Today it is 20 below zero with wind chill so Florida is looking damn good. Actually, the inside of my fridge seems tropical at the moment. I can’t believe tomorrow is Christmas Eve, we still have Halloween candy. I do not think that the powers that be should start another holiday until we have finished the food from the ones before. It seems wrong.
Every morning Bella and I see what messages Jack Frost have left us on her window. She believes he tells her stories with ice. Today it is two giraffes talking to a towel. Sometimes the greatest poetry that happens in my life has nothing to do with the written word.
I am reading the Collected Poems by Robert Lowell, one review I read of the book said it was almost impossible to put together because he keep changing his poems even after he had published them. A poem for him was never done.
I am starting the book again. I will be working on this first book of poetry till the day I die, even when it is published I will go back and rewrite it, change its bone structure. I know this about myself. Every day I wake up believing I can write a better poem, every day I look for the messages on the window.
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4 comments:
If my first book were a person, I'd vacillate between wanting to strangle it, and giving it lots of treats and hot bubble baths.
Poor book.
I think if you really love a person that is exactly how you feel:)
"Every day I wake up believing I can write a better poem...."
I wish I could do this. Every day I wake up and realize I don't know a damned thing about writing poetry, and probably never will. In fact, the more I write, the less I know. It's daunting to keep going forward but there is some kind of gift in daunting, for me. I like rough edges. I like to push myself.
"Every day I wake up and realize I don't know a damned thing about writing poetry"
this unfortunately is my second thought. I sway between greatest and failure....
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