How To Be a Poet

"How To Be a Poet" by Wendell Berry

i   

Make a place to sit down.   

Sit down. Be quiet.   

You must depend upon   

affection, reading, knowledge,   

skill—more of each   

than you have—inspiration,   

work, growing older, patience,   

for patience joins time   

to eternity. Any readers   

who like your poems,   

doubt their judgment.   

ii   

Breathe with unconditional breath   

the unconditioned air.   

Shun electric wire.   

Communicate slowly. Live   

a three-dimensioned life;   

stay away from screens.   

Stay away from anything   

that obscures the place it is in.   

There are no unsacred places;   

there are only sacred places   

and desecrated places.   

iii   

Accept what comes from silence.   

Make the best you can of it.   

Of the little words that come   

out of the silence, like prayers   

prayed back to the one who prays,   

make a poem that does not disturb   

the silence from which it came.

Picasso

The intro from "American Life in Poetry" read, "The great Spanish artist Pablo Picasso said that, in his subjects, he kept the joy of discovery, the pleasure of the unexpected."

I like this poem, but I don't necessarily like how the em dashes and line breaks are done. Agree? If not, help me see why this it makes sense.

"Picasso" by Tim Nolan

How can we believe he did it—
every day—for all those years?

We remember how the musicians
gathered for him—and the prostitutes

arranged themselves the way he wanted—
and even the helmeted monkeys

with their little toy car cerebella—
posed—and the fish on the plate—

remained after he ate the fish—
Bones—What do we do with this

life?—except announce: Joy.
Joy. Joy—from the lead—

to the oil—to the stretch of bright
canvas—stretched—to the end of it all.

Union Square

I am head over heals for this poem. As much as I love free verse and slam, pieces like this remind me the unmatchable power of structured rhyme and rhythm.

"Union Square" by Sara Teasdale

With the man I love who loves me not,
      I walked in the street-lamps' flare;
We watched the world go home that night
      In a flood through Union Square.

I leaned to catch the words he said
      That were light as a snowflake falling;
Ah well that he never leaned to hear
      The words my heart was calling.

And on we walked and on we walked
      Past the fiery lights of the picture shows —
Where the girls with thirsty eyes go by
      On the errand each man knows.

And on we walked and on we walked,
      At the door at last we said good-bye;
I knew by his smile he had not heard
      My heart's unuttered cry.

With the man I love who loves me not
      I walked in the street-lamps' flare —
But oh, the girls who ask for love
      In the lights of Union Square.

Thanks for the Memories

Today I was searching for a poem. Didn't find it, but came across this. Not what I was looking for at all. But I like it, and it fits. My interpretation might be wrong (the title throws me off), but it brings to mind certain people whom I have known and will probably never know in the same way ever again. Time has shown me it's usually for the best, but still it's easy to miss the connection.

"Animals" by Frank O'Hara

Have you forgotten what we were like then

when we were still first rate

and the day came fat with an apple in its mouth

it's no use worrying about Time

but we did have a few tricks up our sleeves

and turned some sharp corners

the whole pasture looked like our meal

we didn't need speedometers

we could manage cocktails out of ice and water

I wouldn't want to be faster or greener than now

if you were with me O you

were the best of all my days

------

Oh, and update: found the original poem I hunted for. Thanks, Emily C. for introducing me to it back in college. (Although, side note, as much as I like e.e. and appreciate his unconventional forms, the punctuation decisions sometimes bother me.)

"i carry your heart with me" by e.e. cummings

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
                                                                    i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

Higher Education by Ken Jedding

Yesterday, I finished Ken Jedding's book "Higher Education: On Life, Landing a Job, and Everything Else They Didn't Teach You in College." And I think it lives up to it's "everything else" claim.

The book is divided into four sections. The first half is solely on careers. The other half of the book covers relationships, parents, and, finally, perspective.

It's aimed mostly at recent graduates, but I feel current students and people that aren't even in college will find it useful. If I was a mentor or counselor, it would be my primary recommendation to anyone struggling in the beginning stages of establishing their own life and career. Every college have this in their library or resource centers.

So why should you read this book?

Because it spoke directly to what I've been challenged with and seen others my age struggle with post-college. Because it sets your mind at ease when you feel like you're doing everything wrong and you want things to be so different. Because it's practical and written very down-to-earth yet not condescending. Because it's hopeful. Because it might save you from a lot of frustration and mistakes.

I took notes through the whole book. It's really a quick read. Or at least for me because it was so encourage and motivating. It spoke to so many areas that were on my mind. Sometimes it gets a bit dry or redundant because he gives different situations. But allowed him to produce a book on such serious topics that speak, I feel, to the broadest spectrum of young adults possible.

