A while ago, I published a tribute to my friend Jim Tipton, who had passed away here in Chapala, where he had resided for the past 15 years or so. Jim was an incredible poet and his friends here are trying to insure that his last book of poetry, “The Alphabet of Longing” gets its due notoriety. At $6.99 it is an incredible bargain. You will not regret acquainting yourself with the work of this lovely man whose work has been acclaimed by Isabel Allende. Go here for more information and to order his book: http://tiny.cc/JimTipton.
All types of loving have their seasons wherein we love for different reasons. When we are young lads and misses, loving mainly starts with kisses, whereas loyalty and pleasure later count in equal measure. But as we age, love changes, too, as some things get harder to do. And as our brains grow more ecliptic, screens get smaller, apps more cryptic.
So simple tasks–perhaps to clone old data to a new iPhone become more difficult to do until in time you have no clue and thus it is you call a tech to get your puzzlement in check and in an hour or two he solves your problems and your fears absolves. You thumb your phone to make a call and find it’s not so hard at all.
You have your contacts here with you. Your photos, and your camera, too. Calendar, iTunes and maps–– all the necessary apps. Appreciation starts to grow
for that young techie who helped you so–– a type of loving, in its fashion, not so much a thing of passion as a Luddite’s fond affection for a techie’s apt detection of that complicated mess that I fear I must confess I never would have solved alone. You won my heart, Chad, via phone!!!
This young Apple Tech worked with me for an hour and a half, then, when I had to leave for an appointment, called me back a few hours later and worked for another half hour to wrestle two computers, an old nearly dead iPhone and a “new” used iPhone into sync. I promised in appreciation that I’d write him a poem, so Chad, I hope you see this. If you do, leave a comment. Apple techies rock!!
My friend Dianne Hicks Morrow is doing the NaPoWriMo challenge this year but doesn’t have a blog, so I asked if I could post her List poem here and she agreed. Fun. We were asked to make a list of imaginary “somethings” and then to make a poem of them.
Harlequin Detective Novels—Day 3 NaPoWriMo
Tit for Tat
Smell a Rat
Must Go On
An Inch, A Mile
A Crooked Smile
A Stricken Heart
A Sickened Tart
She’s Too Smart
For Her Own Good
Life in the ‘Hood
The Purple Snood
The Cost of Rude
No Golden Rule
The Champagne Pool
Make Me Drool
Make Me Droll
Make Me, Doll
Then Again Maybe Not
Hard to Teach
Beyond Her Reach
Crossed Whale Lovers
What Angelfish Know
Beware the Stingray
Capsized by Desire
Stoking the Funeral Pyre
Wisdom of the Dolphin
Beyond the Lace Veil
Beneath the Bed
Dust Bunnies on the Easter Rabbit
Single Men Swim Free
The Death of Spider Veins
Listless in Seattle
—Dianne Hicks Morrow’s wild mind for 10 minutes this morning
For NaPoWriMo list poem prompt.
I really started blogging exactly five years ago today, when I wrote my first NaPoWriMo poem, having little faith in my ability to make it for the whole thirty days.
In the end, day-by-day, I did it. A year later, I did it again and when I came to day 30, I didn’t stop. Since then I’ve exercised a different sort of faith by writing every morning—doing a number of writing and photo posts, including at least one poem or story, every day for the past 1,460 days. (This post will be my 4,074th one.)
The pool exercises I once did faithfully in a water aerobics class three mornings a week at the clubhouse pool, I still do at midnight in my own pool under the stars and moon, surrounded by the blossoms that fall from the tall Washingtonian palm trees that rise like giants in the night air above the pool.
I swim with the moon, stars strewn like wedding flowers in this midnight pool.
When I came into the room the bookcase, too heavily laden by far, had tipped and spilled our picture to the floor.
Its glass gathered with a broom, the torn remains of us now saved here in a jar I have neatly filed between fantasy and lore.
The “assignment” is to write a poem depicting a certain emotion or feeling without naming the emotion. And for the readers to say what emotion or feeling is being depicted in their comments. I have done my part, now you do yours!!! For dVerse poets pub
(As usual, photos may be enlarged and captions revealed by clicking on any photo and right arrows.)
I was right in front of the lectern and a bit shy about clicking too many photos, so this is the best I could manage of Alice Walker’s touching presentation of her current work.
I was so intent on Emily Carson-Apstein’s spoken word performances that I forgot to snap photos. This is one I took of her on the beach two nights ago.
Thanks, Dianne, for furnishing this shot of me.
Denise Brown’s spirited presentation of her work brought its usual hearty rounds of applause. A few years ago, Denise was frequently stopped and asked if she was Alice Walker. A few months later, Alice laughingly told her that she had been stopped and asked if she was Denise!
Ron Stock gave animated renditions of his stories.
As she was usually in motion during her presentation, most of my shots of Anne Wheeler came out as blurrs.
Anne’s rapt audience.
It’s easy to see Anne’s long directorial, writing and acting experience in her performance.
Alice Walker gives enthusiastic approval of Anne Wheeler’s wonderful tale.
Click on any photo to enlarge photos and read captions.
Along with Denise Brown,I was honored to be one of two poets asked to do a charity invitational reading with Alice Walker and Anne Wheeler tonight. Each of us read for 20 minutes. Ron Stock, the organizer of the event, also read. Emily Carson-Apstein, a wonderful spoken word poet, visiting her father Fred here, had done an amazing job with a piece shared with our writing group on Saturday, so when Melody Sayre, scheduled to introduce the evening, was called away on a family emergency, I suggested Emily introduce the evening and Ron agreed. All in all it was a fantastic and varied evening topped off with readings from Alice Walker’s in-progress new work. Anne Wheeler brought down the house with her beautifully told story of taking her mother to the ceremony where she received the Order of Canada award. I wish I had recorded the evening on video. What a special night.