January 31, 2013
Chicago winter in the 21st century
two days ago the birds were singing
calling out for lovers
thinking it spring
today it is too cold to stand outside
unless you were getting paid
and even then…
Chicago winter in the 21st century
it rained yesterday and then
snow fell all night
but waking only to an inch of it
not worth it to shovel the drive
not worth it to get the mail
not worth it to smoke and look
at the grass peeking out from under the snow
even the windows are frozen shut.
January, 31st 2013
– Hoc Scripsi
April 25, 2012
sun and moon
never write when it rains, it always ends up about the rain so I start with the rain and end it with…
I watch my wife shave her legs and remain hidden, covered by the bathroom door.
March 6, 2012
once again
I am on my back porch as it is a balmy 65 here in northern Illinois. This has been a hard, depressive year for me thus far and I cannot be surprised by my lack of posting, writing and doing anything productive in general.
I’ve read a lot.
Now I am reading less and starting to write more.
I have little to say. but I am enjoying the sun on my back porch, the sun on my face, the sun lying across my body. the wind through my beard and what little hair that is allowed to grow.
wind chimes are dissonant. Cage melodies without the artistic intent. satellite dishes make beautiful houses repugnant. trees look better fully dressed and ready for the rain.
fresh air serves me well, this is still winter but all signs of such have melted, receded into thirsty earth and now that I am out here – I am loathe to go back in.
that is all I have to say.
December 3, 2010
December, snow, ice and the general good time with whiskey
Apparently the 44″ snow thrower attached to the front of my John Deer is going to come in handy tonight and through the weekend. Also of use will be the seed spreader that pulls behind filled with ice melter.
December already and it’s going to be a white my birthday.
This is for Troy
1. the bending of steel
poetry.
coffee.
a love of hard liquor.
rifles, shotguns, pistols
revolvers.
men were bound by
thinner threads then these.
2. hammering to form
poetry.
coffee.
a love of hard liquor.
rifles, shotguns, pistols
revolvers.
man’s bind was broken by
thinner threads than these.
3. the fine blade
beauty.
art.
love.
the eyes and body move
of a naked dancing muse.
man’s mind was broken by
thinner threads than these
– Hoc Scripsi
I am looking at the Magpie image and thinking now; I am looking at my own door, painted red with window, and thinking casually.
I’ve been reading a lot of blogs lately and seeing some quality writing and some not so much. I comment on about 1/3rd of what I am reading as time does not allow for expression and reciprocation on everyone’s thoughts. On need to get back to Rabbit on his poetry as I said I would and am still pounding through the fall of man.
This blog needs more energy – needs more poetry while it is looking like I will finish the year slightly ahead of where I was last year. A good thing but I can see where I didn’t use all of my time wisely.
Almost nap time.
This above poem was written for Troy, because without him it would not have been written. Although it has been turned down by two publishers I believe it to be a solid poem and have high hope for it over the next few months.
Any publisher that reads me and wants it may use it with notification.
ad a good breakfast with a friend this morning with coffee that rivals the best of normal coffee houses – she only need a better coffee maker to bring it to the next level. Good range of topics covered and I left before I may have gotten boring immediately following saying some profound things. To include, on the subject of the impossibility of perfection or an impossible definition of perfection as to human achievement – If I am the sum of my life’s experiences, then I am perfect as I am. Some may say that leaves no room for improvement, but I counter that with I am only talking about now, not what is possible with the possibility of tomorrow.
Putting Sparklehorse’s last album to play I am now going to close my eyes and pull the night mask on. The safety word is “revenge”
– J.
the platitudes of willful resemblance 