I'm posting my notes in their entirety, with some of the gems I found in bold:

Part 1: Careers

Wisdom consists not so much in knowing what to do, but knowing what to do next. - Herbert Hoover

You cannot connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backward. Do you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. - Steve Jobs



Anything that interests you is going to expose you to people who share your interests. You'll always leave with something. - p. 36

The best thing you can do is to gather lots of new information, let it bump up against what you already know, and then see how it feels and where it leads you. - p. 43

Interviews: be on time, look professional (err on overdressed suit and tie), bring your resume (prepared), turn off your phone, listen and don't interrupt (mirroring and creating a natural conversational rhythm creates rapport and people hire and recommend people they like; come across as reasonably confident, poised, easy to understand and communicate with, and endowed with a personality and some intellectual curiosity), ask questions but not too many (prepare intellectual questions, comments about being part of business, willingness to earn promotion), say thank you (how connection was made, what you gained, what your goals are, personalize...good examples of TY notes). - p. 45-55

Internships or volunteering are good when:
- it helps you establish valuable connections within the industry
- it teaches you something constructive
- it helps you feel upbeat and positive
- it might actually turn into a paying positing - p. 60

People will test you at first to make sure you are trustworthy enough to eventually handle bigger tasks. Even if the tasks that are assigned to you feel trivial, silly, or downright insulting—if you don't do them well, and with a good attitude, you're never going to be offered more substantial responsibilities. - p. 61

Envision the task list that would look great on your resume, and then offer to do those things. - p. 61

Make the work of volunteering, interning, or temping work for you. - p. 63

Finding your passion is not an event but an act of continual refinement. - p. 65


Trigger questions:

What would I do for free?
-list three specific areas in which you would volunteer
-people or things, indoors or outdoors, big or small organizations, normal 9-5 or irregular, teams or along?
- just by starting to think about this, your brain will take over

What do I think needs to be done?
- No one is going to pay you simply to do what you love. Generally, people pay ore people to be useful, helpful, entertaining, inspiring, or otherwise positively contributive to the world in some way. - p. 71

What areas of life have value and meaning for me?
- make a list

Lateral thinking is taking an idea from one area to another. - p. 76

Taking action often leads you to receive new information. Each action is positive momentum because you're building a bigger framework of "who I am and what might be right." - p. 78

The art of lateral thinking is not merely making labels, but figuring yourself out. The clues come from what you like to do. What are you talented at doing? What were you doing when you were the happiest? When were you the most effective? - p. 81

What verbs am I? Which ones describe the things I do well? Verbs that describe others you admire? Based off fav childhood memory? - p. 84

A positive attitude may not solve all your problems, but it will annoy enough people to be worth the effort. - Herm Albright

So long as you're telling yourself you're stuck, you're stuck. - p. 88

The different areas you try to explore—even if your efforts seem small and meaningless at the time—can lead to much bigger things later on. - p. 96


Stepping out of your routine is the best way to make things happen. - p. 97

No one can tell you exactly how to make money, but I can tell you how you probably won't: by making "money" your motivation without taking into account who you really are. - p. 101

You'll have a better chance to go all the way if you're fully engaged with your heart, as well as your mind. - p. 102

Arts: Get as much training as possible, expose yourself to as much of the medium as possible, and learn how to take criticism. ... When we ask for feedback, usually we're hoping to hear that the work we've done is fantastic. But that's rarely what we're told, nor how we learn. - p. 107

There are aspects of success other than money that are equally important and reliable: staying true to yourself, having a positive influence on the lives of others, and negotiating a life that reflects what you fell you're here to do. - p. 109

Part 2: Relationships

We're looking for someone we're attracted to, whom we respect, and with whom we can imagine ourselves navigating life well. - p. 137

Sometimes people who are desperate for a relationship spend their time "waiting" for it, rather than living. - p. 137


When people volunteer, they get back as much or even more than try give. And this actively teaches them the law by which intimate relationships work. - p. 138

Chemistry, however powerful, is not enough to sustain a long-term connection. - p. 150

"being in your power," by being focused primarily on trying to be the best person you can be, which often coincides with being at your happiest and most interesting. - p. 151

Part of a relationship is often part of the relationship. - p. 157

Sometimes it's better to love each other from a distance— in their prayers, maybe, or even just occasionally in their thoughts. - p. 159

What were the hoops? Maybe letting go of a stale relationship, jumping through the hoop of independence—which is a statement to yourself and the world: I'll find a new dynamic with someone else. Or perhaps you could call it the hoop of not staying together out of guilt; of bravely trusting that life will bring each of you whatever new experiences—and people—you're meant to encounter. - p. 159

