...you've begged me to return to this and here I am. I was held hostage by selling my home, moving to Virginia, getting stuck in the middle of somebody else's divorce, moving back to Connecticut, the death of a cat, publishing two books (poetry), a near-death experience and who knows what else that I may have let slip under my radar and under my feet until the gods decided that I had paid enough ransom to be freed that I may return to blogging and living. I've been writing the whole time, have enjoyed the Writers' Roundtable at the Leesburg, VA Senior Center, have begun a Poets' Roundtable at the Bigelow Senior Center in Fairfield, CT and am about to get my current magnum opus ready for publishing via Createspace.com. I have reached the point where, after a life featuring more permananet addresses than the Leatherman had temporary ones, I am down to a vision of just two more before I slip off the grid although I am far from Already Gone and hope to delay that slippage for ten more years or until my age and IQ are the same, whichever comes first (assuming I haven't reached that point already).
I choose not to re-read what I wrote in earlier posts and apologize in advance in case I repeat myself, something I am at risk of since, as age advances other things retreat. So I here offer, as if beginning again, a couple of rules for writing:
1. Start well. Hook me in the first five words or I will not read further.
2. Finish as well as you start. If you don't then I will be too pissed off to give you a second chance.
There. Now go and fill the in between with interesting stuff, details unique to the moment you are trying to consecrate in the poem. And pay attention to the sonic elements-- the music, the rhythms, the sounds that overlay the meaning with meaning. The poem must end up being felt as well as understood. The poem without that feeling is merely craft and anybody can practice that. Only a poet can elevate it to art. It's hard work.
It's good to be back; bear with me; I'll hit my stride soon.