Scrivner

Hey-o, Wordletting was kind enough to publish me again (second page this time, baby, movin’ up in the world…).  Check out “Venus Grapefruit” because breakfast is the most important meal of the day.

Hey-o, another journal has decided to take me on!  Mastodon Dentist decided my piece “Summer Lake Sky” might be appropriate for a summer issue.  I can’t say I blame them.  Thanks Mastodon!

One neat thing about this journal is the free copyright art they use for their covers.  I used to be able to find the link, now it seems to elude me.

Another neat thing is that I’m in it.  Last page…which sems to suit me well nowadays.

I don’t have the feeling I have been here before but

I have been land before.  Cactus spine,

my seeing eyes,

a craggy of rock, my ear.

To hear that melancholy wind blow

as a ship yet unseen.  Oh water,

even you remember being here,

of being desert.  You mourn and wail

when the clouds are low

wanting to excavate the fish bones

that lime the soil with pernicious hope

of another salty Gomorrah.  Lines of nets

roam the shored banks of highway,

droning a lullaby of nothing and nothing then

shock-jumped into the metal end of mortality.

While travelling through Nevada

it is easy to forget my cactus spine,

my craggy rock, to be caught by the lighted lure,

 to ignore the lyre of a ship still unseen.

I have been you before.

…is in a place I’ve never seen before on my Google searches called Wordletting.  Nifty name!  I was struck by the current issue they had at the time because no one, I mean like no one, publishes what may be considered ‘you-based poetry’ anymore.  It had to have some kind of a tilt or be about a psychotic cat or something.

So I dredged up a little something I wrote when I first met my way-cool friend B. (met being the optional word since we’ve never met in person) called “Jave Mocha“…which tuned out to be pretty darn coincidental since my way-cool friend B. lives in birthplace of the over-priced coffee.  Also, a very nice surprise, another writer acquaintance Christian Ward appears on the first page with his piece, “The Sea”.  Good work, man!  (How do I get moved from the fourth page to the first?)

A small dilemma – the poem situated next to mine, “Memories”…okay, I’ll just say it.  It’s WAY better than mine.  The title needs a bit of refreshment but wow, good poem.  Okay, so how do I get off the fourth page and get posted next to someone less talented?

Wordletting is holding on to my other two options for the April issue possibly.  Do you think they take bribes?

Teenagers are nectarines

who think they are peaches

without the fuzz.

Love is a blackberry

that bursts before you taste it

and leaves a stain all the same.

Old people are kiwis,

donned in fuzzy sweaters

and sour in the middle.

Wisdom is a watermelon,

lovely to look at

but hard to carry home .

Hey, after a long absence… the Jai-ster is back in print.  Hello and hoorah!  Check out “little you” and a nifty journal called Toasted Cheese.  Thanks to them for taking me on because it’s almost like breaking into it all over again. 

Now, I have to get to putting more ‘out there’ – or simply, writing something, anything.  I can’t even write in this blog very often lately.  What’s wrong with this world anyway?  Why am I busier than all out all the time?  My life is an on ramp and I haven’t merged yet.  I don’t even SEE the merge.  Is there a merge?  Is life a highway or just an on ramp?  And, most importantly, how did I get stuck with a Gremlin?

It is too cold for frogs to jump in September,

                for pussy willows to show their fuzz.

This month is iron and steel

and giant winged lions standing guard on either side of the doors.

This month is caught between an open hand

and a sore throat.  Even the leaves run in a confused circle.

It is hard to remember this skin was once brown,

now a sallow yellow and nothing close to golden.

The sun agrees as she dons her veil of indifference.

She doesn’t celebrate mortals until April next year.

The gong resounds in the singing of our blood;

an adrenaline that carries us downstream

to the next ice flow.  Soon Thanksgiving gravy

will thicken our senses.  Until  then,

a haiku for light reading and an orange

for Buddha.