you won't find them here anymore. They were all drafts, unformed, unfinished poem starts- and I will be fiddling with them for awhile.
I miss writing a whole poem each day, I feel a little lost, aimless. January- I'm looking forward to getting serious again.
Got a couple of no's from my submissions, both with nice comments and please send more, it's a good kind of rejection, I suppose.
I've had two wonderful opportunities to write, one at The Porches (if you look at the photo on the webpage, my room was second floor with the chimney- the blue room- see below). The other time "away" was house sitting for a friend west of Richmond, where I slept a lot and made some clay doodads. It was good to clear my head, but home is still somewhat chaotic, what with four adults in a small house (and we all have different schedules).
Writing is a solitary ordeal. When I was in college, music was a solitary ordeal. Creativity, for me, is primarily solitary. The older I get, the more I crave silence and empty rooms. I was to get rid of the excess around me, pare down, uncomplicate.
I sense some new directions for the winter. Come with me.
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