After a fairly unproductive day, I ate a small dinner outside the back of my apartment which is a small slab of concrete upon which there are two small tables, and three chairs. A neighbor was outside a few apartments away. He was on the phone and holding one of his young children. They both went inside shortly after I finished eating. Perhaps they knew the rain was coming.Continue reading “Poem: When I Say I Love the Rain – 14 June, 2021”
It has been difficult finding ways to cope with all that is going on in the world these days. After a long walk with my dog I sat down and tried to write. This poem, a work in progress, is all I could come up with. It is difficult to write about these things. About death and war and massacres, genocides, occupation. Difficult still when I have no experience with them. Do I even have any right to write about them?Continue reading “Poem: I Saw A Missile Lying in a Bed”
A Melancholic Watercolor
The trouble with losing someone who opened your eyes to a new way of looking at things, a wonderful new vision, is that after they're gone your own eyes remind you of them, seeing what isn't there. And so everything is shaded, slightly greyed, and life becomes, for a time, like a melancholic watercolor. It's a beautiful gift... a terribly beautiful gift.
Another night of restlessness.
I wrote a poem while lying in bed. I think it’s too sentimental, and therefore too amateur. Is sentimentality amateur? If so then there’s no hope for me. I am far too sentimental.
Yet I have problems with sentimentality. At least overly sentimental writing.
— (read on after the poem for an unintentional book review) —Continue reading “15 April 2021 (feat. The Blanket poem)”