Morning Life Again

Worry escapes me.

Singing releases me on this day.

Another visible mountain from mother scaled, another way

To see the Sunrise, nothing escapes me–I can see

Farther above our trees, a wind cut aspen. How sad to remember

Death of river birch and ash. Today I witness volunteer aspen roots

She planted into the tree to remember living things, green life she loves,

Life replaced a dead tree farther back on Mary Lane.

Our birch and ash cut in half by the wind. She could destroy weeds,

A great woman she has removed them in her sleep resurrected

Joy reverence. Another mind knowing no sorrow of humankind.

I am not alone as I can see my essence in her hands she reaches up

Like a tree in the sky. She walked away from River Styx,

Away from Empire, away from fall of earth. We never

Escaped death until now–we always dwelt in the dust of thoughts,

Of our own gloom. I’m not royalty but born of the sea water.

Elixir of life-slaking mist. Mountains rising up, Rocks of snow,

The industry of kill has gone bleak–Now we live in notes

Of living music, living water. Lillys she’s tended with baptistry,

Selflessness, a memorial in our flesh, all found again the wisdom

Into essence, morning essentially visionary as on Canterbury

Morning seeing the day as pilgrims walked east beneath gates

Of Hell, renewed our spirits with New Water, the elixir of Life.

We revived life as on Easter Morn–of sisters and brothers, always

Witnessing newness, now we love each other, as never

Before. Reverance has descended. I’ve always called Him

Douglas fir. Now myself–I am so strong, so healthy never cut

Into another tree or any like Him, no wind again. Now I know

This finally is the truth about my Brothers and Sisters who I love,

I maintain He’ll love me too, revolving like the day

Into the morning risen as the freedom to redeem flowers

She tends from Christmas to Christmas, now knowing, we care

For the first time in our lives. Gone is the hate of childhood,

Reaching into day again yellow-red, ruby morning globe

Of energy, the sky of marriage, love removing death,

Fulfillment of our kind. Great Melting away everlasting gloom.

How do I say this is the day? The day has begun.

More joy I’ve never felt, this is the sun.

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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