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 Thoughts destined to be washed away by the tides of life. |
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I've been studying my cover photo for a while now, and it seems to me that it is more than just a photo of what is there that can be seen, more than just three white rocks stacked on a beach. It contains an important question about the future, about what happens long after the photographer has gone. What will happen to our pile of stones when the tide comes in? Will it topple or has the architect built this structure at a safe distance? I don't know what will happen to these words that I stack here on the sand. They may prove safely distant, or they may be swallowed up by a rush of self-doubt. They may be here for a season. They may lose their balance and be scattered by the shoreline, or be hidden away under shifting sands. Perhaps someday, the tides of life will reclaim them. Or maybe that's just a bunch of poetic, romantic nonsense. After all, this is just a blog. |
| Today is a Friday the 13th. Not THE Friday the 13th. There is no THE Friday the 13th. Every so often, when there is a 13th, it falls on a Friday. I don’t know why that seems to freak people out. In a couple of days, it will be the 15th. That’s the Ides of March. They killed Julius Caesar on the Ides of March but no one worries about the 15th being bad luck. Even Julie didn’t beware when he ought to have bewared. But go look up any day on This Day in History websites. Terrible things happen every day. There are so many days that might be bad luck, but we have busy lives and cannot beware all the time. So, we just have to concentrate our superstition on one day, the 13th. I guess it makes sense. I really don't take any notice. |
| It’s a big day for the Bigfoot community. In northeastern Ohio, there have been six Bigfoot sightings in March. It’s very rare for so many sightings to happen in a small area in a short period of time. Sometimes, I want them to find Bigfoot. Other times, I think it would be a shame. Life needs to hold a few mysteries. And what would all these Bigfoot hunters do for a living if there was no creature to chase? Sasquatch content creators would have to start cooking channels instead. The problem is that even though there’s a large Bigfoot community - and it’s very welcoming - no Bigfoot has expressed a desire to join. Nor have they invited any humans to join their community, whatever that’s called. Let’s face it, if there are mysterious creatures living in the forests who have had success in surviving the encroachment of human civilization, they would be pretty foolish to expose themselves now. |
| Now and then I take a deep dive into all those "untitled" documents in my Google Docs and find surprising things. Some are just grocery shopping lists. But there are others that contain forgotten writings. I found this poem, untitled, in such a document that I chose at random this morning. I checked the version history and it dates from late 2021. That told me where to look for it in my portfolio. I found it and saw that it had only two views in these last four years. I decided to give it another showing, maybe a few more eyes on it. I don't know if it is deserving of those eyes or not, but I felt these words today and it's my blog after all. I called it "Solitude" when I published it to WDC, but today, the title "Hidden" seems to fit my mood. I also made an edit or two on the punctuation which I think improved it a bit. If I could, I would live small hidden beneath a mossy stone. Deep within the overgrowth of secrets in the forest, I would burrow into ancient soil and nestle under this blanket golden and warm. Then the trees that had graciously laid down their needles for my bed would calm the wind and whisper “Hush, hush” “Let the dreams come”. And I would sleep immersed in the magic of creations that are born only in solitude. |
| Facebook likes to show me posts from a group that is all about local nostalgia and often highlights photos of my hometown from years past. Sometimes, I look at these photos full of long-gone landmarks and owner-operated markets and am immediately immersed in my childhood. I curse time and change, scoff at what they call progress and declare that everything was perfect, they’ve stolen my childhood and destroyed all that was good. I bemoan the ugly landscape that today’s youth must endure and wish they could have all those great experiences that we had as children - Woolworth’s lunch counter, buying penny candy and comic books at the newsagent - all the magic they missed. But then there are the older photos of the town square from fifty or a hundred years earlier, with structures that were gone or changed by the time I was born. And I guess there were old people then that didn't envy my childhood but told stories of the town as they knew it, the childhood memories that were special to them - the trolley, the fountain in the middle of town, the ice man and the tinker. Everyone has a soft spot for their childhood home and wishes things could go back to the way they were. Except for those unpaved muddy streets full of horse doo-doo. I’ll bet they were glad when someone invented asphalt. |
| They say you can never be too rich, too thin or have too much coffee. Well, they say some of that. I might have added the part about the coffee. And why not have extra coffee? Tomorrow we start saving daylight which means a lost hour of sleep. Honestly, I lost a few hours of sleep last night and didn't even save one hour of daylight. I am getting so far behind on sleep, the “fall back” in November won't make a dent. I am still not sold on this daylight savings thing. I thought it was good when I was a kid and we stayed outside later in the summer. But now, it just confuses my biological clock. I never know what time it is because there's light when there should be dark. I suppose that turning clocks forward and back helps us divide up the year just a little more. These events are like holidays in that way. “ So many days until Christmas” posts on Facebook become “Remember to turn your clocks forward this weekend” posts. Fall Back alerts us to prepare for the long winter and Spring Forward brings the hope that gets us through its last icy sputters. Maybe it's a good thing, after all. |
| I was looking at those rodent-repelling devices that you plug in the wall - you know, the ones that emit a high-pitched sound that humans can't hear. And I wondered, if you can't hear it, how do you know when it's broken? In fact, how do you know it does anything other than flash that little red light? Has anybody ever held a mouse up to one to see if it claps its tiny paws over its ears? A billion dollar industry and there's no way to find out if they work. I think I smell a rat... |
| I am sitting at my desk. I haven't been able to do that for a very long time. Logistics and family matters made my desk space an unattainable spot. Sitting in an office chair at a desk makes this an official sort of venture. Sitting on the couch with a laptop leads to much viewing of YouTube and the kind of laziness that comfy chairs encourage. I hope to thrive in the new discipline imposed on my spine and straighten up where my writing is concerned as well. But first - more coffee. |
| It’s Sunday, which is supposed to be a day of rest,but I got up at 4:00. Sometimes, I use this early morning time well. I drink a lot of coffee - obviously that is necessary. But sometimes I manage to write a little. Today, I wrote a very little. The worst thing about getting up at four is that it’s a long time to lunch. |
| Where is the line in the sand? At what point will I get out of hand and need to be silenced? What is considered non-compliance? When will I cross into defiance by refusing the current reliance on widely spread mis-guidance and lose my poetic license? |
| I totally got lost in my portfolio and misread some prompts and mis-applied others and wrote a poem that has no prompt to attach itself to (it's too long for Express it in Eight), so I will drop it here. To rhyme or not to rhyme I confess, I feel unsure. Free verse does not confine, it doesn’t count the time or insist on meter pure. But will it make me lazy, cause readers to harbor doubt? Can poetry be this hazy, Will you think I’m crazy, If I simply sit this out? |
un: 
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