River of Play

Draft? Only Behind Large Trucks.

But there are no large trucks in this draft poem.

Jealousy

Goddamned toddlers on square shoes
waddling through a hundred seasons I’ll never see.

Babies with greedy fat palms will grip
autumn leaves each year after I’m dead.

Is it so much to ask to have them write?
Even a quick note: Hi there,

it would read, letters reversed, awkward,
the future is great. Wish you were here!

We stopped using fossil fuels
fifteen minutes after you died

which was pretty much the same time
that we stabilized the earth’s population.

Within the year, we had figured out
how to banish poverty and executive salaries.

And now, every ball team
ends the season above .500.

Tuck the note into the urn with my ashes.
Shake it around. Give me a minute to read. 

Something Like a Protest Poem

It's hell to transfer these things to the blog, but here goes:

a neighborhood of death
birds dead on branches dead
mice at the sharp ends of cats
dead frogs sunk in mud

streets should be red with it
sidewalks red with it
the air a red chemical bath

dead things thought of us
held us in their dark imaginations
that remain unimaginable

we try in a 3D movie way
sitting up wearing colored glasses
light at different speeds
coming toward us

the frog end of winged death
lights nerves up
like a Chicago street reaching
from the Gold Coast out to Iowa

nerves strung from brain to toe
salt tumbling across membranes
salts lit by a star

flooding the window
plants and the go board
on the recovered chest
two glasses of dark wine breathing

Something Quick

I had the happy task of telling a handful of magazines that Saranac Review had taken three poems of a five poem batch.

And I thought I'd drive your attention to Terrain.org, if I haven't already. 

Lastly, reports might be sketchy. We're close to the red zone for welcoming Wendelynne into the world. I'll try to keep the few of you updated.

Ten Down, Six To Go

Before I get to the essay update, let me just say that it's been chaos at work. Our big speaker this week--one of the highlights for the semester, really--had to cancel for health reasons. He is...challenged...when it comes to health, so we're hoping that he's OK, but we had a lot of scampering to do at the last minute. Everyone was quite nice and offered there concerns so, while frantic, it was strangely uplifting.

And now, back to the essay. It maxed out around 39 pages. I'm down to 29, with about 1300 words to shave off (I figure it around 6 pages). But it feels so good right now. Actually, it felt even better at the 11k word mark. Even then, I could see where it needed to be expanded. So I'm going in the opposite direction of where it needs to go, but I figure I can revisit the project, maybe make it a monograph... So a lot of thinking and writing about revising, if you will, the CW classroom. My new, searchable phrase: the sustainable workshop. You may cite me at will. 

In household updates: D continues to gestate. Our favorite phrases from baby class (all from the mid-level manager looking dude--cream shirt, cream tie with pattern, khaki, brushed wool chinos--who sat next to his high-maintenance wife--helmet hair, designer version of Croc slides): so is that a positive necessity?, she's all about the scrapbook (said about his wife), what's the youngest age you can get their ears pierced? and from one of the other dudes: "What's colostrum?" Should I mention that his wife is due in less than a month? 

Sometime, we should talk about the disturbing consumption around babiness. And plastic. Lots and lots of plastic.

Storms of Autumn

Some recent pictures from our backyard.

Local and Green

We hope. Can we start talking about climate change yet? No? I will stab your SUV. I'll do it. 

But here at UNL we have a couple of initiatives that received a bit of attention in the faculty/staff newpaper, the Scarlet.

Local food in the cafeterias. Nice. Oh, wait. From across the state. Once a month. Ah.

And new recycling options. Sometimes. Somewhere. 

But the new commission might actually do some good. We'll see if the administration gives them teeth and claws. 

If you're downtown tomorrow around 4pm, stop by Sur Tango Bar. I'll be speaking words into a microphone. 

Why Not Pictures?

Indeed. I've been reading the new Orion. Wonderful, but always painful. So some silly pix instead.

Here's what I see out my window at work:

And some views at home. Me with my cat:

Me with my daughter: