That is all.
I am captivated by my own world and have nothing to really say about it. There are so many typos in the sentence that this one is replacing that I’m not bothering with the original. My coffee needs a filler and I am waiting for my turn to practice my instrument. My son first practices his as his future involves these things and only my past does. I have written a single poem this year and last year by this time I was up to around 28 or so.
I am staring at this black piece of paper
with four poems waiting to be written;
drinking coffee but
wonting for something else entirely.
my ears are dirty with grime
and later I’ll shower.
right now I am not adjacent to godliness
but God doesn’t drink coffee
or smoke endless cigarettes turning on the next line.
- Hoc Scripsi
I am waiting for something to say that I haven’t already said better for fear of repeating myself but maybe that it all I need to do – repeat myself better or worse and watch trains rumble by while I drink fresher coffee served by baristas that long to do something different – even if it as meaningless as what they perceive they do now. It’s palpable. the wont.
I am trying to quit but running out now to smoke another instead of type type type bang bang bang on the MacBook with the loose key. It is nearing time for a new or newer laptop and I cannot decide if laptop or tablet or nothing at all and force myself to travel down to my office where the desktop is and write there – adjacent to the IBM Selectric III and Buddha.
I do not make resolutions specifically for this date – I make them when I need to have made them. I made my last new years resolution many years ago stating that I would never again make another new years resolution and so far I haven’t. In the past several months I’ve made a few decisions that I am carrying through with into the new year but this is not the same thing. I’ve taken up playing the trumpet and am sticking with it with lessons and everything and I’ve quit smoking to be a better trumpet player (more lung capacity; better breath).
I like to beat dead horses.
There are many things I don’t need – a specified day to start something new is one of those things I don’t need.
But onto another subject.
I haven’t written in months and last night wrote a few lines of poetry – for my wife, always for my wife…
I love you
and that may be all
shared coffee over old television shows
and newer series watched in minute marathons
It needs more and I will write more for it but for now it is there waiting and I take the medications carefully every night and every morning. I build catapults with my son and watch him build with Legos.
and I sing the song of my people.
Written earlier in the year – much earlier but I like it. – Jhon
listening to Bach
listening to Bach
two part inventions
number 1 in C Major,
not drinking beer
not going to the OTB
or wrestling with dogs.
Robinson Jeffers died today, 1962
and wrote a lifetime of poetry
after his genius had faded.
it is January, 20 2013
51 years past his death,
his work still overlooking Big Sur.
sharp pains in my chest and I heave;
I am only 36
and my genius has yet to flower
and bear fruit.
timing is everything.
- Hoc Scripsi