Last night, Lois's family came to take items they wanted as keepsakes from her home. I brought a couple bottles of wine and helped out, and the finality of the gestures bothered me more than I realized it would. When I returned, Pam and I had the following text dialogue:
Pam:You know what is amazing to me? That someone's life can be reduced to garbage bags, goodwill boxes and piles of stuff that nobody wants. Its sadThe evening put me in a poetic mood. I often like to start courses with word-play and I remembered I have an hour exercise that forces writers to rethink how they use words. The exercise forces them to rearrange language for new meaning. Last night, I took ten-words from my "magic box" and played the word game for myself (20-minutes and I created a new poem). The poem doesn't need to make sense, but it needs to try something new.
Bryan: I know. I came home. All the windows were open. There was a fire, I’m guessing. Nothing damaged, but it smells like burned cooking. No Weijing. I am thinking, I can be ashes tomorrow. I am so glad I took an angel from Lois's house. It’s my second one - the other was from a good friend in Denmark who made a tremendous impact on my life.
Pam: Oh boy. You need to monitor that girl. Shes dangerous
Bryan: She brings me perspective. We are worth more to others when we’re gone, because we remind them how precious time is when we have it.
For the Squad, 2014
I return to you with beams,
and the screams of Vivian Bearing’s medication,
new literature regimes of Arnold Spirit’s
reservation and beer.
I come to you with extremes,
black licorice laced with David Small’s themes
(and fear) of language
and tears from drawing….
see-sawing along the streams
needed from everyday warriors.
We are creativity,
the story that cinematically
seeks character development
- a theme within the crafty crevices
of Kryptonite crackers and the
of this crazy-Krunk life.
We become the words,
born out of dusty libraries
where scratch and sniff stickers
provide a voice
of love notes,
calls from our mom,
the waking up from dreams
where we hear
what needs to be said.
The dictionary of advice and trust
Who are we, but the magic of humanity?
A hocus pocus parade creating chaos
crackling and popping
to tell stories and offer a few jokes.
We are the silence of the rabbit exiting the hat,
the regretted past who labors for the few.
And so the squad writes again,
an entourage in agony to make a difference,
a team of classy friends ganging together to articulate a purpose to life.
Here’s to 2014,
and the activity of the troupe,
pushing the posse towards
and ganging up against the complex simplicities
of where we’ve been….
and where we’ve yet to go.
Hit me up if you ever want to attend a word-game workshop. This was written with the returning freshmen in mind and the books we will read this semester.