I would like to put my ear to the ground, because I suspect it tells a story unlike the one I hear above the rails.|
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Such Longing: Poetry Of Nature Love
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Journalist turned blogger.
Read me, don't read me. I'm going to dare you to read anyway.
I update my portfolio page as often as possible. gLaeDrFly mONsTeR
Go there to see new messages. You will always see me. I am visible. You can put a face with a name. I would like other writers to crawl out from under their rocks and post their pics on main pages. Fiction is what you write, not who you are.
I also encourage you to read my notebook, biography and more. I'm always updating, because I am restless.
THANK YOU alfred booth, wanbli ska
for the ribbon and continuous support!
My blogging days at Writing.Com began here >>>
October 3, 2014 at 11:18am
Hello, maybe Goodbye
|It's not like the old days anymore. Not like we can meet for lunch at the Szechuan place on Third Street, where you educated me on Asian cuisine. And, not far from the University where we spent most of our hours either in class or working at the public radio and television studios, keeping in touch through the campus phone system.
It seemed like not a day would go by without a word for one another. And then you found somebody to "date." And when he would travel for his job, which was frequent, then we found time for each other again. When he was around, I was out of sight. But, one day I failed and it all came apart. I needed help and you brought him along to rescue me. And I did not offer my thanks. The words got stuck in my throat. He pointed it out to you, as you said. And I realized I was a threat, in his eyes.
So you were upset and I stayed away. Eventually we became friends again. But it was never the same. And then I had to move away and then you had to move away and we grew farther and further apart. I sent the last unresponded letters. I sent the last unresponded emails.
I saw something in you. You left me hanging. For years I have not been able to put together the puzzle of the last time we were together and I thought you had extended your hand touching mine on your daybed on accident. But now I wonder, was there a purpose? You did not let me know if you were still in a relationship. I sensed something in you I hadn't seen since the first time I thought there was an attraction and you managed to confuse me. So I did not respond. And now I have regrets to this day that I did not find out.
Over 20 years later, I found you and contacted you. And from the emails it seems like you're still the girl I used to know. You are married now. I am married now. And yet, the thing dogs me still, stuck in my brain. It should be harmless to ask. I cannot, should not, open that door, even though I stare at it every day wondering what lies beyond, wondering what I left inside.
Just know, whenever I dreamed of you, I felt I could be or do anything I wanted. Without you, I wonder if I'll ever realize my potential.
Goodbye again, LuAnne
Written long ago, though I could not share with you, he said wistfully, alone to the sky...
October 3, 2014 at 8:28am
Aging reforms the narcissist not the hopeless dreamer
|Been taking personality tests at Psychcentral.com to learn if suspected traits exist and not liking some results. Self diagnosis is cheap, painful and just as subjective, but not overseen by a paid professional who can drag out sessions for years, feeling no wiser for the experience.
I'm just going to tweet insights, adding whatever passes for wisdom here and in Notebook, as the psyche turns over each stone obsessively, finding no discernible clue to explain this vain existence.
September 27, 2014 at 9:32pm
Seasonal Poetry Highlights Part II
|"Giving In" [E]
upon a cement path
scrambled and scattered
by the wind
You chase them
down the walk
but their wonder
is swept away
before the eager
can grab hold
to find no meaning
Too far away
for the mind
your venture ends
with a visit
to a vacant bench
And a leaf
All your life
on unseen strings
and the prize
is for giving in.
September 24, 2014 at 8:42am
Seasonal Poetry highlights
|Fall is one of my favorite seasons that inspire my writing:
"A Better Love Tomorrow" [E] written 24 years ago
A blissful sky bleeds dry its color.
Wet but crisp leaves
lie scattered to rot and brown,
in the fading light, cloy
at the soggy ground.
You reach for my hand.
Still cold, we huddle closer.
We walk with no destination
toward some horizon,
sending away our sun.
You nuzzle my neck,
touch my hair and whisper,
"I love you dear."
I know you are near,
but it seems so far away.
There was a time
when I wanted you close,
tighter, inside me whole;
but time washes away the memory
these aged eyes foggily see.
The woman who buttons my coat,
scratches my tender back
and looks forlornly into my eyes.
Must see something I donâ€™t,
something that I wonâ€™t.
The sun will rise again,
three quarters of the way home.
Tomorrow, I will love better.
These leaves tug at my shoes,
as the sky washes to black.
More features from Autumn coming
September 19, 2014 at 9:16am
September 11, 2014 at 1:59am
Passionless Writing, Goodbye Muse
|My muse went to Las Vegas where the grass is apparently greener.
Inspiration can be fleeting at times. Got to hold tight to that tail and write when opportunity strikes.
Need to clean out my wallet. I'm sure there's some wisdom in there, some shining epiphanies that have been longing to see the light.
Pencilled passages from my past are fading to dust, draining into the recesses of dark, dungeon-like drawers that cage my thoughts from the world. Too late to release them? Fear time's toll on my neglected words of yore.
