Coming home

I haven’t wanted to write for a while now…too many fragments of things staring me in the face, and it is always harder for me to go back to something after the initial burst of work on it has passed. Still, I think we all feel the double burden of the immense images within us, and most of us find effective ways of expressing them. sometimes it is a poem for me, sometimes an essay like this, sometimes an earnest conversation with a good friend. But, they eek their way out, and the more effective we become at expressing them, and truly them, is what I think qualifies us as artists, and humans, and its all proportional.
Tonight, I watched a movie at an old friend’s house who lives about a half mile from me. Everyone was asleep in the room when the movie ended, so I decided not to trouble anyone and just walk home. It has been raining here, but it is a tropical rain, and its pleasant. Outside, it was a lot lighter than I had anticipated, and the thunderheads in the overhead sky made the horizon sky all around like a sunrise by comparison. The trees were shillouttes and most were hunched against the wind that blew random large droplets sideways and scattered across the road. I slept out on the netting of a catamaran once, as we sailed a day away from a tropical storm, and tonight the wind and the droplets were the same, and brought back the memory of that trip with retrospective force. And, coming home, walking in the middle of the road the whole way, sometimes whistling to myself, sometimes listening to the whistling of the trees, was like coming home from some place far away. And now, as I write this, with a flashlight by my side in the blackout of the storm, I am still coming home from far away memories and their emotions. I have been doing so this entire break. And I am glad, because the part of me I am coming home to is the part that wants to walk in the midnight storm, and it’s the best part. It’s the part that finds a clumsy voice for the larger things, and I have missed it.

The wind and storm
Are a thousand voices
Coming home in the predawn.

Even the frogs
Welcome the rain
With clumsy song.

I hope Y’all enjoy the rest of your break. I hope this wasn’t too moody for you. Ill change the template to something pastel :)

NYC

first off, sorry i havent been in touch. There is a lot to be done in NYC and so little time. About that last post, I agree with HMP about the last stanza, there needs to be more images. I will work on it. I havent been working much here, too much going on. But i have written a few Haiku's. But before those, i will tell you a funny story. We went to Fiddler on the Roof last night, and during intermission we noticed old country singer Glen Campbell in the lobby. He' s pretty washed up, and i didnt really remember anything he has sung, but i wanted to go up to him and say: "Hey, Glen, I just wanted to tell you that i think The Dance is a great song" and he'd say "Uh, i didnt write or sing that song" and I would say "I know, but youve got to admit its a great song" and then i'd stand there until he did. that would have been pretty funny.

OK, on to the Haiku's
-new york is a big city:

somewhere,
someone is writing,
identical words

-go out and read "archaic torso of apollo" by Rilke, (sorry that i keep referring to him, but that is what im reading now, and it has an effect)

the look on the face
of the fifth burgher of calais:
"you must change your life"

Its a peripheral memory

" a verse that has something interesting in it is all right, even if its meaning isn't very clear"
-Basho

From far away like pinpoints of molten silver
They flew
scales low across the water, so fast and gone
That we on the catamaran thought they
Were tricks of light against the blue green sea.

Then, one left the water on the side of the boat
out electric blue, silver wings straight out,
and we saw the back of the dolphin clear the water
and knew why the fish was flying.

If I were one of them, I would like to be
One with wings large enough to glide forever,
Out in the open ocean, all alone.
Dipping only long enough in the water to breathe.

First Post EVER

So, to all that have been giving me the cold shoulder for not having yet submitted to the gravitational pull of the blog community, here I am. And I have nothing to write today, except the promise that I am going to be completely honest with this thing. I hope I don't scare any of you away. I have come to believe that the best work is always the stuff that is brutally honest. Sometimes this means being brutal about myself, or letting you guys see stuff that is written with very few filters between it and my deepest levels. I tend to think that is the stuff which is most memorable. And...I desire to be memorable...to have the images float in heads for as long as I can.
"Forget that passionate music. It will end/ True singing is a different breath/ about nothing. A gust inside a God, a wind." -Rilke, sonnets to orpheus.

-yeah, whatever that means. check back tommorow.