This Morning We Celebrate

More like the idea that has all broken down dreams and houseplants won’t bloom because they no longer grow; them, those orchids or philodendrons or pansies or flowers or violets because none would grow in grandma’s apartment. She had no love except for Alice who sat day after day screaming “Ma! Ma! Ma!” And we really had absolutely no love for her and Alice because they were mooching off our mother, and My mom let them! Then there was Aunt Ruthie who tried to tell mom, and I was only seven years old and Dougie was almost five years old and Doug was the kid little–making fun of them because Alice screamed at us “shut your mouth,” grandma would wring her hands with slobber dripping down the sides and her mouth. I kept hating grandma’s breath and Alice had her laxative every afternoon and theirs was stink. So my mom let them move in with her and we wanted dad and I wanted to go back to California any way I could. Finally mom made them move back to their home and we moved to our place the red house and I joined the Y and things got better and even when I got pneumonia and mom went on ADC and she was home every day and even when I got mad at her and wanted to move back to California I was a lot better then the kid out back of our lot stole my dad’s slides l was angry, but still, yes still better and my school grades got a whole lot better because l quit the Y and I joined Boy Scouts, because that kid Mike’s dad, made a pass at mom. I knew what that meant so we moved next door and each time we moved the place grew worse, for until you met This Girl who wanted to fool around and still my self-grew better and grades got better and finally I got into Grinnell and the food was good not good but really great and things got so much better except my grades went to hell and then I was finally in with dad in California and with Marilyn who knew God and that is what I wanted to do Love God–finally live with dad because I had found him and I was  really happy with myself and Marilyn, but where was mom and Doug but I kept taking drugs about LSD and my friends back at Grinnell, so I took off for Europe after hauling garbage all summer with George, Tim Dennis without Jack and Kerry and Tomas was not there, but Tomas and I got high, and again I ran away from home and then got really sick after doing LSD after graduation from Grinnell and finally MOM listened and I found Krishna Murdy and Allen Watts so I left for Graduate School and things finally did get better and I met Marjorie finally things were good each morning the USA and South Dakota and Doug and Dad not there though mom was gone; then I July 22, 1987, got sober I found God and we had a baby girl Laurel Ann Taylor and we raised her the best we knew how things started to get normal because I had 31 years sobriety and no one could stop me because I was finally good to Marge and I am healthy. Thanks be to God I am healthy and I am not putting God on Marge or myself on our Beautiful daughter she is finding her own way with the Ph.D. and at 29 there might be what she needs and she is all gone to her doctorate and Auntie Ruthie is finished and mom is finished but it’s never finished because of love! And, I love my family and friends and Marge’s family and Aunt Deny’s family I love them all and dad and Doug and especially Marjorie, my Pearl; we are old and now especially love is never finished because these folks are you and you have a family, finally you have a family.

 

 

Published by elgwyn

I was a University and college writing teacher, now retired, so I write poetry, and essays, mostly free verse poetry. I love writing. Computers, tablets, and smart phones are the norm. When one sees university campuses with students looking at phones while walking to class, one realizes writing can be blogging. I am an ordinary man writing for artistic pleasure writing, and simple taste-- blogs are an answer to high priced self-publishing. Walt Whitman had to print his paper books himself, because in 1855, and 1860 poetry did not sell. It does not sell now unless you have a Pulitzer Prize and even then the poet usually makes a living in other ways than writing. In all ages there have been writers writing out of their own needs, and blogs are an answer to get rid of high cost of self creativity. I am an older man with fewer computer skills than my daughter who has been at computers since she was three, so here I can satisfy my need to write without spending too much on self-published books. All three blogs let me reach an audience missed by books and stand a better chance to reach a wider audience. My two books, Winter from Spring, Meditations on Gratitude, as Kindle books and paperbacks did not reach as many people as I wanted, and blogs can let me avoid the printer. Layout and design is expensive. For me writing is more like the charcoal jottings of preexisting civilization made only for posterity. Blogs face two problems as I see it. They might be submerged into a chaos of too much writing, and they depend on electronic storage. Yet, how's that different from electronic books which must have specialized publication? Paper disintegrates, blogs can be physically stored and organized for posterity in data banks. All organization becomes chaos at some point, but charcoal images on cave walls still exist after the author scribbled eons ago. So what if I reach only a few interested people, but hopefully, readers will reach out to me. Writing is essential for showing the ways of culture before history knows those ways. To record each individual is essential especial for billions of people who need to know enough reading beyond pictures to save a planet. Writing without profit isn't new to me. I'm not seeking to impress the audience. Poetry in general never sells, and personal confessional, and emotional writing exists sometimes like journal writings only for the author. At least here is my hope for wider audiences. My writing is personal and informal, but my writing expresses some serious ideas like the writing of contemporary writers to rise above chaos in my own simple way, above self-absorption, a meditation, the simple writing of an ordinary man. I hope to find my own way out of my own chaos and make my record stand alone if even in electrons. Though I hope never to express nightmare in my poetry, fiction, or essays, some serious considerations are important to me after centuries of mechanized nightmare. The next decade is probably of the same failure in our world. This decade looks to be another time of diminished individuals and the next as well. We all wish peace and hope will become normal. It looks like if hope reaches each individual, not governments there is satisfaction in making means of writing available to many. My hope is for each human being to give their own expression out of the abyss. If humankind is to survive in any common way, we must each be able to express maturity and take responsibility in something beyond self. Electronic media offers people these possibilities so long as computers can store individual lives. Here people can freely see what I write and what others write. Though I hold an MFA in creative writing my simple vision never found a wide audience. I was disappointed about this earlier in my life, but now it's just what one expects of such degrees. I found happiness in family and especially in love of my wife and daughter. Writing can be more than a pastime now that I'm older. I approach seven decades living with some disappointing times, and some satisfying times. I'm like most people, and I've been married more than 37 years, and we sent a successful daughter into the world. We happily live in a country where even the poorest have food. Often as a young man when I traveled for nearly one year through Europe, where does a culture begin to feed and house so many people, and how do all these people live in harmony since World War II? Maybe it's been a question of survival. Writers can hold a little corner with blogging, blogging for harmony and peace. This is my hope. This is my question.

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