MURKY WATERS

I think I will start throwing in poems I have written...one or two...here and there 08/31/1995 So you think you are a poet? You can make two verses rhyme. You are giddy and you’re singing. And you’re happy all the time. You think you are a poet? You think the world is yours? You think the sun is shining, Through perpetually open doors? I’ll tell you something fellow, Before you’ve gone too far; Before you are committed, Before your soul you mar; Poetry is awful, It’s reflecting on the past, It’s peering in the future, It’s the storm before the mast. It is wading in new waters, They are murky and they’re black; And the tide will draw you under. And you’ll never more look back. It’s reliving your past failures. It’s hoping you are sane. Poetry is suffering, Poetry is pain..

Longing for the open places

Well here it is August 2008 and I haven’t written a poem for years. I have not felt inspired…just sitting here wishing I lived in or at least had a second home in West Yellowstone or Island Park or Brian Head or some such. I fear I will never be happy in “civilization” But what to do when the spouse you love is a “city” girl. Alas I keep praying for wealth enough to help the kids and have enough left over for a second home but I also pray, “Thy will be done!” Maybe happiness for me, in that sense is to be in the next life. I’m going to continue praying though.