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, March 29, 2021

I’m going to pound my feet on the hill

 

from this week in March, 1979  (I was 34)

 

I’m going to pound my feet on the hill.

I laugh when I hear Dylan sing,

“I’ve paid the price of solitude,

but at least I’m out of debt.”

I’m going to hit the deer trails,

look for a blue deer.

The trees laugh when I think of tomorrow.

(They lived all those years

so they could live today.)

I understand their laughter

I’m going to trot myself under their jocular leaves,

find myself running alongside a blue deer

who finds itself running alongside of me.

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