Would That I Might

I am, again, quite exhausted, but it is, at least, a little earlier.  I am keeping up with my work, but I do feel a bit drained.  It may be a side effect of my being so tired, or more connected to my frustration.  In the end, the best I can do is keep writing in spite of it, even when the only things I can think to write are just comments on not knowing what to write.  The key is to just keep going, to not judge what comes out and focus on the act of writing itself, at least while engaged in the work.

It Might Have Been Easier Then but it was not what happened, and now it is not the same, but it is better to try, even now, it is good, and it could not have been any sooner, even if it was right in the world outside, there was still something within.

It is quite late, and today has been an exhausting day.  Watching everything that is happening right now, I am struck thinking about how our nation came to be as a result of a group of individuals recognizing they had been disenfranchised from power, that they could be victimized by those who were deputized by the government that ruled them.  It is strange that so many who think of themselves as Patriots would never be able to recognize that what is occurring in our country now is not different than the acts of resistance necessary to secure this nation's birth.

Do Not Let This Be another time when what has risen is dismissed, is forgotten or redefined. It must not be buried as it has been so long, we cannot be those people, we should never have been.

I managed to get my work done early tonight in spite of having a long and rather busy day.  I have an early morning tomorrow, so I was focused on being able to get to bed at a reasonable time.  I am still attempting to figure out a resolution for my current frustration.  As I said yesterday, I feel a need to be certain of my progress.  Without some sort of evidence, it feels as if my efforts may be wasted, and considering the extent of my efforts, that is quite frightening as an idea.  It is considering the amount of work I have and confronting it as a delusion, as some sort of mania instead of what it is intended to be, and while I have many who have expressed support for my work and made it clear that I have talent as a poet and writer, the fact that editors, so far, do not agree, lays doubt before me.  The question becomes how I can move through this.  Some would tell me, I know, to quit, that it is clear I do not have the strength to take this, but, even were I to say that was true

The Club Will Be Closing For The Weekend They tell us all someone is sick so they will close all operations for several days to protect everyone, but no one understands, they do not want to lose their tee times for the weekend.

I am quite glad to have gotten my work done tonight.  I have been having a lot of difficulty keeping from feeling that I am most wasting time and effort working on my poetry, and the best way I know to fight that is to persist, but in the end, it is something I need to change.  I know I do not control what happens in terms of getting my work published, but their must be something I can do that will help me right now.  I think the key is feeling that I am taking effective action towards my goal, and right now, I am taking action, but I do not feel it is effective.  I am working hard, but it does not feel as if I am making progress, and that makes it  hard to keep from feeling that the work itself is a wasted effort.  It is like attempting to walk someplace and finding the wind is so strong you cannot make any progress.  It feels pointless to keep pushing forward, to fight and exhaust yourself, so why not just stop fighting and let the wind just pass by?  But it is important to get down

That Does Not Belong It would not be the right context, but that is not a judgement of any other attributes, is no reflection of quality. That is a different matter, we are not judging quality. Why would we care about the quality of what we select?

It can be difficult to keep focused on my writing.  It is not only the distractions of the world, but I am receiving one rejection after another, a slow but steady drip if them into my email inbox.  I do not know what to do, but I feel a real need to take action.  The difficulty is that the action needs to lead towards what I am actually interested in achieving.  I have ideas of ways to perhaps reach more people, but it feels that doing so would need to involve doing things that might alter the focus of the work. For example, I have considered putting work online in a video form, but to do so in a way that would attract attention would mean creating videos that are interesting to an audience, and not just me reading a poem, but videos that go far beyond just me reading a poem feel as if they would garner any attention for those qualities.  At the same time, I don't want to just put up videos of me reading poems and not have anyone find them or have an interest, which is what I thin

You Took from Us long ago, and now you say it is your own, do not even see what was ours that you misuse. If we were to say it is not yours, that you have stolen it, that you have built all this upon what is ours, you would not recognize the reality of our claim, would become angry, as if it is absurd to say what you know was ours first was taken, appropriated. To even say it would bring danger.

