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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Sunday, June 23, 2019

Emily Dickinson in Pleasanton


from this week in June 2013  (I was 68)

   Emily Dickinson in Pleasanton
I’m somebody.  Who are you?
Are you somebody too?
Could there be a pair of us?
Nobody told me so.

How dreary to be no one
how rural, like a lout
with a name unheard the livelong June.
The very idea makes me pout.
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