?

Log in

No account? Create an account
January 8, 2015 - Same As It Ever Was [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]
Stephe

[ website | Stephe's Library Thing ]
[ userinfo | livejournal userinfo ]
[ archive | journal archive ]

January 8, 2015 [Jan. 8th, 2015|11:03 pm]
Stephe
[Current Mood |successful]
[Current Music |Philip Glass, Koyaanisqatsi]

Up just before noon today, to find more snow on the ground from overnight storms. Before I headed out to shovel, the guy with the snow blower who cleared our driveway several times last year came by to do our neighbor's driveway, and he agreed to do our as well. I probably could have shoveled everything clear myself, but there were several very high drifts from the blowing winds of the last few days, so I was happy to pay someone else to take care of the problem. It started snowing again mid-afternoon, so we might have him clear our driveway again tomorrow.

What with the snow and all, I spent the rest of the day inside taking care of little things. For starters, I filled out the paperwork for my new psychiatrist, with whom I have an appointment Monday. I also wrote some poetry -- specifically an inverted Shakespearean sonnet that is part of the series started here and continued (or rather, concluded) here. So anyways:


Met in coffee shops or met in bars.
Met in classrooms. Met in seminars.
Met over a table of cheese and passable wine
at events awarding the great, the honored ones.
Shop talk, small talk, talk to fill the time
between verses. Time always later to hone
the craft. Meanwhile, a wish for sycophants:
the hope that someone, somewhere might be reading.
Is this not what any author wants?
Easy to idealize the making,
but what about the makers? We ask for more.
Of course, they give -- is this not their function?
They form our history: their DNA is ours.
And yet we want them somehow more than human.


I do have an idea where I'm going with this, but it'll probably take at least two more sonnets before it all becomes clear. I'm intrigued by the fact that I'm a lot more sarcastic in these poems than I have been in the past. I wonder where that comes from.

Anyways, after finishing the poem, I lay down for what turned out to be a long nap. I woke up again in time to reheat some spaghetti sauce from a few days ago for dinner and start some laundry. And now I'm waiting for the laundry to finish and watching the snow fall outside. I work at the book store the next three days, and I suspect it'll be very quiet. I may even be able to get some inventory work done. But for now, I'm contemplating a warm bed and some much-needed sleep.
LinkReply

Comments:
[User Picture]From: missprune
2015-01-09 11:30 pm (UTC)
Very nice!
(Reply) (Thread)
[User Picture]From: stephe
2015-01-10 01:51 am (UTC)
Thank you!
(Reply) (Parent) (Thread)