It is not always easy to get through my work each day, a feeling that can be exacerbated by the steady arrival of rejections that continue to appear in my email.  I am aware of the odds any writer faces, but, until my first acceptances do arrive, it still feels as if it is a monolith.  I am not getting feedback beyond the rejections, though I have others who I trust who are supportive of my work.  I do not think that those individuals, other poets I have had the chance to work or study with, have been misleading me by expressing enthusiasm for my work, telling me, for many years, that I should be submitting more of my work to journals.  At the same time, my poetry is not getting accepted yet.  The question becomes what actions I can take to improve this situation.  I work daily on my writing, and I am sending out much of the work right now, but it is not achieving results.  To keep going doing this feels idiotic and inane.  I am certain this is all stuff I have expressed before, becaus

Do Not Do It The Way I Do I do it wrong, my way of doing it is not right, does not show proper technique, it would be terrible if you picked up my habits while you are learning. I can do it this way because I know what it is that matters, what each rule and approach is achieving, have enough experience to know my own way, but you must learn to do it the right way, my way is not what you must learn.

I had a long and busy day and did not have a chance to do any work until it was already getting late.  I had a desire to stop and just make up the work tomorrow or something, a feeling that was exacerbated when another negative response arrived tonight, but I did not want to start letting my current luck with publishing keep me from working or risk losing my momentum in general.  I spent a long while getting my work done, as can be seen by the hour of this post, but I am glad to have stuck with it.  It is another of the daily victories I often overlook.

Yolks There are days when I will seperate eggs, make certain the clear, watery white is removed, so that I can look upon a bowl filled with small orbs of liquid sunshine.

I have a long day tomorrow and need to be up early( I am cooking a bit for the holiday and need to get a few things going early).  I have finished my work.  It is a bit late, but I am glad to be able to get to bed soon.

Another of Those Moments Is Due It has not yet come today, but it will.  It is a part of each day.  I expect it, maybe, when I am standing at the foot of the bed, when I feel something beneath my toes and worry I have stepped on his tail or paw, or it might be outside in the dark, looking about worrying he has wandered off. It is months, but each day I still have those moments, but they are better than the moment after when I think of him, remember no cat lives here any longer.

It is a bit later again, but still earlier than many nights of the recent past.  I am still quite anxious about building my writing career, and I can acknowledge that the current epidemic has me scared.  I know that I am at risk for a number of reasons. And I do not want to die, but I know it is possible, and I am not eager to consider dying without my work at least beginning to find an audience.   I have been working hard towards building my career as a writer, but the presence of the Corona virus has impacted how I feel about that process.

Does Anyone Know Whose Words These Are? I found them here by the door, just outside, they were dropped, but look at them, how well cared for they are.  Each syllable is polished, each letter is clean, not the words of a careless slob, no, well crafted, maintained language. It makes no sense that someone with words like this would just lose them, drop their words here by the door as an accident. 

I have managed, again, to get the work done earlier in the evening.  I had a long day, so I am quite glad to be able to turn in shortly.  I am still quite pleased by much of the recent work.  It is not all perfect, or even good, but I am glad to find myself stretching my imagination and returning to familiar image systems.  It is the feeling of being back home, in a sense, of returning to my own space, but as with any time away, I am bringing new things and ideas with me.  It is the same space, but I am not entirely the same within it.

All Wrong Who put those rocks there? And that sand is all wrong, not at all what it should be. Look at it, it does not match the water here at all, is not right for this sky either, but the sky is also, well, look at the shape of that cloud and it is not the only one. Also, the sun, well, you can see it, and what is with those birds running around down here as that terribly sloppy tide comes lapping up.  I won't mention the crabs, except to point out the shape of them, it is absurd.  All this is disastrous, no, it is not at all what I was promised. It must be fixed, and while you are at it, can that city be moved a few miles back?

I have an early morning tomorrow, so I managed to get started with my work for the evening quite early, and have finished at a quite reasonable time.  I feel good about the work itself, and am still sending a positive shift.  I am hearing many people discussing the difficulties they have creating right now, and I think the real answer for me was to keep doing it as the thing I do.  It kept me from losing an aspect of my own self-identify which can be hard to maintain in the kind of isolation we have all been under to one degree or another.  I am certain that my answer is not for everyone, but it has been good to keep up with the work.  Often it takes a good deal of force to get to work, and I do find myself struggling at times, buy that willingness to not give in and not stop because it is hard and would be understood and accepted, that tenacity itself is the thing that has been the reminder of who I want to keep being as a writer.

