Weekend Coffee Share| 23 April 2016

Remembering one of a group of poems that I wrote to a Poetry 101 Rehab writing prompt: “No Forevers“. It’s on my poetry-writing blog: Quilted Poetry.

If we were having coffee together, this weekend, I would share that I feel haunted, sometimes, by poetry that I’ve read/written throughout my life. More often, now, as my parents are nonagenarians (Father, soon a centenarian, it appears). The burden of life is not the present, which we cope with routinely or not as we’re used to doing, nor is it the future, which weighs lightly on us. The burden of life fast becomes the burden of the past, of life…lived irretrievably.

[I was looking forward from “No Forevers”, but should have looked back to “Ending All“.]

If we were visiting in person, this weekend, I would admit to liking where I am and who I have become, but Good grief! the paths that brought me to this place and time and self. Myself only in my 70th year, I scarcely consider myself to be “old”.  As the shortness of breath and the fatigue slip away, again, as I recover from the latest inflammation of the lungs, (I once gain am not taking the Albuterol, nor any other pills or medications, unless I might get a headache [unlikely] or a muscle cramp from over exercise [soon to be possible].) I forget about limitations.

I bought a new gadget from Microsoft that I am enjoying. I bought a stick computer made by Lenovo with no third-party software added. I may not be able to read Nook books on it until I straighten out where apps are loaded, as opposed to where I want them, but I can avoid storing backup files on Cloud by attaching a 1-T external HD to the powered USB hub. My plan is to use this computer, which uses the TV as a monitor/speaker system, for my personal writing. Which involves figuring adding the same User to all of my blogs, so that I do not have to battle with signing out/signing in.

I have loved computers since college and landed my first job, a position as a computer programmer within a month of graduating with a B.A. (in, oddly, English and philosophy). I shan’t talk about my preschool adventures taking apart my father’s prized console radio or my first career ambition, which was to be a pilot of a fighter plane. My parents did supply me with chemistry set and a real, working microscope while I was in grade school. In middle school I earned/saved enough to buy a reflector telescope. I didn’t abandon my  telescope until marriage (in the 90s), since my husband has a scope with tracking and photo capabilities.

I don’t know if I will come back and complete this or not. The dogs have gone inside, and I assume that Al has returned home from great adventures. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯



From the 1970s

Going through my files, looking for those that missed the purge schedule for clients’ work, I came across one of my poetry chapbooks; it holds some of my poems from the mid-1970s to late 1980s. Somewhere I have a binder with the original typed/written poems; those sheets have dates on them. This one would, I think, have made a good prose poem, but I think the line breaks add something to it. I wrote this one in the mid-70s. Nearly 40 years ago.

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Morning Coffee | Old Poems: Haiku, 1960s

I guess I took too many or overly long naps on Saturday, because when I awakened at 2:30 this morning, I couldn’t get back to sleep. So I finished another Darkover novel: Thendara House. 

We are nearly out of Toddy coffee concentrate, and so I’ve put another pound of Folgers medium roast into cold water to steep. I must remember to decant it, this evening. It’s too early to put on a pot of coffee, so I might switch to tea. And fix breakfast.

In the sixties, Haiku were just coming into awareness at the college where I completed my undergraduate degree. After spending my first two years in mathematics, computer programming and chemistry, I transferred into Humanities to pursue a major in English. I had thought to minor in mathematics by completing Differential Equations, but I got sidetracked by other interests and never got back to it.

There were four haiku in the poetry collection returned to me by my sister’s son and his wife in addition to the one on the title page.

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The end of the day

I am winding down from the day, enjoying a cup of tea, rather than coffee. Al is in the other room, listening to late-night television programming. Perry Mason, Night Gallery, &c.

The day didn’t go as expected. As we were getting ready to out for a quick supper (eggs and hash browns), I recalled that Al had talked, earlier in the week, about going to the visitation/prayer service for the wife of one of his former co-workers. That was about 5:10, just 10 minutes into the visitation, and so he left for the funeral home. The co-worker, Al said, was shocked to see him there, and they spent much time talking together. Later in the evening, we did go out to Denny’s and had a good time talking over events of the day.

I located and washed the last of the yogurt jars (the dog had picked up that last missing jar and carried it under the kitchen table, to lick it clean in privacy), which are now sitting on the sideboard air drying. And all of the lids. I also washed, dried and put away the pan in which I cooked rice, earlier. For lunch, I fixed white rice, sardines and steamed vegetables.

When my youngest sister died in September 2014, her son and his wife stopped by here with an old poetry book of mine that my sister had kept by her. The poems were written in the 1960s and 1970s. I’d moved back here during the winter of 1979/1980, I think; the address on the title page was the old one. The poetry book contains the only copy there is of some of these poems. An interesting time in my life. Major events, experiences and transitions.

Some tattered papers
drifting through deserted streets
on a hollow wind . . .

From the title page of my first poetry collection and written during the summer before my junior or senior year of college