This is the title to one of my poems written in 2009 - insofar unpublished itself. Last year was a banner year for my being published and those poems will be coming out in a book this year. The tentative title of the book is - Hands on the Hips -
I've been writing poetry for many years - on and off since I was a depressed teenager. Mostly on. I had never taken it seriously as an art form until I was crippled in a motorcycle wreck and found that writing and playing guitar were my only solaces to go on. Playing guitar is harder as I have to hold the guitar in a way that creates pain - more pain than that already exists. My penance is chronic pain in my leg, hip and back along with 2" of the femur gone and Steel plate holding me up. I sit in front of my IBM Selectric III and write not nearly as often as I should but it brings me a great deal of understanding and glimpses of that which we all chase. I can see now how I once treated poetry as a simple thing, one with little effort to perfect, this was incorrect as I can see that the craft of creation is intense and heartbreaking.
more on that later, I will write from time to time my opinions about poetry, Haiku, non-Haiku (which I write), books I've read, people and such, I don't care for politics as I am a poet but when the mood strikes I may as well.
Feel free to contact me, it is quite likely that I will respond, if you manage to find my home address, feel free to send an old fashioned and I will respond in kind.
The insofar unpublished poem in question is as follows:
the platitudes of willful resemblances
some things have a harder time changing than others.
sleep comes hard,
now we recognize,
meds and allergy pills. a
little beer and hopefully soon to sleep
and dream along the platitudes
of willful resemblances.
Which is now officially published as the journals will only accept first run and they would consider this a first run and published. SO, my former statements were only correct when I wrote them and ceased being true when I clicked PUBLISH POST. I will do this as often as I remember to.
Hold, J. Baker