Murphy’s Bye-Laws

As the day when A__’s and my child’s arrival draws near, lots of things swirl around in my head. Looking into the dense fog of the future, the uncertainty can weigh on the brain as this new life will likely – hopefully – plunge further into that fog than its mother or I. Since we will not travel long with them along this new path, I had thoughts of what to send with them. So, I wrote those thoughts down. Then I looked at them and read them and thought they had some rhythm and I rewrote them into some poetic form.

The new poem For my unborn child can be found under the Poetry tab at the top of the page. Today we are T-minus 5 weeks. Who knows how long before the child actually reads this, but hopefully they don’t stop reading it.

Yippee! I’ve written another poem. “Pen Pal” is partially inspired by my regular correspondence with my cousin Ella, far removed from acquaintance but not distance, and partially inspired by a story I heard about recently deceased writer/director John Hughes’ pen pal relationship with a teenager.

I also went back a few months (using the Poetry tag cloud on the right) to pick up poems scribbled into a blog post, but not onto a poetry page, as is my apparent convention. Included in the list of resurrections is Random Rambling and If I Had My Camera With Me. I’ve recieved good personal feedback from a writer friend about the latter; he was inspired to keep writing and elaborating, which would no longer make it a rondeau.

It was a dark and stormy night, or perhaps a bright and sunny day, and I was contemplating updating my Facebook status with a phrase that had popped into my head. As the phrase developed, it grew longer and more complete until I realized it was not meant for a mere Facebook status update. Another poem was born on these very pages then.

Inspired by B.W. Richardson’s posts of late about fear and hope and dreams, the symbolism of the phrases fell into place and Shipwreck was born. Please feel free to read the poem and then Richardson’s blog, Montag – or vice versa. Then get to sailing!

After a long day in my cubicle staring at a computer screen, I came home and had the last three servings of my Christmas whiskey.  The Redbreast irish whiskey (pure pot still) that A__ gave to me was most fine. I won’t pretend to be able to artfully or intelligently give a review of the whiskey beyond the fact that I really, really liked it. It was smooth and rich and downright delicious. I could have shed a tear when the last drop came from the bottle, but instead I penned (or keyboarded) a poem, “Whiskey Chaser”.

So long my flavorful Redbreast, may we meet again someday.

Along with the thoughts and experiences transcribed in the post “Ah, Vacation…“, I also got a very good start on expressing some of the poetry I felt while shedding my worries in the ocean.  I took some time today to rework the rough draft, insert some rhyme, and add a few stanzas.  So the poem “Beach Vacation“, a play on the event and the leaving of my mind, has been posted to its page under the poetry tab.  Enjoy and comment and share it with your friends and enemies.

I have been meaning to write up some stuff regarding our recent vacation to Assateague Island National Seashore in Maryland, but alas the days are busy when vacation ends.  Finally, I can sit and try and reflect upon the trip.  Actually, I’m going to take my word for it and just plagiarize my little Moleskin notebook where some of my thoughts found expression while chilling right on the beach; there is still sand in the pages.  I never started writing until I finished The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, which I never read before, on or around the end of the third day.  The following is from the notebook (Thanks, Lisa!).

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

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Sagging and exhausted under the heavy burden of boredom

Disillusion has stolen the color from the kingdom.

Comedians speaking truth to the powerful

While the corporate press is a cowed fool

I now only laugh at the ranks of officialdom.

.

The entire court composed of unsuspecting jesters

Neuroses-swollen egos rot and fester.

We common peasants look on at this insanity,

The fires consuming lives and family,

And Nero dancing through without blister.

.

Miserly only with its discretion

Congress has given the impression

That it can run a business

Of the utmost fitness

In the ground without hesitation.

I grabbed the sturdy handle of the coffee mug and took a long drink.  It is a very industrial cup designed like a workman’s thermos: a dimply green steel outer shell, carrying the brand name of tools, and insulated for consumption while on the move.  I set the mug down refreshed and look at the handle that has been glued back on.  There is the overflowed remnants of adhesive where the reconnection was made.  Battle scars.  I think of who gave me the mug, the life he led, and how much more fitting it is that the mug was patched rather than discarded.

Just the other day I ate a meal that was all about reminiscence.  American cheese on a bun and microwaved seems kind of odd – and less than appetizing.  The bun gets kind of gummy, cheese oozes out onto a paper towel, and it isn’t all that filling, either.  But it was the snack our dad made quickly while being whisked off to soccer practice as children.  I ate it and enjoyed the consumption of the memory.

We should be mindful of the things we do and touch because we leave our essence upon them to be found again and again.  Badness and fright can happen again and again the same as happiness and love.

I’m still being visited by the Muse and I’m still struggling to get it all recorded. In the depths of my commute home yesterday, an idea for a poem had injected itself into my head like a magma flow into crevasses in the bedrock.  I managed to record some notes via the memo recorder on my phone, but this method is awkward for me, perhaps only serving to embed it in my memory from actually forming the sentences.  I absolutely must learn how to write while I drive!

This idea fomented based on a quote from the Writer’s Almanac or the random quotes that greet me on my iGoogle page each morning.  The quote was a poet lamenting that people didn’t write about love or with humor anymore; modern poems now mostly consisting of nature or something, under the influence of the Romantics (counter-intuitive?).  This has stuck in my brain, especially since I ruminate poetically mostly about nature, I think. I have written love poems for A___ that won’t be seen here.  I gave them to her as a personal gift and she can choose to do what she wants with them, including post them.

The poem born yesterday will only carry a dedication to A___, as it is now posted on its own poetry page (listed under the “Poetry” page at the top or on the right sidebar) and entitled “Your Love Builds Mountains.”  While the poem may not carry overt humor I’m sure some may be found, since some people can find humor in anything.  It definitely carries a theme of love, all inside of a natural metaphor.  Whoever the lamenting poet was will have to accept the compromise.

Beyond the references to extreme heat in the poem, the other aspect of hotness in this post are the links to my Pandora stations, meaning if you click on them you are transported to Pandora.com to play the station.  (I would like to apologize for the lameness of that last statement; it really was a stretch.  But then, you have to pay for non-lame web content.)  The building and tweaking of the music stations became quite a game for me, and so there is some overlap in my created stations.  There are also stations created by others that I have linked to appearing in the list as well.  For anyone who likes the random button, Pandora is your mecca.  Personally, I hardly ever listen to a CD straight through, unless it is a soundtrack, compilation, or live recording.

So enjoy the new poem while chilling out to some moderately random, though quite musically related, tunes.

A few weeks back I saw on my iGoogle page, an article from Poets.org about the poetic form of a Rondeau.  The origin of the form is pretty interesting; I’d suggest the quick read.  But when I saw the form, and the repetition in it, I thought it would be fun to put a poetic theme I had been thinking about for a couple of weeks into this form.  So, I present you with the result. Enjoy.

P.S.  There is a piece of short fiction I’m working on rolling out, as soon as my impromptu editor – Mr. ResistMuch1976 – has finished helping me polish it (only the best for my readers!).  Keep your eyes peeled! Read the rest of this entry »