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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Friday, May 6, 2022

My fingers gnarl

 

May 6, 2020 (I was 75)

 

My fingers gnarl

I can't let go

I cannot grasp

Pain of surprise

makes a sharp point

in joint of knuckle

that won't unbuckle

a sudden fear to comprehend

an end is near

I shudder to see a twisted digit

turned on me

With panicked haste

I pop it back in place

massage to soothe the knot

and the message of the thought

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