Regarding the Poems

 The poems go along.  I put them up, realize how bad they are, and edit them over time.  My own country, deteriorating quickly, feels more and more alien to me.  I find my meaning in writing.  As Milosz said, "Language is the only homeland."  

On that front, if you enjoy my work here, generous of you as that may be, I'd suggest copying it to your own files.  My country is turning totalitarian.  There is no knowing when my blog will simply disappear.  I've spoken the truth too much.  I've called out Donald Trump for what he is.  A fascist monster.  A spearhead of Evil.  A dictator who uses fear, hate and force to coerce, abuse and expropriate wealth and reap aggrandizement.  In other words, he is that sort of leader who is a parasite, sucking the vibrancy out of a previous democracy, and turning the people into the worst versions of themselves, spiteful, spying and readily wicked in their incessant toil to get ahead, even as their dictator takes more for himself, making them poorer in both coin and spirit.  Unfortutnately we continue to call such leaders "strongmen," as if they are strong.  They are not strong, not in any virtuous sense.  They are parasites.

Yes, my poems could be erased at any time by the US government or its agents.  I guess I should start copying them down myself.  But I feel so broken. It is hard to function when everything I hoped for in my country is getting crushed and, furthermore, the effect on civilization itself, where we are all headed, is so vastly deadening and deadly.

I did carry through on my new year's resolution to send poems out for submission.  I have received many rejections but gleaned a wonderful acceptance from the The Gentian, run by the Durham University Poet's Society.  The poem is "Water Vulture" and it is in their latest issue, #20:

https://thegentian.wordpress.com/issue-20-moving-places-finding-spaces/

I may keep submitting poems to journals.  On one hand, it is no fun to get the rejections.  On the other, I tend to spruce up the poems, make them even better, and that means they are even better when they appear, eventually, on this blog.  They are my legacy.  They are all I will ever be known for, even if their overall impact, as I predict, is less than minuscule.

Best to you in this greatly dark time.  Poetry brings me meaning and spirit.  What brings them to you?  Whatever it is, do it, if you at all can.  Tempus fugit.  For me.  For you.  For all of us.

Owl

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