Wednesday, April 26, 2006

Some see the door knob, some see the sun a million miles away.

Sunday, April 23, 2006

Personal Peek at the Universe

Our own personal peek at evening and the universe. Our silly dribbling words, do they match nature--not that words are supposed to match or be nature, but is there ever a link between our words and this rare little sphere in space? A poet needs to be a nature poet. What else is there? Malls and international politics? There must ten thousand poems about war, and only a handful of poems as to why women are interesting unto themselves, apart from any man.

Thursday, April 20, 2006


The great wonder of living is how to tell someone what you think and not offend them. The photo above is a pretty sunset. But supppose who took the picture thought it was a great photo, a work of art? Then what? Make nice sounds and walk away slowly, but what if the photographer is your friend and they are deluded? Don't you want to help? There is no easy answer, each person being different. How many people do you know who are specifically interested to know the truth in all things?

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

A Chair, Pen and Notebook

If you are not writing, you are not doing anything. Of course, if you are not doing your art, your music, your driving of your racecar or sailing your sailboat, etc.

Monday, April 17, 2006

We live on very thin threads of chance.

Saturday, April 15, 2006

One thing is for certain; follow one blog and it leads to more and so on and so on. There must be millions of blogs, all clamoring to supposedly be heard, like the poems. Right now, at this moment, there might be one million people in the USA typing on their blogs. Amazing. Is it fair to ask a question such as, of all the people, poets, in this case, blogging, writing poems, who will matter soon? I just read a few poems in a 1918 edition of the Literary Digest, and all of it would be considered laughable by all today. Quaint tripe. What popular poets will be tripe tomorrow? It is hard to tell.

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

Tuesday, April 11, 2006


What we see takes a while to see. Off to the left, in the chrome rim, is a dot--not near the edge. It sits there, in the middle of high tech and metal and flashy steel and glass. It is the moon overhead.

Monday, April 10, 2006 my two eyes....

Everything you do you do for money. Sounds awful, but it isn't. It is all amusing.

Saturday, April 08, 2006

Such a Blue-Collar Worker

Today I worked. I went all the way downtown and bought some 'wheel stops,' which are those things at the end of parking spaces so your car won't bump into things like a post or a building. So I brought five home, painted them bright yellow, and then took them out to a building, and started installing them. Each one is 200 lbs. I had to measure, drill, caulk, shim, and sledge hammer the rebar, two in each. Then I cut limbs off trees in back of the building. Then I got out the weed-trimmer.

Why all the detail? It's fun to do labor, every poet knows. To be humble puts the abstracted poet back on earth. Weight, materials, tools, tape measures.

On the way home I had three ideas in my notebook. Ideas, or themes, substance, interest.

Thursday, April 06, 2006


Sure! Advertising. Never thought I'd do it, but I thought it would be fun. Four or five years from now, I might get a check for a $100.00. I told Suzie to make reservations at any fine dining restaurant.
Quick, somebody click that poetry contest one.


In any art, the main basis from which the art goes forward is integrity, which could be a catch-all for many other words and ideas. If an artwork does not have clearly understandable continuity, it has no integrity. What is integrity? I have been most concerned with this since teenage years for some reason. Apparently, not the only one. Merriam Webster:

Saturday, April 01, 2006


So, the question is why don't the poets talk about poetry? Where is the deep analysis of the writing? Either the poets don't have any idea of what they are doing, or they don't want to spill their secrets, or they don't want to give away the tricks of the trade. Maybe there aren't any. Maybe it is like movie stars: either they have it or they don't.
So, poets, write down on one piece of paper all your golden lines, the lines that make you a poet. Are they any good? Is it poetry? Either you know or you don't.