Your ability to love is real and powerful. It's a force like the sun—which, by the way, was made to light more than one planet. - p. 161

How many pessimists end up by desiring the things they fear, in order to prove that they are right? — Robert Mallet p. 163

Object relations. We just tend to seek out and attract people who conform to our understanding of how the world is. - p. 163

Understood correctly, breakups can be a time of shedding old beliefs. If you let them, they will lead you to something better: to becoming the person you really want to be. - p. 165

Part 3: Parents

I realized the only person I needed to please was myself. If you need to seek approval, ask yourself if you're happy. If yes, then you already have approval from yourself; you just don't know it. It's much easier to suck it up and be an adult, to understand that things are not always fair, and people are nog ale ays going go pay attention to the good things you do in life because they're wrapped up in themselves. - p. 191

Changing your beliefs about yourself involves manufacturing your own inspiration, a talent well worth cultivating. - p. 193


If you continue to need approval in an area that your parents find difficult to understand, it's a bit like asking them to continue to parent you. If you can liberate your parents from this "obligation" to approbate of your decisions—to see things exactly as you see them, or to be an expert on something they don't know enough about—you will liberate yourself, as well. - p. 193


When you blame others, you give up your power to change. - Douglas Adams

To carry a grudge is like being stung to death by one bee. - William H. Walton

Resentment is like taking poison and waiting for the other person to die. - Malachy McCourt

Instead of trying to hurt them back, or trying to get them to admit they wer wrong or unkind, focus your energy instead on telling yourself that their criticism wasn't valid and doesn't apply to you. - p. 205

Focusing on another person's failure to support you in all the ways you'd lie them to is sort of like saying that without that constant support, you're hopeless. - p. 205

You cannot easily change other people. But you can change how you react to them. - p. 208

The true motivation to forgive is actually a selfish one. It let's you off the hook. - p. 210

Part 4: Perspective

Life's going to deal you situations that fall short of what you want. It happens to all of us. Each time, you'll have two options. Lose hope. Think about the situation creatively. - p. 220

If you wait for the good hinge to happen, you'll continue feeing down. And if you continue feeling down, it's less likely that the good things will happen. Ehich means you get caught in a cycled of low self-esteem. The trick is to feel good about yourself before the world gives you a reason to. - p. 222


We often say to the world, "Give me a reason to stop worrying, and I'll stop worrying." but usually it's up to us to make the first move. We have to find a way to stop earring, and then the world shows us something new. When we find a way to be calm, the world opens up. - p. 227

You have to trust that once you have presented your candidacy in a clear, honest, and polished way, the right company will recognize you as a potentially valuable member of their team and offer you a job. You can only do so much to try to convince someone to hire you without overdoing it and putting the person off. - p 229

No response to job app:
1. Imporve job application
2. This job isn't for me but it really doesn't matter. I don't need to know why.
3. The job for me is still out there
- p. 231

When we're trying to set off in new directions, we sometimes present ourselves with overwhelming alternatives--too big to act upon--and those alternatives increase our feelings of hopelessness. The trick is to transform the big ideas into workable steps. - p. 233

With the exercise of self-trust, new powers shall appear. - Ralph Waldo Emerson

It isn't about the world being good or bad. We all experience darkness along the way. Faith in yourself assumes this: Darkness is part of everyones journey. Faith also assumes that the darkness eventually gives way to light. - p. 238

We don't need every little thing to work out perfectly. We just need them to work out. - p. 238

Your challenges and problems are as personally yours as your fingerprints are. When you deal with en as effectively as you can, little by little you add to your personal power, joy, and happiness. - p. 239

Hoarders, Hope, and Dreamers

Currently, one of my favorite shows is Raising Hope. And I have to say, I'm really worried that it will be cancelled as it isn't really being raved about much. In which case I will be absolutely heartbroken.

If you haven't seen the premiere, trust me. Invest the 20 minutes, and I doubt you'll regret it. Here's the run down (which has spoilers), granted you're missing almost all of the comedic moments.

Teenager Jimmy meets a girl who, unknown to him, is escaping from her murder scene. Dark as it starts, it's rather humorous. Watch it for yourself if your judging me. It's a feat to pack this much into an one-hour pilot, much less the first half of a half hour one. The bottom line: Jimmy is left to raise this baby. His parents aren't excited about it (they are not much older than Jimmy himself), but finally, they agree and choose the name: Hope.