Rule Change It is not simple to do it another way when this is how it has been for so long, since forever, it is how it had to be done, it was always that way, would earn a bad mark in school, and now it is not that way, it is no longer wanted to do it the same way, and it is not easy to just change, not when it has been this way for so long.

It has been another productive day as far as my writing goes, and I do feel quite positive about my recent work.  I have not received ant responses, either acceptance or rejection, from any journal in the past few.days, though the issue remains on my mind.  I am hopeful that I will receive positive responses from some of the submissions I have out, but I am nervous about it right now.  In many ways, it is just a matter of my own insecurities.  I spent a long time not writing or submitting work, and I recognize that an aspect of that came from a fear of discovering I could not make it, so, having overcome that and taken these steps, it is natural that I am still apprehensive, but I believe that my work is good enough that I will find some degree of success, I am just impatient at the moment.

It May Be That I Have Told This Story Before to you, I mean, because it is certain I have told it before: it is a good story, is worth telling, is full of action, with people doing strange things for odd reasons, and the bit about the mattress and the rabbits is more entertainment than most tales can provide in total, though it is but a small highlight of this story, which is one, as I said, well worth telling, so I do tell it, but it may be that you have heard it already, that I would be repeating myself. Best not to tell it, it is not worth being a bore.

I am again quite happy about much of my output today.  I feel that I am reconnecting with some aspect of the work that is more intuitive, though I am not certain how to be clear about what that means in a more specific sense.  I have a feeling that I am more in touch with my imagination and inspiration than I had been before, but again, that is not a clear explanation of what it means in terms of the work itself.  I am just glad to be feeling more connected with the work again.  While I am still stressed about my lack of success with my efforts at publishing, I feel a bit reassured finding that the work itself is changing in ways I find rewarding.  It does not change my situation, and I am still rather frustrated, but I also recognize the value of remaining focused on the writing itself.

It Is A Good Phrase, solid and durable, the kind you can rely on even when times are tough, a phrase meant to last, one you could see yourself passing down to the kids one day, but that is a long time off, until then, you will have the phrase, it will wear well, will not fall apart but will remain with you, will be there. Yes, it is that kind of phrase, so be certain, before you speak it, be sure they are the words for you.

I feel quite good about a lot of the work I am doing these days.  It is not so much that I think it is far better, but I have felt myself moving back towards more of the type of poetry that I feel most at home with.  In recent times, I have often found myself writing poems that are far afield from that work, which is not a complaint.  I think it is important and positive to write across this breadth, but I also recognize that much of that writing was a result of a certain discomfort.  Many have spoken about feeling slack of inspiration as a result of the world predicament, and though I have made myself keep to my work, much of the time I have written poems that came from whatever was at hand or in my experience at that moment.  It was work I forced out of myself, but did not come from the same imaginative landscape as most of my work.  In recent days I have felt some return of that missing element for the first time in quite a while.

There Is A Chance a possilibity that things will change.  It may well be that it will not remain at all the same, could become different. That is indeed what might happen, it is worth considering that it could be a thing which will happen. It is possible, yes, it could be, there is no promise, of course, but still, it may occur.

I have managed to get my work done earlier in the evening, for once, at least relative to recent nights.  I feel that a number of the poems I wrote today have potential.  I am also continuing to consider the options I have for what I might he able to do in order to develop more of an audience for my writing.  I think I have some good ideas, though I am not certain about how well I can do what would be involved.  I don't want to get into the specifics of it, as I am still thinking this through, but I am considering some new ideas that might provide me some new creative opportunities that is intended to be shared directly.

For weeks, that same lizard came to see me, stood feet away from my chair looking up.  Even Melissa noticed how it would come to rest besides me.  Once, he lounged on my slipper, sat there for half an hour. It came each day, would sit with me, but it has been so long since I have seen it now, I do not know what happened, if I did something to deter it visiting, though I hope it is that, hope it is well but keeping its distance.

