Month: July 2014

Poetry

I believe there’s a place for poetry in everyone’s life. My wife was sending me poems today that made me realize there is no one way to approach writing. The poems she sent me got me out of my comfort zone. They got me to reimagine imagery and to reassess my approach to poetry.
I began writing by writing poetry. Well, I began writing in my adult life by writing poetry. I never wrote poems as a child. I wrote a lot of stories.
It’s been a long time since I’ve written a poem. It’s been a long time since I’ve read a poem. Until today, when I started reading Tyler Knott Gregson.
I have a book entitled Good Poems which is a compilation of poetry, compiled by Minnesota’s own Garrison Keillor. I devoured that book. For one who is not fully engrossed in the poetry field as I once was, this book was my lifeline to the world of imagery.
If you have poetry that you have written, or poetry that you would recommend, please share it with me. I think it would be good for all of us to re-view the world in a lens of a different shade.

Love and kisses,
Benjamin

On Being Old

I posted last night that I needed to write for a little bit before I went to sleep. Once again I am crouching up against bedtime and I’m trying to pound out another few minutes before I turn in. You will be happy to know that last night’s productivity enhanced my manuscript a solid sixty words.

I have been thinking about the fact that I have to go to bed at a relatively early hour. I believe typical twenty-six-year-olds can stay up until wee hours of the morning, turn around and be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for work the next day. “Not I!” said the writer.

When my bedtime approaches, my body shuts down. This is not the only aspect of my life that connects me to the geriatric. I recently found myself sitting on a porch, in a rocking chair, smoking a pipe with people considerably younger than me sitting at my feet. With nothing better to do, I told them a story.

These along with other qualities may put me in the superannuated category, but I’m ok with that. I understand that getting out of a chair kills one’s back. Maybe I don’t get all of the newspeak kids these days are talkin’. When I was their age…

I like to think that I’m preparing myself for old age. By the time my body catches up to my soul, it’ll be like friends meeting for the first time since grade school.

Too bad people don’t laugh off my wise-ass comments like they do for Grandma.

mark-twain-rocking-chair

Image source: BartCop

must

It’s 10 o’clock at night. I am finally home from band practice. I’m home from work. I’m exhausted. I’m ready to lie down and allow these heavy eyelids the rest they demand. 

But no. I have been encouraged, pressured and challenged to write every night. I have fifteen minutes to invest into my writing. I can stave off sleep for another 20 minutes; fifteen for writing, five for getting ready for bed. 

Now I write. Ten-thirty I sleep. 

Does going to bed this early make me old? That’s another post. Right now my protagonist is telling a story that I must put down on paper. 

Goodnight, friends.