9/30/10 – unexpected flow

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After ending up taking up a total of 3 hours for lunch for a doctor’s appointment, ended up staying at work 1-1/2 hours late, working on meeting minutes that my boss wants, at least a reasonable version of, by late tomorrow morning for a meeting.  And even right now at 10:00 at night, just getting back from choir practice, I am looking over some old committee meeting minutes and notes so we can start planning a future meeting tomorrow morning before he leaves.  Unusually busy for me.

Anyway – strange, and unexpected, those 2 hours I spent working on the minutes late this afternoon just flew by. I was in the zone, writing. For the first time in a long time. I pride myself on my meeting minutes – and my boss has boasted about me and volunteered me to take the minutes for a committee we are both on.

Anyway, after pulling off our 3 day offsite training, and my initial visit with this new specialist, and choir practice, I feel okay right now, and I feel I have written today.
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9/29/10 – poem

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Who are these people
everyone says are my parents?
they seem to believe it heartily
very convincing –
too convincing…
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9/28/10 – poem, my soul beard so gray

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My soul beard so gray
now – Where fled
that drama of black?
and the tumulting locks
and the beard spilling wisdom
and the dream of that tattoo
my body can no longer cede
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I got this from looking at my pic here… My friends across the oceans may know a soul beard as an imperial, also called a soul patch. In the 90s I used to have my hair out and down my back, kept it in a ponytail, and a full beard – I looked like a nerdy biker. As for the tattoo – after my heart attack and bypasses, I intended to get an armband tattoo with “Crispins Day” – as I was lying in the hospital for a week waiting for the surgery someone in the UK sent me an MP3 in which he read Shakespeare’s Henry V’s speech to inspire me – but I kept putting it off (probably wouldn’t have been a smart idea anyway), and now after my stent last month I am on blood thinners for the rest of my life and can’t.

9/27/10 – poem, it goes underground

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It goes underground
the stream the river
the rivulet the tricklet
the rocks worn smooth
then the smooth beyond smooth
the wearing the worn
weary ages transpose
expose the deeply
Furrow the brow

9/26/10 – miniscule ramblings

Feeling last week or so that this is work (or maybe better put, as it feels like work and I am not paid for it, torture). I the course of events, even a serious writer taking a week or so off from writing would be no big deal, expected – and for even the prolific Simenon, in the perspective his life, writing was the anomaly.

I am also well aware I have not visited many of my readers’ (your) own blogs lately, and it bothers me. I will get back into the swing of things.

But, like Scarlett said, tomorrow is another day.

9/25/10 – Tim’s morphine pump

Ran into a couple friends at the supermarket. Hadn’t seen or talked with them in a couple years.  I would house-sit for them; they said I was one of the very few people their jack russell Rex respects. Joe is a Buddhist, but never adamant, and wasn’t aware that I had quit practicing. Tim has been suffering from debilitating back pain for years. Joe mentioned Tim’s morphine pump, “Look at him – he’s walking around, no cane, he’s even smiling! Tim, show him your pump…”

Tim grabbed the side of his untucked shirt, twisted, and pulled it up to flash me a few inches of the left side of his lower back. A sizable lump under his skin, with a rough little pink strip like the remnants of a surgery cut. “That’s the port.”

What a little bit of wonder, that we live in a world where people can have an activated morphine pump sown into them so they can lead a normal life.

9/24/10 – miniscule rambling

have no mind for writing tonight – should go to 3 posts a week next year, perhaps – today I did take the minutes of a board meeting that lasted over 2 hours – am I written out? – maybe

9/23/10 – poem, tomorrow

Is this the end of the line for him
the marathoner’s wall
the morning boulder back at the bottom of the hill
the ‘waffer thin’ mint at the end of the feast
– but tomorrow
even at the end of all the ends there will be tomorrow

9/22/10 – poem

26 letters
smash them into
each other jarring
the sounds our mouths make
the subject action object
that tells us what to think

9/21/10 – poem

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the sky is warm today
a single tiny breath of hope
but the kiss will have to wait til spring
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