There comes a point
(When we come to the come to the come to the
Moment and still not love)
When too much is the tipping point
Naps are needed
Days are needed
To recover from the frenetic
(The ones we love)
pace of life
that is all we have
all we will ever have
and yet complain
(we have nothing)
cherry blossom leaves
an unusual pollen
coats the deck
make-shift drapes, torn
blue flat sheets, cover
the newly installed windows
so much anticipation this night
the house, mostly covered
with insulation, awaits
the harbor blue premium siding
my toenails are still
sometimes I wish I could
take a picture of
the beauty even when without a
fiscus tree my
husband just planted
shiny in the lowering sun
I have all these great hair products from my youngest brother’s fiancée. She is a salon stylist. I’ve been using the product…. But I am not attaining the perfect curl, the perfect look. Instead, with all these wonderful products, I am thinking I need to stop trying the curly hair approach (which I come by naturally, for better or for worse), and switch to straightening my hair again!
I appreciate people that can get the right look with their hair product and their final look.
I am just not one of them!
It’s 11:09 PM. Tea continues to percolate. I lose myself in my current chamomile tea encased in a big clay coffee mug with a lion and the words, LEO, etched on it. I am purposely not one for astrology, because I took it so literally it almost ruined a friendship. I dare not contend with the stellar phenomena. And yet I cherish the cup, bought in my college town’s coffee shop, during the time I was pursuing a degree. It has been a long time since I have done many things, one of which is to take a class. I am, however, all geared up to take another, and soon. I fear beginnings. For instance, I cannot get myself to “suit up” and swim at our local gym. If I could only break through the water a couple times maybe I could overcome this inertia. It is strange that, in most cases– whether it’s tennis class, a trip, or a reunion I’m supposed to attend– the existing force against my accomplishing these tasks is great. And my resistance to the force? Usually, seemingly without consequence. It instead is with the force of the fates, the litany and structure of my days, however haphazard, or strong– that decides whether I surpass the inertia.
Amy has taken me on many moonlight carpet rides,
She calls me her “Sunshine Superman”.
*Together we believe in Robin Hood and Brotherhood,
and colors of blue and grey.
My husband travelled to Minnesota over this last weekend to see his daughter, and her husband. On the way back, he listened to so much good music, he made a kind of poem about it. He played for me some of the songs these lines are taken from. That was a really amazing experience, to hear the music and then see the poem distilled from it.
I consider myself a writer, yet I believe my husband has quite a talent of his own. One of the reasons I love him.
What is the form for poetry that works (for me, especially)?
I’m all for epiphany type writing, where I am basically riffing on the strength of my message which is usually based on personal experience and raw feeling.
But I admire a certain restraint, a certain cadence, a certain surprise, all of which seems rehearsed. As in practiced and edited wildly.
I notice this in poetry that resonates with me.
I read Margaret Atwood’s tips to the writer tonight.
She explained person A will hate the writing that person B loves.
Aside from this salient point, I notice that to some degree, visuals can make or break your blog.
And then I have the question: do I just blog? Or should I save some writings on the side, intended for publication only? I tend to want to blog everything. I find this a real quandary.
If there are thoughts on these meanderings I would welcome them.
to CARE is to
no matter how the words are