are thirds a charm?

01.07 poem-wise I’ve been down the rabbit-hole for several years.  few poems, no linked posting, sharing only local, personal, hand-to-hand.  even while I’ve been away I still thought I’m a better me when I write!  so much for how smart I am not.  so by happy accident I came to ground on this “poets REVIVAL 2018” and I want to move again.  this blog is specifically in support of Revival work.  while I have two other blogs, this here is where the new work and commentary is happening.

so here’s my intent – post to this blog at least once each week.  starting now.  two things that I’ll take by Donna’s word.  one, this blog will have the elbow room for anything writing related.  anything.  talk about writing (lots I suspect), or maybe like a journal/notebook/scrapbook/prompts, maybe even poem drafts, (including desperate calls for good-sense), what I’m reading, etc.  anything.  two, I vow to TRY posting every week (see Donna, see “TRY”).  process includes consistency.  but no plan about being productive poem-wise.


changing “about” into genuine real

easy for me talking “about” some-thing.  but about is not the thing.  entertaining maybe, distractive maybe, but it is not real.  by that measure, neither am I.

(relates) recently read or heard (I forget) and my memory is keeping it close.  What we want in life is actually not to “understand meaning”.  What we want is to-be-alive.  alive.  I was gonna say “feel” alive, but that makes it one more step away.  and that’s where I commonly hang my hat, about rather than being.  small confession: I’ve spent more of my life about meaning than being alive.  there’s a difference.  big.

I’m happy letting go cleverness ’cause mostly I’m not.  and it does not satisfy.  maybe what and how I see has less to say about meaning than simply what-is.  I’ll find something in that for how I sense being here.  the same will likely be a different thread for you.  maybe a poem can make threads easier to see.  you think?

impressions.   nobody explains, walking out the door, what you see.  what you see is what you see, except when it isn’t.  it speaks for itself, or it doesn’t.  why then might when thinking to write, you think to say, think that you should, that you will fail if you don’t – spell out all the details, or mostly meanings we mean.  say the meaning of butterfly.  example too easy?  what about that sidewalk concrete modern fossil image of a leaf?  is it enough to observe?  to taste, to breath beneath the light of day or Moon.

(this is to say where I commonly land when writing.)

have you ever written to the story of music?  I’m much fond of doing that with images or whole movies.  but music, that’s shaky ground.  not meaning as a drug-like-induced vehicle to go somewherelse inside your head, but just directly, like a river would be.  following the shape yet no meaning implied.  this rhythm I have not yet let myself hear.  maybe a composer can?


standing on the balcony ten feet above the dirt.  so, an open window lets the outside in and the inside out.  Harmony.

can a poem be real, genuine?  can it let go being “about” and just be what it says?  otherwise, why.

(balcony)  woman walks close, dog on leash.  I think about what to say.  instead, say hello.  she too.  is hello enough?  can I deliver that intimately?  honestly?  after all I gotta lift my leg somewhere.  keep your balance.

what you give I will accept.  big words, except.  what you give I do accept.  big difference, huh!  and I’ve always thought of it the first way, “will” meaning not-yet, not-now.  maybe you notice my added-noun, you, in all my forms of phrase.  not fair, but wait, as I was gonna say because I like being-with-someone-else, and that sees it just that way.  but does that exclude me from all the splendid universe?  what changes if I say, what I give I do receive!

(balcony)  half-a-block-away someone sings.  ears say where, eyes say everywhere that is not.

(balcony)  a pontoon plane flies from north to south beneath my afternoon cloudy sky.  prepare for a water landing.

(head, interior) oh, an image I’d sooner not say, is a slowly sinking ship with lifeboats now in the sea.  so smart says while holding-fast on memory, consider boarding a bobbing lifeboat so near the waves, better done than said.  find a better boat.  set sail.  I can always eat fish.  even raw.

does that all relate?  it does for me.  in weeks to be I’d like to look more closely, find anything of value into poems and writing and everything.


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