April 14, 2010

Small Orts and Big Vistas




Downtown from Shelter Island…..one of my favorite views. 2010.



National Poetry Month: Stop and visit just a moment with Emily Dickinson.

Himself: Swam. Got his hair cut, blazer to the cleaners, walked on Shelter Island, and beard trimmed. Job hunted. He fixed a really good dinner.

Herself: Swam. Hacked and slashed on two pieces, followed G around on errands. Read.

Reading: Rereading “The White Dragon.”

Gratitude: Sunshine, being able to be here, color. Someone said to me at the pool yesterday that God came first on his gratitude list then family….there was nothing else. I suggested adding color…for without any passion, how can we reach out for anything else.

  • I have this great ability to create truly mediocre poems then later come back and craft them into something of value. It’s Poetry Month, and I admit that I have difficulty looking at my own work with a dispassionate eye. Still, some of my stuff has value….when I look at it weeks or months, or even years in the future.


  • Today I have added another hour or so of work at the Cancer Society Thrift Store, the Discovery Shop, to my list of weekly “to do’s.” When I first started there, I worked with the books as well as the donations. Later the book job was given to an older lady in a wheelchair. In the last few weeks, she has been ill and not able to come to work. I volunteered to come in on Wednesdays for a few hours to price and shelve books. It’s an incredibly satisfying thing to do. What a magic way to give back.


  • I just need to do it….call the doc and tell her that I’m still home to a fungi or two from the antibiotics. You know, mentally I poke and whine Lessa’s way for not taking immediate care of her SUV with its “Check Engine Light” on. Instead I keep trying lotions and potions that haven’t and aren’t killing off the fungi expecting something new from the lotions and potions. Sometimes I need to yank my head out of the sand and laugh at myself…..while calling the doctor. So what am I afraid of?

2 comments:

  1. Yep, we all have those times, except I never write good poetry.

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  2. About the first draft of poetry that shapes up nicely at a later sitting, I think that first draft is the "shitty first draft" Anne Lamont spoke of in Bird by Bird. Put it aside a week or so, and a third working may make it the masterpiece you had in mind to start! Keep writing. It's a cleansing experience, don't you think?

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