By the current average, I will wait another 10-15 years for my next muse to arrive. Hope it's sooner. Not good at passionless writing, as you can see...
Only two people know, or have an inkling, who my muse is/was.
What to do while I wait? write
What Is It About Life...
|Something I would like to expand upon one day. Want to share this for now:
What is it about life that makes us want to live? Is it the color and shape of things, the beauty of nature, the food that we crave to eat? Is it the love of a good mate, to share some dark secret? Is it the desire to own expensive, beautiful things? What is it about life that makes us want to live?
Are we vexed by some puzzle we must solve before going to our grave? Have we not learned from others the thirst unquenched on dying lips? Might we wield social power that make others envious, weak in their knees to be in our presence? What is about life that makes us want to live?
Are you waiting for an answer? Unsure what mystery could there possibly be yet unknown that could make life worth living? Innocence. We yearn to be young again, to be tempted by all that we desire, and fantasy. Perhaps, we could, just read. There are millions of lives in books yet undiscovered with many truths yet uncovered that could shape our minds with true vision and purpose.
What is it about life that fuels our desire to live: fiction.
|I've been quiet. Good for me. Find me on twitter for latest.
Special Father's Day
|The most discriminating person one could expect to have in their life is a mother-in-law. I have had my differences with my wife's mom, a retired elementary school teacher. But she sees right through me sometimes and never ceases to flatter me, especially on the occasion of Father's Day. Written in a card I received:
I want to wish you a very happy Father's Day! You have such a wonderful family and we thank you for the wonderful Grandchildren you have given us.
You do so many things with them that makes Alex's and Maddie's lives special. You especially make books come alive for them as you create so many characters in your reading. What a wonderful gift you have for this. It's given them wonderful ability to become characters as well in reading and drama.
All of your playing with them has given them so many wonderful memories to treasure throughout their lives. You have been such a good example to them for enjoying life and the love you have for them has shown through in all you do for them.
May God continue to guide you, walk beside you and bless you always."
I cannot accept too much credit because I am paying it forward from a 'wonderful' teacher in my mother who shared her love of books and life with me. Hearing these words helps me warmly remember a woman who will walk beside me throughout life.
The Audacity of Hope
|"There has been much emphasis on the audacity of hope, and hope as the energizer of dreams and visions, the warm glow, the bright ray. ... Perhaps it is time to also reflect on the atrocity of hope. I have come to see it as wasteful and unproductive. ... It intervenes in the process of reckoning with the present with clarity about things as they are; it presents itself as a companion of the "miracle," where we expect outcomes without our play/agency. It keeps us wedded to our particular hypothesis. It asks of us to put our faith in specific possibilities regardless of probability."
Very long, sad, but illuminating story:
|Peony, I'm your ant
Let me crawl over your face
Our love could blossom.
Well my time went so quickly, I went lickety-splickly out to my old '55
As I drove away slowly, feeling so holy, God knows, I was feeling alive.
Now the sun's coming up, I'm riding with Lady Luck, freeway cars and trucks,
Stars beginning to fade, and I lead the parade
Just a-wishing I'd stayed a little longer,
Oh, Lord, let me tell you that the feeling's getting stronger.
And it's six in the morning, gave me no warning; I had to be on my way.
Well there's trucks all a-passing me, and the lights are all flashing,
I'm on my way home from your place.
And now the sun's coming up, I'm riding with Lady Luck, freeway cars and trucks,
Stars beginning to fade, and I lead the parade
Just a-wishing I'd stayed a little longer,
Oh, Lord, let me tell you that the feeling's getting stronger.
And my time went so quickly, I went lickety-splickly out to my old '55
As I pulled away slowly, feeling so holy, God knows, I was feeling alive.
Now the sun's coming up, I'm riding with Lady Luck,
Freeway cars and trucks, freeway cars and trucks, freeway cars and trucks...
Learning To Fly & Love
Everything she knows about truth, about beauty:
a severed flower from its stem,
the frog she captured from the pond,
the baby bird that fell from its nest,
trapped by her ever loving arms;
the blossom wilts in ample water,
the neglected frog withers alone,
spared not by her kiss,
while the little robin learns to fly,
because mommy and daddy know what's best.
Helium.com Is Dead
Just got the email today that the site will be shutting down at the end of the year:
May 14, 2014
You are receiving this email because you have been identified as either an active or inactive Helium Publishing community member.
NOTICE: The Helium Publishing 360 sites will be available on a read-only basis effective May 21, 2014 and will continue to be available on a read-only basis until December 15, 2014. During this period, if you have an existing Account, you will continue to have access to your Account and accrue potential earnings, but you will not be able to add more content to the Helium Publishing 360 sites or create a new Account. If you have attained the Minimum Payout Threshold, which currently is set at $25.00, we strongly encourage you to withdraw your earnings because the Helium Publishing 360 sites will terminate on 12/15/14 and you will no longer have access to your Account.
