I spent so many years of my life overworked and overwhelmed, and now here I am in retirement and I needed more to do. I told my husband today that I wish we could spread retirement out over our careers and enjoy a little boredom, respite, and rejuvenation throughout the years. On that note, I volunteered for the Friends of the Library in our town. They needed someone to figure out how to do email blasts, so I said I could do that. I went to MailChimp (or as the FOL board president has started to call it–ChimpMonkey. I’ve started calling it that too.) It was not difficult to learn, and today I successfully added contacts and sent out different newsletters to each of the four segments of our audience. It was rewarding, and such a treat to have time to sit and work without distractions.
A few pictures of late:
This week is the Open Write at Ethical ELA is going on this week. Here are the poems I’ve written so far:
La Grande Vitesse–
is on its toes
This suspect stabile
is a dancer
who don’t dance
Can walk around it
Walk up to it
Dance with it
Never the same
My Boots Are Talking
Hey, we’ve just gotten started–
These desert trails are great.
Hope you don’t grow again
Or we’ll end up in a thrift crate
before we’re properly worn,
just like your last sole mates
The inch I’ve lost in height
has been added to my feet–
An unfortunate birthright
Marshmallows burnt just right
Settled round the fire light—cold backs
Warm fronts, time to relax.
Then looked up, viewed star tracks—chatter
turned to higher matters
Universal star spatter, bright moon
Soul space, Divine commune
Inspired by “August Moon,” a poem by Emma Lazarus. I used this striking line: “Look! The round-cheeked moon floats high in the glowing August sky.” Her poem reminded me of this moon last August:
Take a Look!
Time for a surprise, for the
calendar has yet to turn round
and this orb, full-cheeked,
is shining again–blue moon
they call it. Super moon floats
above the mountain, lighting high
and low across the sand, just in
time for popcorn on the
porch and the glowing
cozy comfort of this August
evening, falling up into the sky
Children buried in rubble of war.
Are children only flesh and blood
literally–just children born to bleed
die survive as children no more?
Adopting hatred of elders, children waste
Justice and peace! They’re our children!