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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Thursday, December 23, 2021

Twas the night before the day that came after

 

from this week in 2014  (I was 70) 

 

Twas the night before the day that came after

There was the laughter preceding the disaster

The time when everything seemed to rhyme

We drank our money the evening light and funny

The morning saw the grime and the committed crime

The night before we filled the dance floor

We rolled and we rocked and we sweet talked

In the icy dark we walked each other home

It was two below through new fallen snow

Then we awoke to find it broken

Now hand in hand we ring the toppled dome

Nothing more need be spoken

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