Dark and Lonely

Dark and Lonely
James M M Baldwin

A skeletal shell
In a damp and musty grave
In a long forgotten cemetery.
Once the seat of knowledge
For a strong brilliant man.
Worms have left me vacant
Without thought
Without impulse
Without sensation.
Shakespeare's Hamlit
raised me in one hand,
Alas poor Yorick
I knew him well.
Poison liquid in a bottle
Puts me on crossed bones.
I'm out of my skull
Perhaps bone-headed.
In dishonorable proceedings
I am skullduggery.
In metal music
I'm 'Eddie the 'ead.
In Mayan Myth
I'm crystal quartz.
As Lord Byron's cup
I hold the wine.
Get it through
your thick skull.
A wooden shell
To incase the brain.
I never frown
A toothy grin.
My orbital sockets,
Adorned long ago with watery blue eyes
Now only stare;
Vacant, dark, unblinking.
In life, muscle and skin gave me emotion
Joy, anger, passion
No longer.
Sunken cheeks
Exposed teeth
Have left only one expression:
Death.

Writer as Artist

In an e-conversation, a friend of mine, Doug Sasse, asked if I've noticed the similarities between writing and drawing?

This really got me thinking because, as an artist and a writer, I've often pondered this.

In both mediums you are telling a story. You put thousands of little marks on a blank surface to produce a final product. Both forms take hours to produce. You know what they say, "A picture is worth a thousand words." But there is one major difference between the two. With writing, the reader spends hours, days, sometimes weeks absorbing your work. On the other hand, with a painting or drawing, you spend hours and hours producing the work and the viewer usually gets the entire story in a few seconds. Sometimes they might spend a minute examining the work, but never much more.

Continuing our conversation, my friend clarified his opinion on the subject with the following.

Both mediums start with an idea or a subject. You sketch in broad strokes, blocking in the structure. Structure is important in both mediums. Each element has to not only stand on its own, but work with the other elements to be successful. I think they call that Gestalt. Drawing uses different values of light and dark, just as does character development. But then once the basic structure is in place, you refine, refine, refine, until you've completed all of the details. Drawing is a right-brain exercise; writing is, to a large extent, also a right-brained exercise, requiring intuition and creativity. In the end, both mediums create something artificial that, ironically, enhance its creator’s ability to see the world, while providing the viewer a greater appreciation of reality.

I'd like to thank my friend and fellow Nebraska Writers Workshop participant Doug Sasse for initiating this dialogue and giving my cause to think.

What do you think?

Jim

Rain on a Tin

Rain on a Tin Can
James M M Baldwin

Some scoff at my empty cans
"They're an eyesore"
"They're garbage"
"They're ugly"

Some complain about the rain
It'll drench my clothes
It'll ruin my new shoes
I just washed my car

The rain brings my empty cans to life
A gentle pinging lullaby
A distant rumble adds the bass
The rhythm slows and rises with the storm

Rabbit Hole vs. Worm Hole

When the going gets tough, some people bury their head in the ground like an ostrich. (I don't know if ostriches actually do that but I saw it in a cartoon once) Sometimes it's easier to hide from a problem than confront it. A rabbit will lay perfectly still, hoping to avoid conflict. But if trouble gets too close, it will go for its hole. The rabbit is quite smart. Remaining undetected is better then becoming coyote dinner. The rabbit however, will always be a rabbit and more than likely will eventually become the dinner for some carnivore. Rabbits don't usually die of old age. As they slow down, they're no longer able to outrun the predator. The rabbit's main defense against extinction is to make lots of little rabbits before the unavoidable day of painful demise.

Instead of remaining inactive and waiting for your chance to escape into the rabbit hole, and eventually becoming eagle chow, there's another option. The worm hole. No. Not the tiny holes made by slimy legless creatures, but the wrinkle in time and space. In a precursory move, if you jump into the worm hole, you'll arrive at a new destination. The problem will have never existed. It won't have time to follow. Your exotic new destination might have its own problems. A new predator might be larger and have sharper teeth than the coyote. But at least you made the decision to act on your circumstance and did something to change it.

Now, if I only had the courage to take my own advice. Which are you more likely to do in times of trouble? Rabbit hole? or Worm hole?

Jim

Happy People, Happy Village

Happy People, Happy Village
James M M Baldwin

Blue covers the heavens like an upside-down sea
Wooly clouds gather like guests at a tea

A white sun coaxes the dull to a colorful array
Stubborn buds burst into a fragrant display

Emerald waves roll toward distant green meadows
Swaying arms sway from a row of old willows

Oaks and maples line a creek, sparkling like glass
A bushy tailed squirrel forages for seeds in the grass

Birds sing a merry song, filling the trees
Butterflies float on a gentle fragrant breeze

A bunny chews in a field of bristly pink thistle
A dragonfly darts like a heat guided missile

Giggling young girls jump rope, skip, and sing
Dressed in sundresses of green, white, and pink

Bare-chested boys play ball as they stroll
Shouting for joy as they tumble and roll

An unsteady woman walks a large hairy beast
It pulls her along, she holds tight to its leash

Young lovers exchange a passionate embrace
Overeager to complete the love that they chase

A child stops playing… she points at the skies
A comet strikes Earth… and everyone dies

Hawk or Squirrel, Hunter or Hunted

This morning I noticed a squirrel standing tall in the middle of my yard. A few seconds later, a Red Tail Hawk swooped in and tried to catch it. The squirrel leapt into the air and avoided certain death. The Hawk landed a few feet away. After several more attacks, and a gymnastic-like presentation of leaps and flips by the bushy-tailed rodent, he escaped into a nearby crabapple tree. The Hawk flew up, landed in the tree, and bobbed its head about looking for the its breakfast. The squirrel escaped by jumping branches through several neighboring trees, leaving the hawk spinning its head in bewilderment and hunger. The hawk eventually flew off and landed on some nearby wires to scan for its next target.