In episode three, Jimmy makes plans to baby proof the house, including the greenhouse which is mother has taken over with her hobby: hoarding (since I love watching Hoarders, this was even more perfect). But before he can get started, Hope wonders in and gets lost in the clutter. After creatively removing her (you can't miss how they do it), Jimmy lectures his parents on how they all need to change their focuses to raise Hope. No more lottery tickets for dad, hoarding for his mom, or even flirting with Sabrina, the cute-but-taken girl at the grocery store, himself. Their moods become somewhat somber.

He happens to run into Sabrina one night and learns she dropped her creative writing class, partly because her dad didn't think much of the short story she had been working on. Jimmy encourages her not to quit. What if she made it big? Who knows, it could happen. ("Where the hell did you learn to be so positive, it's infections!")

Reflecting on growing up with his parents playing the lottery to buy a new house and collecting stuff that they could put in it, he realizes that although he didn't grow up in a perfect home, he was given the confidence to dream. And that's what he wants for Hope, too.

It's was a beautiful episode. Maybe I'm going a little over the top because it was something I needed to hear. Maybe I'm overboard just because the mom was a hoarder and they had a genius scene to the song "Istanbul Not Constantinople." But overall, it's a story about a family who is odd and slightly dysfunctional but happy and, cliche as it is, focused on what's important: each other.

It's John Lennon's birthday, a man famous for singing about his dream. We all start out as dreamers before we figure out that it's more complicated than that. We hang onto realistic ones, letting go the others we get discouraged by. Sometimes it's easier to give up than be disappointed. But don't let your confidence slip. Just because things look one way today doesn't mean they'll be that way tomorrow. Make little changes towards your goals. Live big, live different, live you.

Where you want to be is not impossible. You wouldn't have much of a story to tell if things weren't hard. In the tough moments, always remember that it really does get better.

Early Sunday Morning

"Early Sunday Morning" by Edward Hirsch

I used to mock my father and his chums
for getting up early on Sunday morning
and drinking coffee at a local spot
but now I’m one of those chumps.

No one cares about my old humiliations
but they go on dragging through my sleep
like a string of empty tin cans rattling
behind an abandoned car.

It’s like this: just when you think
you have forgotten that red-haired girl
who left you stranded in a parking lot
forty years ago, you wake up

early enough to see her disappearing
around the corner of your dream
on someone else’s motorcycle
roaring onto the highway at sunrise.

And so now I’m sitting in a dimly lit
café full of early morning risers
where the windows are covered with soot
and the coffee is warm and bitter.

The Education of a Poet

I can't even begin to count the number of times I've done this or just settled for watching TV or going to bed. Usually it's more because I don't focus and immerse myself in the grueling process of bringing an idea into physical existence. Perseverance is where I need extensive instruction.

"The Education of a Poet" by Leslie Monsour

Her pencil poised, she's ready to create,
Then listens to her mind's perverse debate
On whether what she does serves any use;
And that is all she needs for an excuse
To spend all afternoon and half the night
Enjoying poems other people write.

Prison

WARNING: This poem contains violent imagery.

"Prison" by Tara Brenner

They say that every one in four people know someone currently incarcerated in the United States prison system.
And me – I work there
so you can count me in.
When your son or brother has a question
when your husband or boyfriend has a problem
they come to me
I'm beginning to know them.

This guy is in for life.
He works in laundry, says he likes coming into my office to talk to me.
It was his idea to put the shirt over his victims head so that when he shot him point blank in the face he wouldn't get any blood on his new pants.
I've just enrolled him in a GED program, told him he's a thinker.

The kid in North Wing doesn't belong here.
They'd been dating for two years
He was 19, his girlfriend was 17.
The parents called it in.
He got three to give for his trespass
I guarantee you he will leave this place a felon.
Three years in an intensive study in the criminal mind.
I've seen this kind of thing before.
Hell probably walk out of here a gang member
or a drug dealer.
Believe me, he's nothing but a sex offender now –
and got nothin' to lose.
I never said justice was fair.

The man from 214 likes to wave at me in the hallway.
Tells me he likes what I'm wearing.
Three years ago he talked some girl my age into his apartment
handcuffed her to his son's crib,
dressed her in red lingerie,
took a picture or two,
and raped her for two hours straight.
If it was me, I wouldn't have let her go.
But when the cops came to arrest him
they started going through his picture phone
only to see image of girl after girl after girl in red lingerie.

I have to remind myself that I walk among inmates every day.
Because I'm beginning to feel more comfortable.
I've started building a home here.
I'm finding iron bars in my closets
and razor wire under my bed sheets.
I'm beginning to watch my back whenever I'm getting ready to fall asleep.

