March 9, 2013 § 2 Comments
There is a pumpkin scented candle
On the dining room table
A green satin string
Stretched from my book
Across the grain of wood where
The stain has worn away
On three points and
Sniffs the air –
The window is open
Its layers are lines in a poem
The outside, then the screen, then the glass
Good morning to the chirping bug
Caught inside the world of neither in nor out
Then the inside, a room
And there are webs and
The crispy corpses of insects, dust, paint chips
Layers of sound
Birdsongs tuned to 10am
The jingle of dog chains followed by
The crunch of shoes against the sidewalk
A train – an airplane – a crow
On the table
That same adapter is coiled
Like those random things
In a house
Without a closet or drawer to place
Without a basket or box or bag
March 2, 2013 § 7 Comments
Blogging is writing, but attached to blogging is a different why. Although I write everyday, I’m new to blogging. I get so excited when I check the stats on my blog and find that so and so “liked” a post or that I have a new follower.
I blog because I want to know what a reader thinks – how they are moved by what they’ve read, otherwise, I’d be content to close the cover of my journals.
I write because I love to write – from grammar to form to context – every aspect excites me – the initial idea, the drafts, the process, the end product – the editing, the reading, the technicalities, even the way words look on paper – the shapes of letters, the scratch of a pen on paper, the way the ink sinks into the smooth, white fiber, the clicking of keys on a keyboard, and metaphor, how I love it!
The way the world becomes a tunnel, a sharp ray concentrated on the page – how words and letters originate, how they are spelled, how they sound before meaning is attached to them – what the symbols mean, to pause, to stop, to emphasize – it’s like looking first at a work of art, then taking steps closer and closer until the image disappears and you see the strokes, the layers, the hidden things that have been absorbed into the whole.
You start on the surface and sink to the core and that’s where you really learn something. For me, writing is where I meet God. It’s how I process, pray and worship.
I write to convey what I love, what I hate, what I feel, what I know, what I’m told, what I learn, what I see, what I hear – the way I respond to living; I love it all.
No matter how existential something may sound or a person may feel, a writer writes because they believe something.
Writing means you move and breathe. When you put something down on paper, anonymous or known, to loved ones only or to the world – while you are still living or after you’ve died, it matters.
Only God can blot out what someone has written.
February 27, 2013 § 4 Comments
Yesterday, Lily and I sat across from one another eating apple slices while I cut a few of her receiving blankets into squares.
She gnawed on the hunk of fruit, passing it thoughtfully from hand to hand, scraping the flesh with her two new bottom teeth until a small piece dangled from the skin of the apple. « Read the rest of this entry »
February 13, 2013 § 2 Comments
I noticed the sparkling silver strand while brushing my hair before a shower. I thought perhaps it was just the light’s reflection but no matter which way I turned my head the strand still shown in single protest against millions of youth deluded locks. « Read the rest of this entry »