Monday, February 6, 2012

We mean what we say.

There aren't a lot of poems now
that've avoided being written.
From birds and bees
to death and trees
it's all been sorely beaten.

Around and round the mulberry bush
from London to the bay.
Every powerful prose
and bleeding rose
has made it to the page.

So a writer now is left with none
but topics much compiled.
All good prayers've been said
and such lines have been read
that us crafters are left with the bile.

But if we're going to take the time right now
to lament the old clichés.
Like good grapes in a bunch
or that wine with your lunch
Truth in writing is enjoyed by the case.

Sunday, February 5, 2012

Look, yes, I know I've been putting this one off for a while.

Here's the thing; for the most part, I like to live in a state of suspended reality. Yeah, that sounds weird and wacky, or maybe even cliché, but the truth of the matter is, you can only hold on so tight in this crazy written word world before the past, i.e. every blog post from last year, will inevitably come back to haunt you. Or, at the very least, and in this case specifically, will have to be acknowledged every time I log in. But you just have to embrace it. If you run from it, or don't log in at all, you'll fail to absorb all the embarrassment that the Good Lord put there for a reason; you won't learn anything. If you pretend like it never existed, or clean out older posts -that more reflect the writer you were than the writer you are- you'll be skipping out on the enjoyment that comes from reflecting on everything you've learned. You are better. And always will continue to become so. Shying away from that, from what was true for you yesterday, only robs you, and everyone else, from facing the actual and beautiful reality of the situation; who you’ve become today. Of course, this line of reason goes for almost anything, but with the steady stream of date stamps that Blogger puts on all our posts, it's especially pertinent here. All I’m really trying to say is, I'm going to leave up all my old posts, forever, no matter how embarrassing I find them, and the evolution of a writer will forever be plain to see, or search, or read, for all who care to look, until death do us part. Yes, let's get overdramatic here, because, at the end of the day, we have serious things to worry about, like the abomination Katy Perry and Tim Tebow are inevitably going to bring into the world, so why not learn and grow and shiver with shame, and laugh at ourselves together, here where, as I've determinedly stated, things are completely permanent and suspended just enough to comfortably admit how lame we were, and joyfully move on with haste.