They say that every one in four people know someone currently in the United States prison system.
Me, I know over 2,000 men currently serving time.
I'm beginning to get an idea of what monsters really look like.
Standing tall in the dark with eyes wide and excited.
They're beginning to look like people.
And I'm lying to you.
Because every time I look at you I can no longer see you for who you are
but only what you are capable of doing.
There's no investigation report out here to prove your innocence to me
and to be quite honest with you
I feel safer in there
and I'm sorry.
I chose a life between locked gates
and concrete walls
I'm sorry that I'll never let you get close enough.
The inmates say that if you stay in the system long enough
that you won't want to leave.
I've been building a cell here bar after bar and brick after brick.
I'd rather stay with the demons I know
than brave the domons I don't
just mark my name on the list of people you know in prison.

Crochet

"Crochet" by Jan Mordenski

Even after darkness closed her eyes
my mother could crochet.
Her hands would walk the rows of wool
turning, bending, to a woolen music.

The dye lots were registered in memory:
appleskin, chocolate, porcelain pan,
the stitches remembered like faded rhymes:
pineapple, sunflower, window pane, shell.

Tied to our lives those past years
by merely a soft colored yarn,
she’d sit for hours, her dark lips
moving as if reciting prayers,
coaching the sighted hands.

The One Certain Thing

The dashboard countdown on my computer no longer reads "__ days until graduation" but "__ days since graduation." The weather this morning woke me up. Heavy rain, booming thunder, and grey skies. I don't feel sad or anything yet. My notorious to do list still exists thanks to the impending move to Oregon. But I am anxious because I don't know how I will feel when I'm a bit settled and the people that have created such a supportive, safe space for me will no longer be within arms reach. So it seemed appropriate that the weather wasn't wonderful.

One of my best friends left a couple hours ago. I drove behind her car on my way back to my dorm and watched the silhouette of her hand waving as I turned and the physical distance between us grew greater by the second. Then it was off to drop off a gift, pick up an air filter, and continue packing. But at some point I know I'll look at the ocean and realize that although we're both looking at oceans, mine is the Pacific and hers the Atlantic. And then the tears will come because I know she'll be thinking the same thing on the same night. But soon I'll stop, and so will she, consoled by the fact that we're no matter the miles, we're still together.

As I go through my room and decide what things go in which box, I know I'm going to find things that speak to me, like the things in this poem. Not that I consider this a death or even a loss, it's just change. But there will always be things that testify to a different time or place. And there is much comfort in that.

"The One Certain Thing" by Peter Cooley

A day will come I’ll watch you reading this.
I’ll look up from these words I’m writing now—
this line I’m standing on, I’ll be right here,
alive again. I’ll breathe on you this breath.
Touch this word now, that one. Warm, isn’t it?

You are the person come to clean my room;
you are whichever of my three children
opens the drawer here where this poem will go
in a few minutes when I’ve had my say.

These are the words from immortality.
No one stands between us now except Death:
I enter it entirely writing this.
I have to tell you I am not alone.
Watching you read, Eternity’s with me.
We like to watch you read. Read us again.

The Yellow Bowl

I can't wait until graduation when I can have a bit more time to put into literary endevors. As it is, most of the poems I've posted recently have been from the American Life in Poetry weekly newsletter. They're still good, but I'm hoping to post from a variety of other places (possibly even myself?) here in the near future.

Part of the intro from the newsletter said, "The great American poet William Carlos Williams taught us that if a poem can capture a moment in life, and bathe it in the light of the poet’s close attention, and make it feel fresh and new, that’s enough, that’s adequate, that’s good."

"The Yellow Bowl" by Rachel Contreni Flynn

If light pours like water
into the kitchen where I sway
with my tired children,

if the rug beneath us
is woven with tough flowers,
and the yellow bowl on the table

rests with the sweet heft
of fruit, the sun-warmed plums,
if my body curves over the babies,

and if I am singing,
then loneliness has lost its shape,
and this quiet is only quiet.

78 RPM

"78 RPM" by Jeff Daniel Marion

In the back of the junkhouse
stacked on a cardtable covered
by a ragged bedspread, they rest,
black platters whose music once
crackled, hissed with a static
like shuffling feet, fox trot or two-step,
the slow dance of the needle
riding its merry-go-round,
my mother’s head nestled
on my father’s shoulder as they
turned, lost in the sway of sounds,
summer nights and faraway
places, the syncopation of time
waltzing them to a world
they never dreamed, dance
of then to the dust of now.

