Howdy, Casual Ramblers!

I hope this missive finds you well. I haven’t been able to write a lot of poetry recently, but not for a lack of effort. Just a lack of time. In the space between reorganizing my living room, downsizing my collections and donating the remains, I have been working on my next step as a professional author.

It’s still in the early stages and I cannot discuss much more than that, but when I can, an announcement will be made with special perks to my Patreon subscribers.

In the meantime, I’ve been going over some of my oldest poems, giving them some love and attention that has been long overdue. Enjoy!

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1. “Cairns for Past Time” was written somewhere in 2018. I recall writing the first lines in an airport en route to the states. What started as an experiment in flowery, 19th century romanticism and then proceeded to become a whole hell of a lot more as I became enamored with images of rock balancing and cairn-building as a way to commemorate past life events with an eye towards the fact that these words, like the stones, would not last forever. It needs another pass, but reworking it helped bring its final form into focus.
2. “Four” was written in high school. Can you tell? The original inspiration came from two different rides on the school bus and how the faces had changed. The metaphor is a bit on the nose, but the idea that memories lie or self-edit certain details became a through-line that I just could not ignore.
3. “Bed” was written after university during a major depressive episode. It may not be surprising, but I have struggled with depression. I have never been full on diagnosed, however, because I have faith in my ability to sort myself out without medications but sometimes the pit goes deep and it takes a climb (don’t get it twisted, either, therapy is absolutely vital). This poem is about the pit and the things we do when we don’t want to climb.
4. “He Must Be Mad” is the most recent of the bunch, written last year after I ensconced myself in the factory at my work. It’s frowned upon to dance “in the fab” for safety reasons, but I decided to throw caution to the wind and dance in the hallways between the factory floors. It’s a full embrace of the simple fact that my job is not my career and the joy I receive from engaging in spontaneous, whimsical creativity does more to sustain me than any dollar amount.