I am uncertain how to deal with the core issues of my current frustration, as I have expressed before, and I know that much of it is not anything that I can resolve for myself.  It is a matter of continuing and waiting for things to begin to shift for me.  At the same time, I know it is important that I attempt to take action myself.  I can't create the results I am hoping for, but I am working towards doing other things that are within my power that might help to propel.me forward in building a career.  At the moment, it is all still in the earliest stages, and I am not even certain what the outcome of my efforts will be,  but I am glad to be putting energy into positive action, which may help to alleviate some of the anxiety I have about waiting for other opportunities to develop.

Those Sunglasses Will Appear Again I knew I had not lost them, just misplaced, but they disappeared, ot was years before I found them in the pocket of a long unworn jacket.  I had said they were not lost, and there they were, but I cannot find them now, as if they appeared only to prove they were still here, but refuse to remain long enough for me to use them.

Another late night, but I am glad to have gotten my writing done.  I am trying to keep.my focus on doing the work, as much as I can, and am remaining optimistic that things will begin to change in terms of publishing.  I have to keep that attitude, I know, though it is difficult, and I do wish I had some sort of positive feedback.

Only Time for The Unimportant Part Hurry, tell me now, my phone is almost out of battery and it was raining so the port is wet and the phone refuses to charge, but I have enough time to listen, if you hurry, but you should know it will cut off qui...

As I have discussed, I am feeling rather frustrated at the moment, due to the large number of rejections I am receiving.  I do believe that I will get acceptances at some point, as well, but it is hard not to feel dejected when a number of rejections show up in such short order.  I know I do not have control over the success my work finds in the world, and that is extremely frustrating, as I have been working with dillegance and am not finding success, and would really like to have more than hope at this point.  As well, in the context of having so much work already done, and continuing to write with dedication, the constant rejection makes me feel a bit insane.  To dedicate myself to so much work and have nothing as a result makes it difficult not to consider the idea that I have been delusional and wasting my time.  But, I have enough positive feedback to be certain my work is good, and I am also not willing to stop.  It hurts to get rejections, and it is natural to have doubts at a

The Wind  has been crying for hours tonight, a storm's call, but the rain has been inattentive as a dilettante, here a few minutes then gone again, but the wind stays, even when it is alone, it remains diligent.

I had more rejections arrive today. It is never easy, and it was upsetting today, as I am getting so many right now and do not have any positive responses.  I am not even getting any notes, just straight rejections, which is not surprising or a complaint, but I know that it is the lowest level of response amd that personalized rejections are meaningful.  My real frustration right now is feeling that the only thing I can do is to keep working and hoping this changes.  I want to have evidence that I am making progress, or know what I need to be doing to get there, to have some way of taking action that is not just doing the same thing over and over.  I feel stuck knowing that I cannot control whether I progeess from here, and that the only way to succeed is to continue putting myself through this.  To quit would destroy me.  I have so much work and believe that much of what I have already written has real value, to quit would be to call all of the time and effort I have put into that wor

It Is Not One Thing it is the accumulation, all these things together. Any one of them is small, would be easy to deal with or dismiss, but it is not one thing, it so many. There are so many now, another little problem is too much, it seems to create an overreaction, but only from the perspective of one who does not see how much else is already wrong.

I am up late again, but I do feel enthusedby my work tonight.  It was not all easy or fast, but I felt I was making a step forward in the work.  I have often been feeling as if many of my poems lately have just been releasing and digesting the current situation, which is a valid use for poetry, but is not often the kind of poetry I write.  Today, I found myself writing poems that reminded me of the work I feel most drawn towards, which is strangely exhilarating in the world as it is.  In some ways, it feels as if I am moving beyond some of the limitations and fears of the present, at least in my writing.

What Would We Do If The Turtles had not carried the saplings of that first tree across the globe? They might not have, feeling the roots, the tickling growth across their shells, consider, of they had dislodged them, left them floating in the ocean. But the turtles, they were kind, carried the trees, left them safe, planted each forest, then returned to the sea.