The Voice of Slam

Last Thursday I performed my two most recent poems at the Meadowlark for the monthly poetry slam. There were only five of us competing, and I went head-to-head haiku style for second place (and lost). But my third-place position apparently has me in the running for a slam next month in which will be a qualifying competition between 12 poets for spots on a slam team.

I don't feel like my work is really all that great at this point. Both poems I've been really excited about, but when I performed them, I didn't feel they were all that great. Maybe I was too excited about them? Maybe it stems from my searching for my slam voice, something I'll hit on in a second. Either way, I'm looking forward to next month. My goal isn't to make the team. It's to produce three poems that I can perform and feel good about no matter what the judges rate them. I'm more motivated to write than to win.

So in the next month, I want to produce three poems: one that tells a story, one that's random/humorous, one that paints a visual or emotional picture. The length of my pieces so far have been rather short in comparison to most, so I'm going to work on expounding more than I do usually. I've aimed for conciseness for so long that it's hard to break out of that. I don't think it was a bad goal, it just can't limit me from detailing and creating a situation.

What I'm having the most difficulty with is finding my performance voice. After I read my first poem, I asked my friend, Tonya, how it went. "You sounded a little angry," she said. I tried to adjust for the second, but it still came out too forceful. Last night we were talking more about this, and she said that I'm probably trying too hard to mimic other poets and how they perform.

Slam, from how I see it so far, revolves a lot around emphasizing rhythm. You aren't just reading, you're performing. It's like acting, except there are no props or backdrop. All you have to paint that picture are your voice and words. It boils down to finding the voice that represents me as a person, that reflects the tone in which I wrote the poem, and that sounds convincing and dynamic as you typically find in the slam style.

So here's to more writing and practicing in hopes of three strong end results by April 8!

Rulers of the World

This sunrise must be why some people
sacrifice late-night fast food runs
and midnight sitcom reruns.
This refreshing feeling that makes you feel
you can take on the world in a breath.
Knowing you're more responsible than mother nature
who is slowly rubbing her eyes and rolling her colors out of bed.

But I also know why some people don't think
about sleep until all the others are waking.
It's their time to rule the world. No interruptions.
They'll call it "studying," "cramming," "term-paper bullshitting"
when really they're in a room with their best friend
laughing uncontrollably, stuffing themselves with caffeine and junk food,
taking pictures with a webcam.

So it doesn't matter if at 4 a.m.
you're waking up or going to sleep.
Either you were just infinitely powerful
or are about to be.

You'll Make for a Perfect Rainy Weekend

One morning I'll wake up and you'll be beside me:
snoring, hair a mess, sprawled on my side of the bed, hogging the covers.
I'll rub my eyes and glance at the clock...
then realize it's the weekend
and neither of us has anywhere to be.
Pulling back some blankets
I'll wrap my arm around your chest,
interlace my leg with yours,
and sleep for another hour.

Finally getting up, I'll look out the window
and watch raindrops slipping down the glass
as I turn on the coffeemaker
and pull two black mugs from the dishwasher.
More cream in yours, more sugar in mine
(though walking back to wake you
I'll forget which is which).

Selfishly I'll gently shake you out of sleep,
you'll squint your eyes at me
and curl up with your head in my lap.
The coffee will get cold
but we'll be plenty warm without it.

On Finding a Turtle Shell in Daniel Boone National Forest

Really, who can't relate to this?

"On Finding a Turtle Shell in Daniel Boone National Forest" by Jeff Worley

This one got tired
of lugging his fortress
wherever he went,
was done with duck and cover
at every explosion
through rustling leaves
of fox and dog and skunk.
Said au revoir to the ritual
of pulling himself together. . .

I imagine him waiting
for the cover of darkness
to let down his hinged drawbridge.
He wanted, after so many
protracted years of caution,
to dance naked and nimble
as a flame under the moon—
even if dancing just once
was all that the teeth
of the forest would allow.

Goodness Precedes Greatness

Don't underestimate what I'm about to say. The following editorial by Jon Foreman of Switchfoot is one of the most powerful things I've read. I want to write like this. More than that, I want to live it.


"Goodness Precedes Greatness: A Call For New Heroes In Troubled Times" by Jon Foreman

Iwrite songs for a living, which is to say that writing songs helps me to live. The song becomes a place where melody and tempo can cover some truly volatile topics. God, women, politics, sex, hatred, disillusionment- a song or a story can be a deeper vessel and more forgiving than most conversations. Poetry can get under the skin without your permission, and music can offer perspective or hope that might have been hidden before. And so the song becomes a vehicle to cover some serious ground.

