001.365 - when my sista

When my sista gets through singin' her song,
When the music stops and the words come out all wrong,
when my sista gets through singin' her song,
be you expectin' trouble, you won't wait too long.

Retraining for a new life, retired and active

Let me be clear, I retired on 18 November 2011.  Since then I have tried at least twice to reorder my life and priorities.  Once shortly after I retired, and again shortly after a bout with congestive heart failure.

So this will be my third, but my public restart.

Is there anything wrong with my retirement?  Many people might think so.  I didn't put aside enough money, some would say.  I have had three major events since retirement:  congestive heart failure, a severely sprained ankle, and I broke both bones in my lower left leg.

Me?  I think not.  Yes, those events happened.  But I still live, and am writing good poems, performing them, and co-hosting three different poetry readings.

And yet dis-eased.  (not diseased, outside the state of ease with my self)

One solution:  I could simply declare myself at ease with my self.  I could.  And I could make that work.  I could.

But I've been a human doing all my life.  Suddenly I will change and become a human being?  I doubt it.

Okay so if I am dis-eased, then my lack of ease probably comes from what I am doing or what I am not doing, or the combination, right?  Seems likely.

What am I doing?
writing poems
writing stories
sleeping
performing poems
co-hosting open mics
driving
thinking about getting published

Nothing wrong with that, I say.  So that is not (those are not) the source of my dis-ease.

What am I not doing?
motorcycling
shooting my gun (at the Target Range)
exercising
taking the actions to get me published
computering

Hm.  There ought to be two more for balance, right?  Probably, but I'll take what came up for me.

motorcycling - doesn't really bother me; I gave it up like I gave up coffee; I have taken the first steps toward selling my Harley.

shooting my gun (at the Target Range) - well, do it!

exercising - more of the same, just do it.

taking the actions to get me published - still MOS, again, jdi!

computering - ah!  I think this is the heart of my dis-ease

Once I showed some mastery in computering.  I could write programs in C and C++.  I could write scripts for Unix, Linux, Windows (well, its underlying DOS).  I could make things happen in a local network, across machines.  I could create a website that worked pretty well under then-current standards.  They were parts of my job, and parts of what I did at home.  They are no parts of what I do now, and I will have to work to regain even facility in any of those activities again.

But I could.  I know what to study, and how to study, and how to practice doing, and can make up some targets, goals, tests.

Click!

Aha!  I write poetry, and have achieved some respect for the poems I write.

But I have no facility with poetics.  When someone uses a term, I know where to look it up, and if I don't Google finds it for me.  But I can neither talk nor write about writing poetry in a language suitable for the thinking and the actions.  Hmpf.

The difference between this and computering, is that I don't know what to study or how to study or what tests would demonstrate anything.  Hm.

But I do know that "I don't know" is a good starting point.

So, let's start.

maker, worker, writer, do-er

Do!
I'm a human doing
I did calculus problems for fun
civil engineering problems as a self test
I climbed rock faces to see if I could
I sat on the edge of a road with cars passing on one side, and a hawk hovering on the other
mainly to dare the winds and gravity
I solved engineering problems at home
worked on computer problems people had told me were unsolvable
I walked, I climbed, I danced
anything but talk
ask me to talk and my mind seized
and now you want me to lie still?
heal?
is there a simpler language I could use?
I do
that's how I live
no, I cannot simply wait a while
fingers told to rest fidget
if I must sit still a while
at least
get me a sword to sharpen

analysis

reading a book of poems
I catch myself
preparing for a test
what do I like
dislike
admire
what extends the art
or practice
what do I learn
there may be no wrong way
to read poems
but this
comes close

survivor

perhaps you have met him
the ragged wanderer of deserts
half-mad or at least incoherent
with his story of sharing
the last meal of a god
or a god's son
whatever that distinction is
and then doing nothing
though anyone sane might ask
what he might have
against the drawn swords of an empire
or the ruler of a puppet court
pulled out of bed to judge
a trial put on to reach
a judgement already prescribed
that the god's son be whipped
impressed with thorns
and nailed to a cross
then hung in the desert air to die
while strangers mocked and taunted
and followers agonized
over courage, despair, or conformity
but lived to see whether the son
would really resurrect
but this one
staggered down the hill
wandered into the desert
ashamed to pray
not daring not to
and wandered to see
Buddha fight his battles
beneath the bodhi tree
China invade Japan
Martel's son
forge a new empire
and trembled to watch
a tower blaze god's wrath
onto a New Mexican desert
which drove him here, he says
the city of the angels
surely here if anywhere
he will hear mercy from the god
but while he's waiting
can you spare a dollar?

hooboy

I have sent this blog off in so many directions!  Well, three, four, or several any way....  Stop by again soon, see where it's going then.  Brownian motion we call this, right?

After reading Tara Evonne Trudell

 I listened to you breathe
All night
Or rather woke often
Listened
Glad to hear the steadiness
Outside
A brother
Did not as well
Choked
Coughed
Scratched at our gate
Seventeen bullets in him
From a cop's gun
The cop thought
The brother pulled a gun
No one else saw
I did not know
I listened to you breathe
The night darkened
Brightened
Turned gold
The brother died
Cops stood around him
Then released him
To the coroner
I woke
And heard
Then read
And felt guilty
To feel such relief
I listened to you breathe
And will again