I had leftover sweet potato fries for lunch. Yeah, it’s that kind of day. I can’t focus. The city is bumpy and screeching outside my windows and I can smell summer approaching. I know that spring has only recently officially begun, but there is no Spring here, not really. I fell on the sidewalk, while walking the dogs and gawking at the monstrous buildings that are popping up like weeds in Hollywood. I got a bit scraped up and bruised. Why does falling hurt more when you’re almost 49? And almost blind? I cry when I fall, not because it hurts, but because it reminds me. I am resenting Zelda (my white cane, for those who haven’t been introduced) and RP and middle age. I should be working on poetry. I am writing this blog post instead. Continue reading “That Kind of Day”
When I discovered Steve’s blog, MSich Chronicles, I was an instant fan, of Steve and of his writing. So, you can imagine how thrilled I was when Steve asked if I would write a guest post for his blog. This is my first foray into guest posting and it is a real honor to be asked to be a guest writer in another’s virtual writing home. Thank you Steve for putting your trust in me.
I have read some extraordinary poems lately. Poems by people I have grown to know and care about, poems by people I am just getting to know and poems by people I will only ever know through their poetry.
Many of the poems I am talking about were written by people who hadn’t considered themselves poets, or those who are poets but haven’t ever submitted their work for publication. I know that submission and publication isn’t for everyone, but I recently found out about a submission call from a poetry journal I love, called Rattle. This call is for poems from writers who have never had a poem published.
Here is the link. Something to consider.
I am so incredibly inspired by so much of what I have been reading lately and it all makes me want to write more, to become more involved in the writing world and continue to encourage all of the amazing writers who encourage and inspire me every day.
I don’t often write love poems. I have written only a handful and they are all about one person. He is a man who has Ireland running through his blood and a heart that beats with a strength and rhythm that makes everyone around him feel safe. He has faced grief and adversity, but has always persisted, always lived with a true voice and the courage to be exactly who he is. He is the embodiment of kindness and generosity. He brings laughter and pure joy into the world around him. He is at once brave and vulnerable, a man who takes care of everyone with gentle patience, and a boy who is delighted in the world of Doctor Who and Batman and video games. He loves science and technology, isn’t afraid of the future and has a mind for building things. He is a teacher and a scholar of life. He is a friend and a strong shoulder to lean on. He is my husband and my good fortune. He is my champion, my safe space, my home.
Happy Anniversary My Love!
I love a writing challenge. This post is in response to a very special challenge born from an extraordinary poem written by Brooke. The challenge was then passed to Tom, who rose brilliantly to the occasion. Tom passed the cup to Wulf who wove a piece of magic, and then invited me to participate. I am a bit intimidated to be in the wake of some truly extraordinary writing, but more than that I am honored to be a part of something that has been so inspiring and illuminating.
Continue reading “From Waves”
I am sick. Nothing serious, just a cold that won’t seem to go away, but I don’t do sick well. No one likes being sick, I get that, but when I get a cold, I act like the world is crumbling. I wasn’t always like this. I used to get sick and ride it out and never talk about it. Now, I am not only talking about it, but writing a blog post about it. I must sound pretty crazy, or like a total princess. Either way, it’s not cool. I need to figure out where my tenacity and grit escaped to. Thanks to my Dad, I think I have an idea.
I was visiting my Dad 4 days ago, the day the beast cold started attacking my throat, and I mentioned that I felt like I have become super sensitive to just a simple cold, making a huge deal about a sniffle or two. He told me that he thinks I may feel like any physical ailment is just one more fucking thing on top of the big thing, the blind thing. And, yes, he did say the F word; I come from a family who use expletives freely.
Continue reading “I Don’t Do Sick Well”