These days I have a hard time writing a song that feels bright or hopeful. The unemployment rate is edging up even further and spending is down. Foreclosures are way up and stocks are down. Our headlines are full of war, natural disaster, and corruption. So I go looking for songs of hope and stories that remind me of the incredible privilege of living another day. I suppose I'm looking for a hero of sorts. Someone who rises above the situation and does something incredible.

Remember the guy who threw himself on top of the passenger who had suffered a seizure in the New York Subway? As the train was approaching he jumps down onto the tracks and risks his life to save the life of a complete stranger whose convulsions had thrown him into the path of an oncoming train. Incredible. Have you seen Team Hoyt, the dad who pushes his disabled son through all the marathons? They've even done the Iron Man competitions together as father and son, which makes me tear up. Or the story of Mother Teresa, a woman who gave her life to the less fortunate day after day after day. These are the stories that I want to sing about. These are stories of hope.

Such sacrifice, such patience and such goodness is rare and rightly called heroic. But these are not the heroes of our times. Wesley Autrey is not a household name and neither is Team Hoyt. If you want to know the heroes of our society, follow the money, look at the posters on the wall. We pay them seven digit salaries, we put their songs on our playlists, and follow them on Twitter. These are the heroes we emulate.

Let's face it. Mother Teresa doesn't look that good in a negligee. And Team Hoyt won't sell beer commercials to the networks. But when the ball players and the supermodels end up in rehab, we end up asking esoteric questions about what makes a hero. In the movies the good looking actor who gets the girl is easy to point to. But after he gets the girl, then the house, and then a few kids and then a divorce and then another girl. Then what? After all of the special effects are gone, we're left with an aging mortal who looks a bit awkward on the talk shows. Perhaps we've set our goals too low. Or perhaps we've got it backwards.

I would like to suggest that the best parts of our human nature can be seen in sacrifice or surrender. A mother sacrificing her time for her child, a teacher devoting her afternoons to help students off-the-clock. These are truly our most incredible moments as a species: moments of unmerited kindness. Goodness. Virtue. Nobility. Grace. Morality. These are the truly remarkable moments. Perhaps our current economic climate of debt needs a fresh perspective on worth and value. Maybe our monetary crisis indicates a broader loss of perspective.

We live in the land of plenty, the land of milk and honey, where the lottery of birth has given us the advantage of education, of wealth, and of opportunity. Ammon Hennessy puts it this way, "You came into the world armed to the teeth with... the weapons of privilege." A trip south of the border can be an incredible reminder. We are living in the land of entitlement, one of the wealthiest nations in the history of mankind. And yet, money cannot buy us the true wealth of happiness, or peace, or of a deeper form of a meaningful life.

Perhaps the current climate of uncertainty would be the appropriate time to ask the question: what are we aiming for? Our technological achievements as a species are impressive. Our cities, our advancements in flight and our iPhones are all fairly remarkable. But there is nothing heroic about my cell phone. There is nothing sacrificial about it. Where is the song that's worth singing? What is our measure of success? Renown psychiatrist Viktor E. Frankl says that "success, like happiness, cannot be pursued; it must ensue, and it only does so as the unintended side effect of one's personal dedication to a cause greater than oneself or as a byproduct of one's surrender to a person other than oneself."

Maybe the fix is not the money. Maybe two and a half hours in a theatre isn't enough time for a hero to be born. Maybe it takes a lifetime- a lifetime like John M. Perkins. John Perkins is a man who devoted his life to those around him in simple and profound ways. He was quick to forgive, quick to utilize resources to help those in need. He has been a tireless civil rights worker who has endured beatings, harassments, and even prison for what he believes. With the help of his wife, Vera Mae, and a few others, he founded a health center, leadership development program, thrift store, low-income housing development and training center in his hometown of Mendenhall, Mississippi. His is a story of reconciliation, of forgiveness, of patience. He endured the suffering, holding on to a cause greater than himself.

John Perkins has is a song I want to sing. A song of a great man, the story of a legend. How do you replicate this goodness? Do you monetize it? Do you subsidize it? No. It's bigger than Washington, it's bigger than Wall Street. And it looks better than Hollywood. His is the story of a hero, a song of hope. His is a story that reminds me of a goodness beneath the system. Though Perkins was a devout Christian, he was quick to point out that this goodness is bigger than stale religion. Mr. Perkins once said that "many congregations do nothing but outsource justice." John Perkins said it right- you can't outsource justice. You can't farm out goodness to someone else. Your life is yours alone. Those decisions are yours to make.

