Review

Hello all,

I have been taking a few days off as I am feeling a little negative lately and don’t want to write with all that angst in my blood. Work is better in so many ways due to a team effort, but only certain people have seen any reward (I guess they’re the only ones with bills to pay). I realized a long time ago that I’m not enough of a sycophant or a liar to get a decent salary in this or any company, and I have no degree either so, are you starting to sense the frustration?

But then I received some great news that I was in the final eight for a John Lennon Poetry Contest sponsored by The Beatles Story, and I was ecstatic to a degree. I haven’t sent anything out in a while because I was picked second in the Poetic Genius Society’s last contest, then I got a bunch of rejections in a row with letters saying “You were on the short list.” This just said to me that my stuff was good, but not good enough. So I take a chance and send my poem in and what do you think happened? Yes, I came in second, and to top it all off they misspelled my name as Haselton on the web site.

Sooooo anyways, I received an email last week from a Luke Armstrong that is generous enough to follow my blog, and he asked me to check out his book and give it a review if I wished to. Normally I shy away from such endeavors because I feel it will expose how truly ignorant I am, but since my writing is only serving to irritate me at the moment, I figured I’d give it a shot. Luke is currently in Guatemala and in his own words—

I live and work in Antigua, Guatemala. Here I am the director of an educational development organization called Nuestros Ahijados. Through schools, clinics, sustainable micro-financing programs, social work, anti-human trafficking efforts, and other programs; we work to "break the chains of poverty through education and formation" for our 12,000 dependents.

As a writer my poetry, fiction and non-fiction has been published in scores of magazines including, Outside, Perspective Travel, Foliate Oak, Long Story Short, The Sheltered Poet, Intrepid Travel, and CNN Traveler, among others. My just finished novel, How One Guitar Will Save The World, will soon be looking for an agent. I am a contributing editor for TheExpeditioner.com. This fall our book, The Expeditioner's Guide to the World will be released. My first book of poetry iPoems for the Dolphins to Click Home About, was published March of this year.

Well Luke, all I can say is that I loved your book and would have bought one had you not been kind enough to send me a copy. Luke’s style is very edgy and irreverent at times, which I really enjoy, and his use of words is spectacular. He uses many poetic tools adeptly, and really has a great sense of humor. The name of the book is iPoems for the Dolphins to Click Home About, and you can buy it at Amazon right now.

I would like to close by thanking everyone and anyone (except spammers) that has left a comment here over the 5 years I’ve been blogging, hopefully I’ll have something in print soon.

Remedy

I’ve pondered the arrangement
that led to our estrangement
and realize it’s mostly my own fault

an addict is an addict
and they’ll always choose their habit
over any type of meaningful gestalt;

without a solid answer
regret can be a cancer
that eats away our willingness to live

but constant flagellation
can’t change the situation
it’s much more therapeutic to forgive.

Flipped

We take our lumps without a yelp
until the day we go berserk
and start new lives – like that’ll help –
we couldn’t make the first ones work.

Someday

Someday
what I say
will seem okay
in some strange way

until then
I’ll just pen
about my yen
and wonder when.

Receptivity

A good life isn’t time to mull
or victories to boast
it’s moments when your heart is full
that truly matter most:

a warm embrace can help erase
the cold and clingy doubt
which seems to ever haunt our race
regardless how devout,

your offer of a gentle word
can easily assuage
ignoble inclinations stirred
by pride’s improper rage,

and sometimes silence serves the best
when tension slowly mounts
or even an impromptu jest—
it’s being there that counts!

There’s just one thing for me to say
before this ship departs
each day we all should find a way
for love to fill our hearts.

Unveil

How quickly seasons seems to change these days
the muted earthen colors so subdued
much like my current introspective mood
the curse of a mercurial malaise
that started when I first began to see
this constant darkness permeating life,
contributing to all the futile strife
which somehow always interrupts our glee;
and with a gust of wind the leaves are gone
the canvas once again unblemished white
awaiting the creative touch of Spring,
that fertile clime from which our dreams are drawn
to counteract the imminence of night
with artistry that makes the angels sing.

Clod

He knew he had a rose inside
that struggled to be free
but all the salty tears he cried
reduced fertility

and though at times the sun would shine
to help it grow a bit
the constant clouds made him resign
with naught to show for it

which stirs the anger in his blood
convincing him he’s doomed
to being just another bud
that never truly bloomed.

Spread

Ignorance smears like butter
smooth and full of fat
maxims the mindless mutter
pollute with every pat

and it doesn’t seem to matter
to anyone in the least
that heaps upon their platter
a great unfounded feast.

Static

The corporate suck-fest drains
anticipated gains
what little fight remains

my stasis nears its end
the garbled lies they send
impossible to defend.

Overcast

Cirrus aren’t too serious
but cumulus accumulate
with mists that make mysterious
inequities that inundate.

Delivery

Sixty nine days without sun
or open expanses to run
the dust that they breathed
while fearfulness seethed
reminded them soon they’d be done.

Sixty nine days beneath sod
that once they so carelessly trod
no bones to exhume
just babes from the womb
reborn through the graces of God.

Suspended

At times it’s worth the nails
if common sense prevails
but never get too cross
when hammered by the boss.

Consecration

The sandstorm viciously slashed
with every choking whirl
just like a howling rabid beast unchained,
the air around the Dark One flashed
and he took the startled girl
to a nearby cave that he secretly maintained.

She faced him as a lioness
content to slowly pace
until she had a chance to flee this cage
he masked his own uneasiness
when staring at her face
the desert seemed much cooler than her rage.

“You know my party will look for me.”
she said, her voice on edge
“So you might as well prepare yourself to die.”
He dodged her gaze quite handily
by climbing to a ledge
where he had a hidden hole from which to spy.

He saw no active pursuit
the storm was too intense
and had to use this time to make her see,
he looked at her, resolute
then kneeled and uttered “Hence
your loyal servant is all I wish to be.”


***Well I finally got around to part 4 of my desert saga. Sorry it's so long between installments but if there's one thing I've learned about writing these serial poems it's that you have to be in the right frame of mind for the story to keep flowing. Here is a link to Part 3 which has links to parts 1 and 2 at the bottom, enjoy.***

Fasting

Like hogs at the trough
we’re slaves to our sloth
inhaling inedible slop
such good little swine
we idle in line
while corporate clowns cleverly chop
just steer yourself clear till they stop.

Mortality

The thistle changed to stately brown
devoid of diamonds in its crown
while flanking sumacs flushed bright red
anticipating winter’s dread.