All Resolutions Can Lead To Reset...
After years -- I'm painting again.
A few of them are great, but
most are merely good.
A few are neither
great, nor merely good.
Some won't see a gallery.
But some may sell anyway.
Quite a few I imagine will be
purchased at vendor events,
some perhaps by recently divorced
soccer moms, you know, the ones
who drive around rocking to Danzig
acting as if no one notices it,
the ones who still think that Danzig's
evil bricks is still a thing even.
And some of my paintings
would not look out of place
on a drug dealer's living room wall
in an old episode of Miami Vice.
Poet And Continuum
Reading poetry and learning
from all you read how to write poetry
can aid your development as a poet.
Being mentored by other poets
can encourage your growth as a poet.
Reading your poems at readings
can establish you as a poet.
Paying your dues like every
other poet can make you a poet.
Being published in anthologies
can make you a poet to the critics.
Receiving an award for your poetry
can validate all you do as a poet.
Having books of poems published
can preserve your words as a poet.
You will remain long after
your passing in some way
as long as someone somewhere
sometime is reading
your poems.
So, you will be
so, you are then
so, you were
poet.
On Reading "Spring and All"
I was reading William Carlos Williams'
"Spring and All" while listening
to The Doors album Strange Days.
When I began to read Chapter XIX
this maddening sudden vision overtook me
of a young Jim Morrison, in the years
before I was born, reading the same
and being moved to write "Horse Latitudes".
Anticipatory Grief
The slowly setting sun
still sinks too fast when
one has a deathly sick cat
in their arms, and those arms
are saddened at his diminished weight
his shoulders sharpened and his body
limp with no flick from his tail.
I remind him in cracking whispers
how far he recovered, how much
he healed with me... Long nights he shook
in my arms during fearful, insecure sleep
of nightmares, and how I cradled him,
calmed him, reassured him.
I yet grieved for the cat before him;
he yet grieved for the human before me.
We shared empathy and shared healing.
I remind him of all the good days had.
My voice is crumpled like dry leaves --
It is okay to close your eyes, my friend,
I cry. It is okay if you have to let go, I cry.
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