Wrapping paper shreds
Exploded packaging and
Happy hugs, chatter
Each left with a little sack of
Their own to take home.
A hundred tiny lights shine
In pools of mixing color.
Santa is watching.
Hugs all around us.
Life has slowed down for today.
Have some more egg nog.
I almost forgot
To get out the apple pie!
Let me help you with that.
When the world is first frostbitten
tender trees touched in thin ice
When summer shows its back
abandoning you for a faraway land
When winter’s wan face smirks at your peephole
hard fingernails tapping your door
knowing it will soon be strong
enough to crack your lock and let itself in
When everything disintegrates into blue and white and crispy brown
and the wind, mad surgeon, lacerates your summer softened skin
then the clouds part
of heavenly light
a welcoming patch in which to stand
When you know you are about to lose it for good
that is when the warmest sun shines
It’s only been a month since I started blogging?? I started on 6/26.
It’s been a lifetime. I’ve already learned so much, written so much, read so much. I dare say my poetry has gone up a level or two since I began.
Not long ago, I was thinking to myself, “I need more writer friends.” I have a lot of visual artist friends, and I am head over heels in love with every one of them. But I had very few people with whom I could talk about writing as a craft.
I didn’t realize it, but I was stagnating as a writer.
I’m not sure what happened. I was just following the flow of Tao, “what the hell.” I barely even knew what a blog was. I figured I’d be invisible. Actually I was sort of banking on it, not really wanting to be emotionally exposed. I didn’t know there was a wordpress community. I was vaguely aware of the term “blogosphere” and thought that sounded like a dreadful place full of people bitching about the mundanity of their lives or ranting their crazy.
Well, I guess it is that. But it’s also much more than that. And it’s really unexpectedly lovely.
I never thought of myself as a poet. I was just venting on paper. If someone told me six months ago that I was going to do this, my mind would have boggled. “Poetry” and “blog,” were two of the most boring words put together.
No. It’s electricity. The level of talent out there, the things people post leave me breathless. And where are the trolls? I’ve spent a month just reading, and the greater part of the dialogue has been enlightening and respectful. Everyone has been kind in their own way.
They say writing is a solitary craft, but I have learned about as much in the past month as I managed to teach myself in my years of solitary efforts.
Warm fuzzies to all.