At first I associated with the squirrel; dodging the attacks of life's obstacles. I smiled when the furry little fellow escaped to safety. But as I watched, I realized I was more like the bird on the wire, searching for success and often coming up empty. If he gives up, he'll go hungry. Would God let the Red Tail starve? With no choice but to keep scanning, he'll continue searching for the opportunity to succeed.

What about you? Are you more like the squirrel or the hawk.

Jim

WOW! It's hot out!

Wow, it's hot out!
James M M Baldwin

The Thermostat shows a rising thermometer
Heavy wet air, an increasing barometer

Summer sun shines hot as a blaze
Distant hills hidden in humidity's haze

Oppressive, muggy, blistering heat wave
A scorcher, sweltering, sultry dog days

Firecrackers on the Fourth of July
Hot from the oven spiced apple pie

Egg on a sidewalk without a fryer
Out of the pan and into the fire

An Indian dish with too much curry
A Mexican feast consumed in a hurry

A breakfast of hot red chili peppers
August Fifteenth in a turtle neck sweater

Tongue on fire, five alarm Barbecue
Lips blistered, steaming hot cup of brew

Singed seared smoked stewed steamed simmered and broiled
Fat-fried braised poached grilled baked blackened and boiled

Hot summer night around a campfire
Hot dog on a stick as black as a tire

Death Valley Sahara Mojave desert
Stuck without shade in a black tie and dress shirt

Feline paws on a hot metal roof
A camel with humps, hot sand under hoof

Get out of the kitchen, can't stand the heat
The pressure is on; you’re in the hot seat

A discussion becomes a heated exchange
In the heat of the moment, a hot tempered Rage

One-hundred four, a dreadful fever
Burning words from the master deceiver

Hades bell rings the toll of death knell
Your soul has the chance of a snowball in hell

Heatstroke is threat’ning, but don’t be afraid
Thank God for air conditioning and ice cold lemonade

Writer's Rut

From the title, you might presume this post is about the drudgery of writing. Like wagon wheels caught in a rut, trudging on in one direction without hope of rest, moving toward an uncertain destination. No, this post is about something different. This rut is more like the male buffalo during mating season. Late last year, I had so many story ideas kindling (no pun intended) on the fires of my mind, that I could not finish any one of them. They were like the two buffalo, butting heads, fighting for the chance to be the alpha male. That's how these stories were; locking horns, trying to take precedence over the other for control of my mind. The fighting continued until several stories sat at varying stages of completion, and none finding their end. I finally made the decision to put all of those new stories aside, and concentrate on editing, promoting, and publishing stories that had already achieved the top dog status of completion. All of those other stories are still in there, somewhere, jockeying for position among the racing electrical impulses of my brain. They will come out eventually. But for now, I'm still editing a novel for submission. So, if I'm writing, and you happen by, and you hear a dull thud echo from within the deep recesses of my gray matter, don't be alarmed. It's just the buffalo in rut.

Jim

The Gilded Conference

I recently attended the Friday night readings on the opening day of the Spring Nebraska Writers Guild Conference. Here is my synopsis of the evenings proceedings.






The Gilded Conference
James M M Baldwin

A man spoke of aliens, He went on a bit long
His plan well thought out, But something went wrong

Sally took us back, The old west it was sure
To gun fights and saddles, And reckless murder

Jack's song, His explanation too much
Yes it was humorous, And well worth the punch

A Bipolar memoir, Some technical stuff
Not much about treatment, More feelings and such

Lisa's gripping screenplay, Left my stomach in knots
The emotion ran high, Should be awarded for all that its got

Escape Velocity, Flash fiction from Mac
Jimmy can do it, To Saturn and back

Connie's quirky novel, Dee a short story, Mary's tale of school snakes
Janet's Lockets and Lanterns raised up the stakes

Then Dana, Poor Dana, Sleeping toddler she wrote
Not a dry eye in house, And lumps in our throats

Marilyn recited a poem, Of Sixties and Sex
Ignoring advice from her mother, A rating need added the letter of X

Mary Jo entertained, With wielding of wit
No punches were pulled, Good bad and ugly was surely a hit

Lynn set out to conquer a quest, Connie, the morn after, destroyed a whole town
Ronda's dark tale left mysterious clues, Sabrina got hers in before things wound down

And finally yes finally, Lisa read without doubt
Of spelling a bee, The letter p not left out

To all involved, Deserved Congratulations
Opening night a success, Applause and ovations

Chasing Reflections

This morning I watched a Scarlet Tanager attacking its own reflection in the widow of a shiny red truck. Its bright red body caught my eye as it sat on the outside mirror. Maybe the little bird thought the truck was a giant rival. After repeated attacks, the red bird flew off and sat on a fence chirping its anger like a hoarse robin. I had to look up what kind of bird it was on whatbird.com. I had never seen one before. I also had never seen a bird challenging its mirror image.

It made me think about my own reflection? What do I see when I look in the mirror. Do I see who I really am. Some days I see someone unattractive and other times I see someone I'd like to be. Sometimes I like to pretend that my reflection lives in another dimension and when I walk away, he'll go off and live his own life. Although my reflection changes only slightly from day to day, perception can play a major part in how I see myself. So rather than be like the Scarlet Tanager, I'm not going to attack my reflection but realize that who I am comes from within.

How do you feel about your reflection?
How does your reflection treat you?

Jim