Why One Way?

What is it with the one-way streeters? The looky-loos, window shoppers, stare-bears, rubber-necks, etc? I am not a one-way street. This not some Rue de Voyeur. This is supposed to be communicative, interactive, expressive…not a peep-hole. If all we ever do to each other is observe, what can we possibly do for each other? Yes, there is a bit of drum beating in this wild, open medium. One must be willing to discuss himself to a degree in order for the idea of a blog to even work. But for me, this is not a platform, not a manifesto. This, friends and strangers, is an invitation…

I write because I want to. It is, in short, the one enduring dream of my heart. But any writer who insists on writing solely for the love of writing, for a “love of the craft,” is full of his own hot air. Writing is communication, the revealing of dark mysteries, the relating of meaningful stories. If no one is there to commune with, ponder the revelation, explore the stories, well then what is the freaking point?

So, don’t just drop by here or here to see if you can catch some juicy new tidbit. Drop by to say hello. Let me know what’s going on in your life. Are these poems connecting with you? Then say so! Don’t just haunt me like some nameless, faceless ghost, drifting in and out of the windows, peering in to the life inside. Grace us with some of your own life. Be a part of this community. This can be an opportunity to connect and learn and understand. This is not the decline of our civilization. It is not evil. We are not being overrun with gadgetry. Because of these blogs and communities, I have connected/reconnected with some of the greatest people I have ever met. Who knows, maybe we’ll connect, and somehow the expression of my life will enrich yours.

But I’ll never know if you don’t speak up!

Peace, ya’ll…

First Refusal

Dear Christopher:

Thank you for allowing storySouth to consider your work.  We have read it
carefully, but must decline to publish.

We regret that the volume of submissions we receive and the small size of
our staff prevent us from giving a more personal response.

We wish you the best in placing your work elsewhere.

Sincerely,
Dan Albergotti
Poetry Editor, storySouth

Yep, that there’s a certified Rejection Letter, my first.

I think I’ll frame it…

My Time of Year

What is it about the Fall? A little dip in the humidity, an unexpectedly early red sunset, a hot, misty bag of boiled peanuts, and I am a kid again. At 59 degrees, something begins to stir within me, and life takes on a fireside glow. Before you know it, we’re seeking out corn mazes, hay rides, pumpkin patches, and boiled peanuts (did I already mention those?). Such was the scene last Saturday at Aplin Farms in Slocomb, AL. For all you Northwest Florida readers, this place is well worth the 60 minute drive. Your little ones will love it. Check out Hope’s myspace page for a slideshow with the inside scoop. It’s way cool with The Frames playing in the background.

Happy Fall…Enjoy the hay ride…

Cold Pre-Winter Curtain

So this is how the autumn comes:
flooding my pasture,
drenching the weeping corn stalks,
floating pumpkins off protesting
the injustice of too much rain
and not a wink of frost.

When it’s dry, the land scratches by
instinctively,
barely moving or breathing,
inching through the suffocating dryness,
content to exist another day
still standing,
reaching toward the sun.

But let it rain the gray streaming rain
of southern pre-winter,
the cold curtain falling on
summer’s last act,
the silent breathless moment
preceding the uproar impending,

And all the world revolts:
roots unroot,
crops harvest themselves
to futility,
and for a moment,
the pattering once so soothing
now seems to me
a thousand angry footsteps
stomping through the hills,
claiming what is owed them
rightfully,
only rightfully.

Answers to Unasked Questions (not to be considered poetry, please!)

No, I have not forgotten.

Yes, I care very deeply.

My soul is alive and very well.

I just don’t want to waste my precious time.

This blog is not dead.

Home is wherever my wife and children are waiting for me.

If I don’t try, then I am a failure.

If I fail, at least I tried.

A Beginning?

So, “Recipient” (see below) was selected by poetry.com for their Editor’s Choice Award. I’m not really sure what this means other than that I received a congratulatory email from the chief editor and the poem will be included in their upcoming anthology. But, perhaps it is a beginning, a marker that I might return to in years to come. I just may be working up the confidence for the next step…

By the way, what really touches this poet’s heart more than anything right now is knowing that some of you are connecting with the new poems. That is what it is all about for me, and I appreciate you telling me about your experiences…

Thanks…

Despairing For Anchors

where have you gone
you golden-haired wonder
diviner of mysteries
parter of seas?

were they not enough:
the blue, weeping masses
the quivering faithful
disconsolate trees?

or were you betrayed
by the folly of longing
misplaced adoration
the erosion of ease?

and now with the flotsam
you’ve jettisoned hope
despairing for anchors
lost by degrees.

(for joshua)

Visa

I am no longer what I once was
nor what I am soon to be:
there has been a closing
and a silent reopening,
an invitation addressed to myself,
a visa
enabling cross-border
exploration,
the misunderstanding
of self-imposed
exile
in a world of
pedants
miscreants
contractual obligation.