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FORCE FEEDINGS FROM THE POETRY ARCHIVES, PART 1:

the cruellest month

the august trees were already
leaving by september
when I autumned into love with you.

I pictured you in green
slipping through the forest
hiding among the oaks
like a frightened deer
or escaping into the woods
with your secrets
climbing into the longrooted branches.

wintering in this cold country

I picked icicles like fruit
looking for a sign of you.
when spring came, my icicles

turned and ran

through my fingers
and my torn hands healed.

the forest in green
ran me through, living
while my small love died.

(1993)

Just as I was reading this post over at Michael’s site, I was reminded of what I was doing last night. John Franklin was one of my most beloved teachers when I attended a small Bible college in the mid-1980s. He taught philosophy and has always one of the most well-read men I’ve known. He’s also a huge supporter of the arts. Recently, we’ve been talking about some web design work I might be able to do for the non-profit arts group he now heads up. So, he invited Brooke and I to he and his wife’s home on Saturday. They were hosting a monthly meeting of a group for Christian artists as well as inviting some other people to hear a storytelling group. This group, the Great Wooden Trio, are actually four guys, three of whom play songs and one who tells stories. They sort of play off each other and it made for a very entertaining evening. We even found some time to discuss what it is about storytelling that makes it so universal. Along with Michael’s entry, it got me thinking about writing again. Not the blog blather of the past few months, but real writing, the sort I haven’t done for far too long. I’m ashamed. And I’m hoping to change that. I love the immediacy of posting with Blogger, but I also want to craft something once in a while. Credit the Eric Gill biography, too, I suppose. I just want to make something that isn’t completely disposable. So bear with me, if I get all ponderous occasionally. It looks like Michael is going through this as well. Maybe you’ll find something good in the midst of the rubble. Something that will connect to your own story. And that would make me happy.

This weekend Brooke and I were in Collingwood, Ontario to visit Brooke’s parents and to see a variety show they direct every year. A word about my future in-laws: Jim and Phyllis Smith came to Canada from Scotland more than 40 years ago, and have been involved in community theatre for approaching 50 years. It never ceases to delight me to hear Jim’s rich voice (this year he performed “Old Man River” from Showboat) or watch Phyllis tap dance. He’s 67 years of age, survivor of both a heart attack and cancer; she’s 66. If I’m half as talented and exuberant and just plain alive at their age, I’ll be a happy man.

Jim is going to wear a kilt to our wedding. I told him that as long as he doesn’t come out with his face painted blue, I’m ok with it. …(Braveheart reference)… Here they are, then, my second family, the Smiths:

Fairly productive day. Applied for some jobs online, got lots of work done on the SxSW section (almost there!!). This is what happens when you’re awake at 7:00 am. Later, I even rented The Great Escape DVD but fell asleep after about 40 minutes. This is what happens when you’re awake at 7:00 am. Hope you caught my April Fool’s page. I’m too lazy to archive it, though. It was something about monkeys.

I’m sorry I haven’t been updating. Busy with so many things. Applying for unemployment benefits, preparing resumes, emailing old contacts. I’m also working (still!) on my SxSW recollections. Please be patient. I’ll try to have something more interesting here tonight.