And So It Goes

Tonight's posting will probably stay fairly short, as I am too tired from the evening's events to maintain sufficient enthusiasm for my project but, who knows, maybe inspiration will strike and I will be able to pontificate for hours on some rant or other. We'll see, we'll see. We went out tonight, Ross and I, with some friends to a Chinese restaurant that we all like. Toward the end of the evening Ross said something I took exception to, and then I said something he reacted VERY badly to, and so on and so forth. That is why I am in a crappy frame of mind at the moment. We "settled" the issue by discussing it but the peace and happiness that could have been a large part of this evening has been shattered, permanently dissipated by resentments of things thought implied and by over-reactions that should not be happening between us. This always leaves me feeling sad and concerned. I am also made unhappy by the worries about "someone else's" health and this merely reinforces the fact of our getting older, crabbier and more infirm each passing day. In other words, life sucks sometimes. (So much for having a degree in English!)

The day began with all sorts of hopeful plans for posting some more of my writing on my blog and, hopefully, reactivating my old web page (which was shamefully ignored for far too long) and placing links from page to blog and blog to page. This can still be accomplished, but the fire of energy and inspiration has fizzled in the frump I now find myself stewing in. So, maybe tonight is not such a great time to think about trying to accomplish anything even marginally technically challanging. There is always tomorrow and, again hopefully, the sun will rise, the hurt and injury of an argument will have healed with no bruising evident, and I will be able to figure out how to use the HTML that I have mostly forgotten over the past six to eight years while pretty much ignoring my (rather cute, if I may say so) website.

When I graduated I was a little concerned that I might not keep up with my writing, but those concerns have been laid to rest because I discovered, late in the game but still in time, blogging and its attendant benefits to people who enjoy writing. This is a very good thing, at least for me. I will not venture to make such a statement with reference to those who have chosen to read that writing, but I hope the effect is more of an all over salutary one rather than one that sends them into any sort of literary shock or coma after exposure. So far, though few in number, I have received only positive comments and no reports of injuries, mental or otherwise, as a direct result of having experienced my blog.

It occurs to me that several of my entries have mentioned the weather at the time I have been writing, so I feel I should keep that up as a sort of signature feature of my particular bloginess. Besides, it has cooled off enough that my feet are cold so I am forced to pay closer attention to the weather than I might otherwise tonight. It is still Summer but there is a definite feel of Autumn in the air of New England tonight. I do not know if I offended anyone, but I decided to wear my "Autumn" shirt today - it has brown, green, and red leaves all over it - as a sort of premonitory to the approaching Fall and Winter weather. One of my friends has said that she feels we are in for a long, hard Winter, but I hope she is mistaken. We need a gentle, kind winter this year. One that does not cause power failures and too many snow related injuries. We need snowfalls on the eves of Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's Day, and not too much else, except for some "maintenance" snow now and again. There is nothing quite as lovely as a white pine or a blue spruce with their branches coated in snow as they droop toward the earth in a ballet of burden. The trees do look lovely when they wear this layer of snow, but they also become hazardous to the open necklines of sweaters and jackets for those of us given to only traversing the great outdoors during this time of year from house to car and car to wherever then back to car and from car to house. All it needs is the sound of an evil snicker to issue forth from the arbor-ites as they dump tons of white stuff down peoples' necks to make the action take on the life it already seems to have whenever it happens. Nature is definitely more fun when it seems to have that anthropomorphic sense of humor to it. (It really is quite chilly tonight so I will leave that statement in my defence before I move on to another subject.)

I have just had Ross proof-read my earlier comments so he is aware of what I have posted. I do not like mentioning anything bordering on the too personal without checking with people first.

I am going to put at least one more of my poems here tonight, after all. It makes me feel better for whatever reason.

To Sylvia*

There was,
In your fragile being - an overly ripe pear
Ready to fall -
At the heart,
A gaping black hole.

Not vast intellect,
Poetry,
Children,
Fame,
Anger,
Pain,
Or the promise of Spring,
Could fill it.

It devoured everything it touched.
You sought out Belson,
Aushwitz, Dachau,
And sticking your head into an oven,
Found the gas chamber
That sent you,
A gypsy,
To join the Jews in death.

You closed your eyes
And thought the world dropped dead.
Perhaps you made us up
Inside your head.**

*Sylvia Plath - possibly one of the most talented poets to hit the airwaves since Shakespeare.
**Last four lines/stanza paraphrased from a villanelle written by Sylvia Plath


Autumn

Some care
And see the loneliness
Are they aware
They cannot breathe
New Spring for
Dead mother
Lost brother
Distant sister
Frail grandmother
Forever gone
Dying
Missing
Fading?
Incurable life
Scarring heart
And all other
Hidden places.

My leaves fall slowly
Crumbling into loamy tears
Sustaining the roots.

another Autumn poem (untitled):

Like troubled souls that fail to catch the light,
En masse, yet lonely, fall the Autumn leaves. They waft and tumble,
Dying slowly, restless in their flight.

They cannot breathe new life or restore sight
To hearts too sore, too tired, in their grief. They grumble,
Like troubled souls that fail to catch the light.

Forever gone are those who sought another plight, from
This poor terrain, this earth, our home to broken hearts that crumble,
Dying slowly, restless in their flight.

Our understanding of what waits for us is slight.
Religion tries and fails, yet leaves us humbled, feeling
Like troubled souls that fail to catch the light.

Gone is the great pretense, all imaginings of our great might,
All we have left is our propensity to hope and stumble, while
Dying slowly, restless in our flight.

All that is hidden suddenly comes to light.
Whatever it was we thought we heard as some celestial mumble we now know
Were troubled souls that failed to catch the light; forever
Dying slowly, restless in their flight.

**WARNING**
The following two poems may be disturbing to some people as they involve a much too early sexual experience and my response to the person who perpetrated it. Otherwise, they are not expressed in a vulgar fashion and do not utilize any profanity beyond the spirit of the incident itself.

Providence

It was lucky those
Construction workers found us
In the big cardboard box
With all of our clothes off.
You, your younger brother,
And me -
A little girl too curious
To know better.

You said only
Bad boys had penises
That stood out straight like that.
Your younger brother looked worried.
Then, the men found us,
Made us get dressed,
Then scolded us
And sent me home.
I think they knew
They had just saved
A seven-year-old girl from being
Raped by a twelve-year-old boy.

You killed the baby robin
And you killed my kitten, Tom.
Were you planning to kill me, too?


To a Twelve Year Old Molester

You have touched my life
In an unthinkable way
Yet again,
And I cannot forgive you.
I hope you never did those things
To any other little girl
But I think you probably did.
Looking back I know
I was not the culprit.
You were the one
Who slathered both of us with your dirt,
Your stink,
Your poison.
That poison is still working
Its way out of my soul.
I prefer not to think of you
Because when I do
I cannot see myself in the mirror.
I become a monster,
Something incubated
In your sickness
And I wish you every evil
Your curiosity, your lust,
Has imposed upon me.
I hope,
If you are the father of a little girl,
That no one like you
Has ever played with her,
Otherwise she might grow up
To realize
She has a monster
For a Daddy.
But then, at least,
I would have the
Satisfaction
Of knowing you had finally paid
For all of your evil plans.