When you don’t seek the poems and
they find you, even if you’re asleep.
They slip into your dreams. First draft:
90% autobiographical and 10% art, but then
revised, that reverses. Poem and poet emerge.
— Hermann Hesse
— Ernest Hemingway
We tried to feel his once presence here,
but the life energy had been transformed.
The tour group took pictures without ghosts.
The staff set tables for a wedding.
I saw Kilimanjaro snow on his table.
Hemingway’s writing table in his Key West home.
He acquired the home in 1931 and lived and wrote there until he divorced Pauline in 1940. She got the home in the divorce and continued to live there…
Stanza: in Italian, a room, each complete,
constructed and furnished in the master’s style.
That simple, spare haiku room by itself,
elegant as any sprawling many-roomed antique mansion.
This room, in a palace of 365.
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
is lighter today, floating midway on waves -
or are they particles? Seek the fountain;
avoid the cave, but follow its sacred river,
to fertile gardens sprung from penciled rills.
Today’s poem alludes to Coleridge’s poem, “Kubla Khan,”
although my thoughts are directed towards writing.
The day came and went without poetry.
The pencil wrote “365 reasons to live”
on paper, but they never made it
to the computer. They weren’t uploaded
to a cloud of poems drifting by.
— H.L. Mencken
Clicking manual keys one at a time,
thoughts slow down, words appear more solidly.
The reward of a chime at the end of a line.
Love lines in one black font folded
into the mailbox slot to be hand-delivered.
Half-eaten acorns dropped on the picnic table
as I write by candlelight tonight outside
in this suburban darkness and outdoor lighting
from neighboring backyards, and the cool breeze
turns pages of my late summer book.
Poetry repairs. Lines cracked with the strain
of too much meaning, brittle with age.
New words, brightly-colored ideas, cutting away decay,
fresh-cut stanzas smelling of the pine air
over my head. A sky full of stars.
Writing late at night, alone in darkness
that is more than absence of light,
I drop into asleep at the keyboard -
awakened by sounds of coffee being made,
sunlight, soft breeze, birds and church bells.
The past few days my post on Signs in Nature of Winter to Come has been one of the most read articles. That is odd. It’s still summer for almost two more months. Then there is still the wonderful autumn.
Are people already thinking about winter?
Maybe it has been hot where they are sitting at their computer and the thought of a crisp winter day sounds appealing. I will admit that I had that…