I am the system. You are the system. We, the system of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, choose goodness. Yes, the system is flawed. Yes, the church is flawed. Yes, Wall Street and Hollywood Boulevard are all fatally flawed. Yes, there will always be those who take the easy way out. But that ain't your game. Your choice is yours alone. Goodness precedes greatness. Maybe the mother will always have more power than the atomic bomb. Maybe under the skin there is a song of hope and meaning waiting to break free. Or maybe not. It's our story. You and I decide with our actions. It can be as small as simple courtesy. Or get involved in your hometown. Find out what thelocal food bank looks like. Look up the local Habitat for Humanity. What is the world you want? You choose it with every breath.

In our current climate of fear and debt I am reminded of what I hold most valuable in this life: the human souls closest to me. We need each other. Human beings will always be the most valuable natural resource on the planet. The human story is still unfolding. We are telling it as we speak. The human song is still weaving its way towards a chorus, through the suffering, through the fear. We need each other. We need heroes. Let your life be a beautiful song. We need hope. Tell a good story with the way you live. What is the world you want?

(Original link)

How I Write, or Manage Not To

Got some news. I've been published!



6S is a blog that challenges writers to see what they can write in six sentences. They announced a contest in January for writers to send in six sentences defining love. The idea rolled around in my head for weeks, and I didn't think of something until the day of the deadline. So late at night, I wrote my paragraph and sent it in, not sure if it would be accepted since it was an hour or so past the deadline.

Well I made it in! Now, there are two sides to this news. The positives are that it's always a good thing to be published, and when the video scrolls through the list of authors, my name happens to be second out of 60+ authors. That may not mean anything, but it still makes me happy. But the negatives are that I'm pretty sure anyone who submitted was published. I'm pretty sure 6S does this in hopes that those included will purchase the book, helping to fund their operation. All that would be fine—if I were happy with my submission. I'm not. It's a good idea, but wasn't executed well. The sentences don't flow so it's choppy, and I think it's a little cliche.

I'm going to show it to a few writing friends whose opinions I trust. Maybe if it isn't too horrible I'll post it later.

The same week, the 6S network e-mailed this short piece of advise to subscribers, and I'm trying to focus on learning lessons from even the bad writing that does happen and not letting it discourage me.


"How I Write, or Manage Not To" by Kate Cone

There is a story about Hemingway: a reporter asks him, "If it hurts so much to write, why do you do it?" Hemingway: "Because it hurts more not to."

I am working on establishing and maintaining a daily writing "practice," like my daily meditation practice. It took me decades to finally get the latter, so why not segue from meditation into writing? I am trying, and it's getting easier the more I do it. Julia Cameron, creator of The Artists' Way, says to give yourself permission to write badly, just write. That helps. When I sit down to write now, I acknowledge that it may be crap, but I have to start somewhere. And speaking of crap, Anne Lamott in her inspiring and gut-bustingly funny book about writing Bird by Bird, espouses writing "the shitty first draft." Crappy and shitty. I think I can DO that.

With the passing of J.D. Salinger, I continue to think, "It's now or never." Or, "If not now, when?" When Dr. Seuss died in the nineties, I was in a writer's group. I said to my friend, "Why bother. Fame and money don't make you immune from death. We'll all die eventually." But that brings me back to what Hemingway said. Whether we are famous or not, bestselling authors or authors who just squeak by financially, "it hurts more not to." Writing is a calling, and if I honor that by writing those detective novels I've been working on for twenty years, I'll be happier, crappy or not.

Now... who dunnit?

KATE CONE is a writer, cook, mom and Buddhist. This piece was originally posted in The 6S Social Network on January 28, 2010.

Tooth Painter

As a person who has had an unheard amount of uncomfortable dental work done, this gives me a bit of perspective. If the patient in this poem is an open gallery when she smiles, then I am the New York Met! Speaking of which, I start an eight-month Invisalign program in a week or two. It's a clear retainer that I wear constantly. They give me new trays every couple of weeks that over time realign my teeth. It's not going to be enjoyable, but I'm going to focus on the computer-generated demo I saw. The end result will be worth it all.

"Tooth Painter" by Lucille Lang Day

He was tall, lean, serious
about his profession,
said it disturbed him
to see mismatched teeth.
Squinting, he asked me
to turn toward the light
as he held an unglazed crown
by my upper incisors.
With a small brush he applied
yellow, gray, pink, violet
and green from a palette of glazes,
then fired it at sixteen hundred
degrees. We went outside
to check the final color,
and he was pleased. Today
the dentist put it in my mouth,
and no one could ever guess
my secret: there’s no one quite
like me, and I can prove it
by the unique shade of
the ivory sculptures attached
to bony sockets in my jaw.
A gallery opens when I smile.
Even the forgery gleams.