bookmark_borderSolitude on Lake Lucerne, July – 2019

Listen to the audio recording of this post, read by the author. Approx. 3 min.

July 11, 2019 – Lucerne, Switzerland

I noticed all the boats said, “License not Req.” so I handed some money to the young man behind the counter of a small shed and after a brief exchange where he told me that I was to be charged by the hour, I climbed into a boat. It was a small boat with only one real seat for the captain, and a plank that could have fit two people side by side. I think a life jacket was tossed in along with me… but I don’t remember wearing one.

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bookmark_borderMorning Fog in the Soccer Field, 2022

The fog was cloud-thick as the man and his dog ventured out into oblivion. You couldn’t see the cars, but the hiss as they passed by found them in the field. Honking shadows glided down from the sky, their scattered calls organizing a shrouded gathering.

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bookmark_border26 Feb. 2022 – Good Luck [Poem – 1st draft]

I’ve labeled this poem a first draft, because it is. It appears here as it was written when it was thought and without edits. I’ve included context for it, as well as some personal notes written to myself. In the grand scheme of things, this is perhaps infinitely insignificant. Still, it is a glimpse of the thought process that goes into writing a poem, albeit not one that was worked on for very long, over the course of days, weeks, or more. From the initial idea to the saved document was less than fifteen minutes, perhaps disrespectfully short. But it is a beginning to something, maybe. Or an example of what not to do.

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bookmark_borderTwo Short Beginnings – Writing in New Brunswick with Images as Prompts

Yesterday I met up with a friend in New Brunswick (NJ). We were hoping to get a bit of writing done. I took a train North, while she took a train South, we met in the middle roughly equidistant from where we each live. Neither one of us are terribly familiar with the area, though I spent a brief amount of time during my college years living with an ex-girlfriend of mine. I arrived first and walked to a park, the train station in sight. I, like many writers, often–almost exclusively–write in solitude, in my kitchen, a usually controlled environment where my dog seems to always understand what’s going on. I had no idea what to expect, how I would perform writing outside of my kitchen.

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