Today was yet again a long day, and I am quite glad to have gotten my work finished.  I was concerned it would take me longer,  but I found myself more inspired than I expected.  It is funny how some days, despite frustration and exhaustion, their is a creative spark, while at other times, some similar and some far different, that same impulse is lacking.

There Was A Shout or more a scream, loud and sharp, I could not tell who it was, a dog or cat, a bird, a frog, it could have been a monkey, but there are not monkeys that live near enough to my home.  It was loud, I could not tell if it was attacker or attacked.  Moments after I heard small feet, a rapid shuffle passing me, though it is dark enough I could not see anyone.

I had a lot to do today and was not able to get much writing done this morning, but I have made up for that tonight.  I am trying to keep focused on getting the work done and remaining hopeful, but the rejection letters have been coming in somewhat regularly of late and I am feeling rather raw about it.  As I have said before, it is not a matter of not understanding the reality behind a rejection, or even thinking that the editors must be crazy to make such a wrong decision as rejecting my work, which is an attitude I know some writers actually do have.  The issue is my own.  It is not something to do with the rejection as a specific but with the wish that I was doing better in my efforts.  It is a symbol, in many ways.  As well, being human, having my work turned down does hurt.  I think that what I am currently most caught up in is the frustration of knowing I am working but not seeing results yet.  It is hard to remain hopeful, at times, but I know this is necessary.  It would be ni

There Has Been No Change in the conditions, the outcome has not been altered.  What is there to do?  This is the way, everyone knows this is how it must be done.  It is  not a choice, there is not a way to avoid this, but it may change, at some point, it is possible all of this will change.

So, I am going to keep this short, as my work has taken a long while and I have things to do in the morning.  I have been doing a lot better about finishing earlier in the evening, at least relatively, but tonight it was a slog.  I am glad to be finished for tonight and ready to get to bed.

Is There Some Other Path? It does not need to be a shortcut or any easier of a trek, that is not a concern, but it does not seem I am making progress here, each step forward seems to leave me where I was when I lifted my foot, perhaps another path will be kinder to me, but, you should know I cannot change my destination.

I have been working hard at my poetry for a long while now, and I am glad to continue that work, but I think I need to work on writing more fiction as well.  I think that the best way to approach that is by spending a bit more time, at the moment, working on the preparations for whatever I will write.  I have an idea in mind that has been percolating at various levels of thought for a long while, but it needs to be a bit clearer  before I can approach it.  At present, I am writing 17 poems a day with the intent of getting to 20.  That will give me a bit of time to consider my idea and to make a plan for beginning a fiction project in addition to my other writing.

If You Do Not Want To Sit it is fine, stand.  Either is alright, but choose one or the other instead of getting up to sit again, trying each seat, and many postures besides.  Stand, that is acceptable as an option, as long as you stand there or some other place not pacing an oval as if it were etched into the floor.  No, be still instead, if you are not still for a few minutes at least, it will be too much for me. Now is not the time.

I have not mentioned it here in quite some time, but I have been thinking quite a bit about my novel and the best way to present it to an agent.  I have a query letter that I believe is strong, but I know it is still in need of work, and part of the issue is attempting to explain my book in a way that would make sense to an agent.  The fact is, I am not writing traditional fiction, but most of my work has a more experimental quality, and the novel itself is intended to be an unconventional experience for the reader   To offer a general summary, it is the story of a writer as they attempt to write the very novel being read, as inspired by a series of strange dreams.  However, as this continues, the dream world seems to be "real", and the act of writing the book becomes a dangerous act.  Their is a sense that perhaps the book is intended, by the beings of the dream world, to summon or release something.  The book itself is not an inert object.  The book itself is written to cr

That Is Not for Tonight Save it, it will be better, will become more as you wait.  Tomorrow, it will have changed. No, not it, that is not what will have changed, but waiting now, it will change what experience it can bring.