Dear Helium Community,
After eight years and well over one million articles, we regret to announce that Helium Publishing will be closing. Here are the key dates that impact you:
May 21, 2014
- the Helium Publishing 360 sites will become "read only" and no article changes or revisions will be possible
- no new work can be completed or created in the Helium Network dashboard
- new member registration for Helium Publishing 360 sites will cease
December 15, 2014
- advertising revenue share will cease
- you will no longer be able to access your Account
- all 27 of the Helium Publishing 360 sites will shut down and your articles will not be available via the microsites
- access to the Helium Network dashboard and your ability to retrieve your Helium Publishing articles, message others, and request payment will be terminated
What about my earnings?
Your Account will be accessible until December 15, 2014 so that you can view and (if applicable) request a final payout. Your tax ID and a valid PayPal account are required to process and receive payment. Details about accrual and earnings can be found in the FAQs, available in Announcements and in the Helium discussion forum.
What about my open assignments?
The workflow portion of the Helium Network will be disabled on May 21, 2014, and you will not be able to work on any assignments.
What happens to my articles?
You may download your work by following the instructions available in Announcements and in the Helium discussion forum.
What if I have questions?
You'll be able to reach us through the Helium HelpDesk and Helium discussion forums. In addition, an FAQ is available in the discussion forum and in the Helium Network dashboard.
For many of you, Helium Publishing has been more than a place to hone your writing skills; it's been a place to call home, a community to connect with friends and like-minded creatives. Thank you for making Helium a nurturing space for new and emerging writers. It's been an amazing and gratifying journey, and we're grateful you were part of it all. Good luck in your future writing endeavors.
The Helium Publishing Team
|Got side-swiped last week in a pick-up game. Five days later, I could barely walk. Got no sympathy at work. Decided to be a warrior, rather than point out my inability to sit or contort my torso in any way. Wasn't pleased by the spot check report of my work from five days ago.
My wife works with a neurologist who suggested double the daily anti-inflammatories. Figured it was back related, even though it was my hip that got clipped. The pain eventually travelled from my right quad to hamstring and back of knee before I started feeling numbness in my foot during work Tuesday. Within 12 hours, the Naproxen had relieved nearly all my pain. I could walk up and down steps with more than one leg's power. I could stand from a sitting position without effort. And, I got a good night's rest.
Now that 24 hours have passed, I'm tempted to quit this remedy because I feel fine and want to see if I can stay off medicine. I can start up again if there is a flare up.
I want to get back to basketball. Not patient enough to put in core work right now. That means I'll be injured again, within the month. I lack discipline, but try to make up for it with clueless desire.
|I will say things in writing to a person that I would not say to someone in person. Does this make me a coward or does corresponding through social media allow us greater access to expression?
Now, I will say there are limitations. Inflections, gestures, tone and some of the give and take in certain scenarios are missing. There are certain intimacies that cannot be duplicated in words. The beauty of it for a writer is to try. Can we find the right words to move another? There is power in these conveyances, if we can strike a chord with a reader.
I long for those internet embraces. I will be the first to admit I have shortcomings, but am learning every day the impact my words have had on others. I know humility and I know love. It is a bittersweet mix.
|I'm always intrigued by old stories from my hometown. Was doing a bit of digging today and found a very unusual story. Reporters back then wrote like they were giving first hand accounts, seldom using attribution. Though this piece is published in Kalamazoo, I suspect the information was either taken from a local paper or reporter. It almost reads like fiction.
WHIRLED IN A SHAFT
Fatal Injuries to Two Mill Employes at Iron Mountain
Iron Mountain, Mich., July 8--Kim Harvey, a millwright, with a man named Price for an assistant, was engaged in repairing a pulley in the Metropolitain Lumber company's mill, when the machinery suddenly started. Harvey's clothing was caught, and he was whirled around the shaft. In one of the revolutions his feet struck Price, who was on a beam above, knocking him some distance. Price struck on the floor squarely on his head and received injuries that may result in his death. Harvey continues to revolve around until every article of clothing excepting one shoe had been stripped from his person, when he dropped to the floor. Strange as it may seen, none of his limbs were broken, his injuries being of an internal nature. He cannot live. -Kalamazoo Gazette, July 9, 1898
English was like a second language in an area packed full of immigrants. I remember visiting homes as a paperboy where old women only spoke German or Scandanavian and being told by my friends, their neighbors or grand kids, that they never wanted to learn English.
The stories of lives lost in mining accidents in our area are quite sad and yet a way of life. Makes me think of the old movies where people struggled to make a few bucks to feed their family, even if it meant life or limb. My grandpa worked in the mine until he went on disability in 1933. He inhaled a good amount of stuff in his lungs that made it difficult to work underground again.
He came to America in 1893 at the age of 15 and settled in Iron Mountain. Second from right, Grandpa in the very old days at the bar where I learned to drink.
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