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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Saturday, November 14, 2020

Dumb Ducks

 

from this week in November, 1977  (I was 32)

 

                  Dumb Ducks

The thing is, it seems ducks will live anywhere.

They are quite indiscriminate;

more than a few find their way out of the woods.

They populate roadside drainage ditches and swamps;

they live with pigeons and gulls in city park lakes

floating among the paper scraps,

feeding on a diet of popcorn and white bread

and lead bb’s to aid digestion.

Dogs and kids break their legs.

They swim in circles.

These are not old ducks;

they did not know to think and became unable to fly out.

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