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.


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Monday, May 14, 2018

That man sang a song


May 14, 2017  (I was 72)

That man sang a song
   Sometimes the sludge is a drudge
   that continues until you make mistakes
   say the wrong words and curse the fates  
   smell just like the place you fell
   and the trudge continues before you
   You wish it would end but it doesn’t
   think that it must but it mustn’t
   think you can’t budge but you do
   think it through you do think it
   through the slough you do
   through the slop and the glop and the goo
   and the judge awaiting before you
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