Writing poetry used to be easy for me. I still have all my journals and Poetry.com submissions. I even have an unpublished book somewhere. I’ve received several “awards” and have one of my poems in the Millenium Anthology from the International Poetry Association.
But I stopped writing poems.
I write thought-processed essays and blog-like entries now. Boring, I know. I wish I had that spark in me to write like this:
A hill in the vicinity calls
with dignity of an eloquent song
Music is heard from over yonder
as old men bicker about
I follow unaware of all danger,
the sound of music from a hill
The pure and rich sounds slowly go–
creating the most tranquil air
A valley between two hills cry
for calmness and peace to be here
I carry with care, all I know–
all the music from a hill
Thanks to the music on a hill,
they made peace be true once again
again. Oh well.
When it hits me, I need to put on some music and further get in the mood. Writing has always been a core hobby of mine. I feel I’m fairly good at it (when I remember to edit and such).
I usually choose some tunes that fit my writing mood at that particular moment. Sometimes it’s an upbeat mix of songs. Others it’s a somber tone with tunes of sorrow and loss. But anything I pick to listen to is always the right thing.
Today I got hit with the writing bug in a way that reminded me of my younger days – in where poems flew from these fingers into paper, infusing it with the love and care I put into those older pieces. I miss that. Don’t get me wrong; I still get urges to write like that from time to time. But that’s just it. I don’t have time.
Instead, I write when I can, about what I can. It’s a blessing just to be able to, anyhow.
Last night I had the worst dream. Ever.
I don’t remember dreams that well, but when I do, They get filled with a fog as thick as San Francisco’s. But not this one. This one woke me up in a cold sweat and stuck. I wish it hadn’t.
I was in a room, staring at the wall. The wall turned green and then a window opened up through it. Then kids were behind me, waiting for something. A feeling of uncontrollable dread and fear swarmed around me. I was told by someone off to my left that I needed to explain to these kids that they will die. Soon. One of my sons were among those kids. I fell to my knees with a massive weight on my shoulders that fell off to the side as I hit the ground. I couldn’t breathe or open my tear-filled eyes. All I thought was, ‘not now, not now, not now.’ over and over. I couldn’t rise to my feet, thinking I could get this over with standing on my own two feet. Nope. I was holding my eldest son in my arm, squeezing him too tight, head buried against his little neck, trying not to tell him he was about to die. I thought if I had a few moments I could get out of this. Nope. My face was a mess, red with anger and hot with fresh tears rolling down my cheeks. I needed to leave. I tried getting up again, but my son wanted to play. I fell to my knees again and hugged him even tighter. He said it hurt, but I didn’t hear him. I held him closer still.
I woke up feeling sick to my stomach and my eldest son, at the side of our bed asking to play on the iPad, while his younger brother continued to sleep soundly – in the space between where my wife [now at work] sleeps and me.
I said yes, and got dressed, then went downstairs to where my son ended up sitting and gave him a big, too-long-for-him hug and told him I loved him.
A wake up call.
So I apparently said some sexist and anti-wife sentiments to a friend of mine that upset her husband. I do not remember being an idiot, nor do I recall ever being such an idiot to demoralize women, wife or no.
I received a fairly open communication from my friend who wants her husband and I to hit it off as buddies. She states the aforementioned to me kindly and just asked that I just watch what I say in the future. I respond amicably and with genuine apology. I even asked that if her husband would like to clarify said insurrections so that I may not utter them again, I’d welcome it.
Now here’s the thing: I can honestly say that I do not know what I would’ve said that could’ve been misconstrued as sexist or misogynistic. I wracked my brain all day on this. I just can’t remember. I pride myself in being a loving and respectful husband and man. I’d like to think I learned a few things from my parents about the treatment of women. It hurts to know that I’ve caused such upset.
This incident has awakened me to the very simple fact that we all have our own limits on what we define something. My line might be drawn a bit higher than my friend’s husband’s. all I know is that I must tread with a lighter gait. If only to soak up more sincere conversation not saturated with sarcasm and ill wit.
Sent from Elsewhere.
The most Lego building, outfit mismatch making, sustenance making, self esteem raising, personal playground providing, chess game teaching, diaper changing, video gaming, hand washing, argument settling, stroller pushing, chalk hopscotch drawing, stern reminding, firm hugging, back patting, and loving career you’ll ever embark on.
Oh, and you get paid in smiles.
63° Partly Cloudy
201 3rd St, Ithaca, New York, United States
Sent from Elsewhere.
Watermelon season is in full effect.
Although not a hot day by any stretch, today marked the boys eating half a watermelon by themselves. The red juices staining their summer clothes, upset tummies, and the ear-to-ear grins of bliss.
A cool breeze comforts my weary spirit, as its meant to do. The sunshine uplifting my thoughts and dreams, as its meant to do. The boys playing a version of tag that I haven’t seen before, as boys do. The gospel choir jumping and clapping for their almighty spirit guide, as they do.
A good afternoon indeed.
73° Partly Cloudy
206 3rd St, Ithaca, New York, United States
Sent from somewhere else.
Finding time is difficult.
Between fatherhood, spousal duties, daily house work, and personal health upkeep, I find it hard to get in a solid hour or two for gaming. I have spurts of time that I can hop on my phone and play bejeweled or scrabble, but anything longer than a few moments, forget it. I am able to play the games I enjoy, but for only a few minutes – not nearly long enough to get into it. The games I like tend to be story heavy and epic in length or involve elements of objective achievements that call to my completion-ist side of gaming.
With my particular style of gaming, I like to immerse myself fully and without distraction. This is virtually impossible for me these days. I learned the hard way that others have to come before your gaming. Whilst I do put my games on the back burner, I feel like when I do have time to fire them up, I can only just get the heat going. Tepid gameplay is hard to stick with.
I now get time at the end of the day, but as gaming takes focus and attention that has been used up during the day, I find I only have energy to veg. So the TV is it. I had tried forcing myself to pick a game and just play, but found that my mind wandered aimlessly. I would think, what about this game, or that game. I couldn’t just enjoy the one I had chose. So with this in mind, I forfeit the time altogether and opt for some Netflix instead.
I still play my games, but just not as intently as I had before. And in the grand scheme of things, that’s ok.
70° Mostly Cloudy
202-04 3rd St, Ithaca, New York, United States
Sent from somewhere else.