We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, but of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry.” – W. B. Yeats

My big excitement yesterday was replacing my USB flash drive so I could leave the old one as a bootable drive for OS installs. Wasn’t hard to do because I’m pretty good at following directions. Oh wait, and I had a conversation at work with a very long-time soap actor who remembered having spoken with me in the past.

Today? What to do today? Well first off, celebrate World Poetry Day with lots of haiku and other poems. To get me out and about a bit – perhaps a purchase of some new sheets… but that’s really a job best fit into the drive home from work someday rather than a special trip.

I’m not sure the universe is ready to explain why my twin sheets from college are still in great shape while newer sheets have all fallen apart. If only the old sheets would fit the new mattress I’d be in sheets heaven. But no, it is not to be.

And finally, in between all the verse I suppose I should do a bit more towards trying to get this week’s painting assignment to look like something I meant.

akin to found poetry, where words are scratched out until a page of newsprint contains nothing but a poem, in my world there are stolen phrases. Often it’s something with a nice ring to it which miraculously turns out to be seven freaking syllables.

Tonight it was so:

space between letters
useful layer of subtext
breath between the words

what say you in this
useful layer of subtext
meaning on meaning

understanding all:
useful layer of subtext
surrounding context

when thoughts and loves freeze
poetry those bright flashes
expressing the void

the raven quoted,
deeply the night is coated,
dreaded: nevermore

the darkest angel
the one who scares and blesses
not above but here.

stand here on the brink
world poetry day appears
on our horizon