A bit of Memoir

>> 3.28.2011

I guess I should have missed my father since he was dead. He’d been dead for several years then, but as I recall I was more concerned with the damp chill, the spitting rain that covered the day like a soggy blanket so that I wasn’t sure if it was day or night.

I remember the puddle of cold, cold water at my feet, my black patent leather Mary Janes mud-spattered, my once-white Buster-Brown socks soaked, clinging and iced against my feet, the trickle of water from the umbrella overhead that always seemed to drain down the back of my neck – icy fingers against my spine. The only warm spot was the hand my mother held tightly in hers.

Taller than my head, a dark grey stone marked where my father lay. I remember wondering why anyone wanted to spend eternity in the dank ground suffocated by soil and covered with bugs and things. But like most young children, my attention soon wandered away from the stone to the churchyard. The cemetery was attached to a church dating from long, long before even my parent’s births. The rain-drenched trees lining the outside of the cemetery morphed into unnamed monsters from nightmare worlds when seen from the corner of my eye – when I looked directly, they once more became innocent trees draped with sodden leaves that faded into that misty time.

My brother stood on the other side of my mom and when I peaked around her crinoline dress skirt, he would scowl and stick his tongue out at me. At nearly five years older than I, he was as he continually reminded everyone, the man of the family now that daddy had died.

It’s hard to miss someone you never really knew at least, until someone else tells you, shows you, you’re somehow less for not having one.



(Just a bit of memoir - not sure what, if anything, I'm going to do with it.)

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Quotes for Today

"I believe that the act of writing is itself the muse."
~Bret Anthony Johnston

"I don't know what inspiration is.  But when it comes I hope it finds me working."
~ Pablo Picasso

"This is where I place myself when I write.  I am the Fool about to set off the edge of the world, unafraid of the fall." 
~ Susan Power

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Quotes for Today:

>> 3.22.2011

"A writer stays alive because he or she is writing, or may write:  the elusive divine exists." 
~Jayne Anne Phillips

"There are two kinds of writer:  those who make you think, and those who make you wonder."
~Brian Aldiss

"I often think of a poem as a door that opens into a room where I want to go."
~Minnie Bruce Pratt

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Detritus

>> 3.18.2011

Abandoned,
only the ghosts
of long ago remain
within the battered board and tin
now fallen to ruin;

staggering,
hunched downward,
encompassed by leaf flotsam,
returning to wilderness,
primeval.

Gaia encircles this detritus
of human habitation with loving arms,
lonely sentinels standing guard
against the march of populace,

wild grasses weave
a tattered refrain
within the broken walls, tufting
through the windows, waltzing
in the breeze that flows

around and about, whispering
and singing songs
of the departed . . .

from whence we came
so we return . . .

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About This Blog

The name for this blog was inspired by a quote by Nietzsche, below.

"Dancing in all its forms cannot be excluded from the curriculum of all noble education; dancing with the feet, with ideas, with words, and, need I add that one must also be able to dance with the pen?" ~ Friedrich Nietzsche

I plan on this being the start of an incredible journey of discovery and creativity. I invite you to bring your pen, and come dance with me!

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