Epilogue II
This morning, I was awakened by weird dreams, and for some reason was reminded of this poem that I wrote a decade or so ago after reading a Robert Lowell poem and looking at a Dali painting:
Epilogue II
I myself am hell, Robert. Like the painter
in Dali’s D’Afrique who sits at easel,
right hand extended out to his audience,
eyes tracing it onto canvas with his left,
I have been fascinated by the blisters
on my middle finger, where the brush rests
and by the bottoms of my fingernails
turning lavender, the color of an illness.
But I am tired of it. Everyone’s tired of it.
The cuticular colloquies. Climacteric
epiphanies like “the painter’s vision is
not a lens, it trembles to caress the light,”
and “my mind’s not right.” Isn’t the subject
of the painting what lies beyond this frame?
Waiting for the schoolbus
In keeping with my themed days at my other blogs, Meditative Monday at just a (reading) fool and Contemplative Tuesday at journeying with the Saints, for today’s Wordsmith Wednesday, I offer the following poem:
Waiting for the school bus
Sometimes it is as heavy as
the bookbags we tote, the trombone cases
Ed and I lug up the stairs.
Other times words fill the spaces between us
until a passing tractor-trailer cuts off our sentences,
and we fall back into it.
Twenty years later, I shut off the radio
on my way to work and listen to that sweet absence:
a burden I gladly bear.
