March The Daily (W)Rite wk3

The New Daily (W)Rite



wk o3

Monday

David and I went to this last weekend's Art Walk. I know, every town or city that has an art community probably has an Art Walk of some kind either like ours or just like ours. I know Tulsa's Art Walk is almost identical to ours except theirs happens on the 1st Friday of the month and ours
talks place on the 2nd Friday of the month. So, all Art Walks are set up about the same . . . but each is its own experience, its unique self made up of artists from the area that they live in! Yes, there are some artists from other places, but for the most part the art you'll see is by local artists. The nice thing about Norman's Art Walk is that it gives you a chance to "mingle" with every type of human beings Norman has to offer. You can meet starving artists (is there any other kind?),  rich patrons, community  leaders, rich folk, poor folk, musicians, OU students, locals the young and the old. If you want to see Norman Town, the people that define it, our Art Walk is a good place to start.

Wednesday, March 19, 2o14

Finding it difficult to write. Well, finding it difficult to do anything except sleep and eat and watch TV. Takes all my will just to sit here and try to think of something worth putting down in my blog.

Could be a mental block. It could be physical in part. I am feeling rather tired, light-headed. Could be a combination of the two. More than likely it is both with a smidgen of depression which is always here inside me. . . or maybe the depression is caused by the mental and physical fatigue. No way to know for sure.

I have no ambitions of any kind. I don't care about anything . . . at least not today. Just don't want to write poetry, feel like there's nothing worth writing about . . . and yet I know there is plenty to write about. I just can't see it clearly. As I said before, I've been looking over my old poetry and find it hard to read . . . It's horrible writing, nothing but a bunch of clichéd observations . . . poorly written all of it. So, here's where I am right now: ABSOLUTELY NOWHERE. Hope I can pull it together soon. I think I'll signoff for awhile. Maybe later I'll have something more interesting to say. :(

Friday, March 21, 2o14

Yes, it's Friday. Even more important, Friday night! Well, Friday night use to be important. Back when you couldn't wait to get out to the bars to drink . . . and maybe pick up somebody for a little "after hour" partying. Yeah, you remember how it use to be. At work in the glass plant. Counting down the hours until quitting time. Jumping in the shower as soon as you got home 'cause the glass plant is a hot and greasy and you by working in it for 12 hours today is beyond filthy. Takes a good hour just to get the stink off  you. Lots of soap and hot, hot as you can stand it, water pumping out of the shower head. And then dry off with one of mom's fluffiest towels, shave, brush the teeth and slap on the Friday night threads . . . sometimes a tie but never knotted tight . . . loose, that's the way to wear a Friday night tie. And then to the bars. looking as you drink for that one set of eyes that continues to look your way. An maybe you both look at each other at the same time and maybe you go home (her place or mine) together and . . .

Well, that's night Friday nights any more for me. Mostly . . . well, mostly it's just watching TV and listening to the cars drive don Trout Ave. THEY re moving towards the bars. And if I stay up past 2 in the morning, I get to hear the college boys who live next door whooping and laughing their way into their house. Yes, sometimes I'm jealous of them. Jealous of their energy, their hope that something good will happen . . . if I can just get drunk enough.

6:17 PM

So, Spring in our humble Norman Town came to visit yesterday, and somehow that inspired me to write a poem about the "first day of Spring." AND that inspired me to write ANOTHER Spring poem today! So here they are. The first writing I have done in a while.

Spring Poems

 March 20, 2014

The first day of spring
as warm and comforting
as the thick coats,
the wool hats
we gratefully sling
into the darkest corners
of the cluttered closet.
The birds too conservative
with their happy cheeps and chirrups
they've known the warmer skies ...
that had transformed quite suddenly
into a harsh winter storm
the one they'd experienced
just the day before.

 March 21, 2014

Sparrows do not care for coffee.
This one is curious though.
Adventurous enough
to hop over to my cup,
jump up on its rim
and dip his beak in!
With a shudder
he flutters away.
I could never be a sparrow.
I love the bitter, bitterness
of black, black coffee
and the shady shadows
of a shadowy spring morning.