I have had another long and somewhat stressful day.  Among other things, I learned that a family friend who had gone into the hospital with coronavirus a few days ago passed away.  His wife was sick as well, but she recovered.  I can only imagine what it is like for her right now, having to deal with this while still in quarantine.  I think of how hard it was when my father died, and the only thing that helped at all was having other people around to offer support or distraction.  I know she is far from the only person who is in that situation right now, and it is not as if I hadn't considered it in the abstract, but everything becomes more vivid when it is someone you know.

Faulty Memory I can recall the foreman's pole on the playground remember standing above it with fear. My father told me, once, that I did go down it, with his encouragement, and then insisted on returning to it, found the joy of it.  Why do I only remember the first part?

I want to keep my focus on my writing itself.  As I said yesterday, unknown it is what I have control over.  But, as I have said in previous posts, to not be working at getting more of my work published is also no good.  I write with the intent that my work be read by others.  I have known individuals who are motivated by the desire to write for their own satisfaction or to share with family and friends, but that has never been my ambition, and it is stifling to not admit and pursue those goals.  The thing is, I have not had any real progress, and that becomes very frustrating.  I work hard at my writing, and it is never pleasant to receive a rejection, but what is really hard is the feeling that I am not getting anywhere.  I just wish I had some sense that I am making progress in my efforts.

Do Not Touch or smell, bad enough you have looked, but that cannot be helped, but nothing more, not a touch, no.  You hear it, see it, that must be enough, is already too much.

I have been working for a long time to shift my mental focus towards the aspects of my work that I can control.  It is in my power to write and to send out my work.  I know there are routes besides the traditional publishing model, but having researched those options, I don't feel they are right for my work, and I am not interested in taking on many of the roles that self-publishing would require of me.  Of course, that leaves me sending out work and facing the gauntlet of rejection.  I have a lot of work, and I have been sending it out, but so far I am not finding success in these efforts.  That is normal, and I have enough experience and positive feedback from other writers whose opinions I trust that I believe in my work, but I am still scared.  I cannot be certain anyone will show interest in my work.  For many years, I believed the biggest struggle would be developing the discipline to write each day, and that took a long time and a lot of work, but it was within my control. 

The Stray There is sound as leaves shuffle behind me, I do not turn to look, am not afraid, only curious, but if I turn, it may be  too much.  I am hoping it is the cat I saw last week, I am certain it was here before, hope to see it again, even if does not become a friend, it is nice having it about, to feel it nearby, even if it is not the cat I wish was still here.

As mentioned, it has already been a rather trying week in various ways, so I will acknowledge that I am already a bit frayed emotionally, but I received a rejection today that has me quite upset.  Some time last year, I took part in an open mic reading that is hosted by a journal in this area.  At the time, one of the editors came up and asked me to submit a specific poem that I had read.  This was not the first time I had met this editor, and I know a number of the other people involved. Now, I know better than to expect that work being solicited, especially in such a context, is any sort of guarantee it will be accepted.  I can deal with that.  Rejection always hurts, but is not something I can avoid, even were I not a writer.  I will acknowledge that I was very hopeful, under the circumstances, but I do not take real umbrage at this. What does upset me, though, is receiving a form rejection in such a case.  It is worth noting that the editor who sent the email is a person whom

Apology It is no good for me to say I know, to admit the mistakes, the issue of my behavior, I know that, will admit words have  a limit, their meaning is not proof, will not help to heal anything.

For once I have managed to complete my work at what seems almost a reasonable hour.  It was important tonight, as I am quite exhausted and have not slept well, on top of being up late so much.  I woke up this morning, as I had obligations to meet, but I did get my first session of writing done.  That was key to getting the work done at a reasonable hour tonight, beyond the importance I generally place upon sticking to my writing schedule.

I Found It Yesterday Yes, I know about it already, I am certain others were aware first, well before me, but I found it before today, but do not think I am unhappy for you, it is good you found it too, it is nice to know that you know, now, but you should realize I was there before you.

I am up late again, having just finished my work.  I am not going to make this a particularly long entry, as I do have to get up in the morning.  I do wish that I could do better with finishing earlier, but I am glad to be committed enough to stay up to finish even at three in the morning.

We Have No Patience have only the need to meet our desires, to do it now, because a desire is always now, why should it be stalled, it makes no sense to wait for that, if there is a wait the desire will change before it is met.