There’s a ketchup packet on the bottom shelf of my fridge – the solid, plastic shelf above the crisper drawers where I would store fruits and vegetables if I had fruits and vegetables. There was a time in US bureaucratic history and policy when the USDA was considering classifying ketchup and pickle relish as vegetables…
Looking for the Familiar
It’s not yet 8am. The foghorn from the bridge sounds every 18 seconds. This has been going on since sometime yesterday. The morning sun has broken through. It lights my apartment. It warms the left side of my face and neck as I sit on the sofa editing poems I’ve written but am not happy…
Two Wolves in the Morning
The two wolves snarling and nipping at each other this morning are: spontaneity and being methodical. I’m reading a book about breathing. It’s called Breath by James Nestor. A friend recommended it while we were hiking and I was getting my ass kicked on the climb. I had said something about how when I run,…
Wellness Check
It’s 4am. Tuesday. I woke up about half an hour ago and couldn’t fall back asleep. The apartment is chilly. The outside temperature is in the mid-fifties. I’ve had the windows open for several weeks – maybe months. Ten minutes later, I’ve already had my waffles. I’ve moved from my square, dark wood bistro table…
Abandoned Posts or a Case of the Mondays
I keep at least two journals. One is this blog space. The other is a notebook that I carry with me when I intentionally set out for a park or a bench by the water with a book or two of poetry. This space, the blog, is mostly about my day to day activities and…
Mish Mosh (Start with Love, End with Hate)
Homer: No TV and no beer make Homer go something something.
Marge: Go crazy?
Homer: Don’t mind if I do.
It’s only been a few days of semi-isolation. I haven’t had any beer or watched any TV…
Simplify, Simplify, Revise, Delete, Revise, Arrive
It’s morning. The sun is bright. Steam rises from my cup of coffee and the foghorn from the bridge keeps time in 18-second intervals. In between my coughs, I’m reading and writing and looking at my phone. Looking for a line of poetry that might inspire me, I go to look for recent screenshots of…
House Arrest
At midnight I awoke from a fever dream. A woman, an ex I think but I’m not sure which one, accidentally killed my dog. I had been away. She was dog sitting. My friend Steve was there too. When I got home, they didn’t want to tell me. I grew impatient and cruel in my…
It Feels Good
As so often happens after I write a long post in which I try to figure out how to reconcile where I am with where I used to be (like the one I posted today “Cutting through the Noise…“), I re-think and re-visit and try to revise. In my head, I come up with the…
Cutting Through the Noise, Cutting to the Chase
I feel capable of more. Or maybe I want more. I feel a little stuck. Or maybe lost is the word I’m looking for.
Warning: despite the title, disjointed thinking ahead.
For days (perhaps weeks), I’ve been riding one of my favorite hobby-horses:
Because Why Not?
The firework that exploded nearby (maybe an M80) was one of those deep booming ones that echoes as though the city streets were canyons. The seagulls flitted overhead, their cries sounded confused and panicked. In that moment, I gained a new understanding of ignorance and cruelty. I couldn’t unhear the seagulls’ screams – it was…
Lives and Limitations
On a sun-drenched Saturday, I went to a bbq at a lovely home in Oakland Hills. The back deck had two levels. The bottom level was big enough for three or four dining tables of various sizes and was surrounded by tall redwoods. From the upper level, the view looked westward over parts of Oakland,…