I don’t write in a journal everyday, but I have accumulated many entries over the past 50+ years beginning in 1966. Some items evolved into longer works. Among the leftovers little pieces survived. I thought a collection of these with a piece culled from the same date in a past year would make an interesting yearbook. The consistencies and inconsistencies of mind, skipping back and forth across time, provide varied perspectives. It is difficult to remember the context of the past we’ve lived; we also make suppositions about times that predate ourselves.

The few alterations from original drafts were to improve clarity. The worst of my work is not included. There remains enough mediocrity and immaturity to make me feel humble and you feel smart. There are also moments of accidental insight and incidental humor.

Author Stephen Crane referred to his little pieces as pills…apparently they were small and somewhat hard to swallow, but good for you.


Comments Welcome!

Saturday, September 3, 2016

Sunol


September 3, 1977  (I was 32)

         Sunol
Some might say I’m living an escape.
They speak of a hideout in the woods
for a part time recluse.
To them, it is an amusement
quite romantic, naively idyllic,
a place of dreams in which to dream.
They intimate psychological retreat,
these worldly heroes who leave the room
to avoid a spider, who contract poison oak
thinking about trees, but this place is real.
The deer are feeding in the hills
the turkey vulture circles overhead
the raccoons come to the porch
the possums hang from the oaks
the snakes hide under rocks
tarantulas march across the road in September
The actuality of the place cannot be denied
It has not been created in search of ignorance
It creates itself in the image of its own truth
Posted by at
Labels: ,

No comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)