October Already!

What a wonderful last few months I’ve had.

It started with the completion of a bucket list item. I had planned a hike across Big Frog Mountain for some time, and the opportunity came along, and my friend Michael and I set out on what would be a few great days of hiking and an opportunity to camp on the top of the mountain. The weather was great with the only set-back being the dry springs after Double Spring Gap, so we had to carry water for the night and the following day until we made it to the base of the mountain and a good stream where we could filter water. I had one sip of water left when we finally found a clear deep place to stock up. I think the count on bears seen or heard was five. The night we spent on the top was highlighted by the coyotes coming into camp and talking among themselves about this intrusion.



My next adventure was a trip to Charleston South Carolina. I’m not shy about what writers I like, and Pat Conroy is one of them. Linda had seen an article in one of her magazines and had cut out the list of his favorite places, so we made it a point to see some of those. We walked south of Broad, and I took pictures of the houses, then we walked between the houses to see some of the hidden gardens there. I hope to find some poems in my notes and pictures this winter. We found the Blue Bicycle, a book store with a wonderful poetry selection. I could have spent the rest of the day there, but after awhile the looks from my traveling companions told me we had to move on. No, really they were very kind when I wanted to brouse or take pictures. Well, they had to be, because I did sit and watch the ladies run through the Straw Market. ( How can two people shop so much and buy so little?) Chalk that up to another difference between men and women. Oh, and I also visited Ft. Sumter. The ride out and the information was great fun. And if you want some of the best seafood, and a great place to eat it, Hyman's is top notch. One big disappointment. I went there mainly to see a ship just like the one I served on, but it was in dry dock, I didn’t get to see it, but heck what a great excuse to go back. Charleston is now officially one of my favorite places.

Last weekend Linda and I went up to Lake Cumberland and stayed at the lodge for the annual meeting of the Kentucky State Poetry Society. I had not seen some of those folks for a few years, and it was wonderful to see them. The highlight of my times with them are the readings in the evenings when we all sit in a circle and read until someone decides to call it a night and we agree. It is fantastic to see the growth and hear the new poems. Like all such societies KSPS is going through a time of member decline. I suspect it will change, but we as older poets need to get the word out that poetry matters.

Well, that’s just about it for an update. I wanted to get my book finished and my audio book completed before the end of October, but it was a good summer and fall, and I’ve collected some ideas that I think will grow into a poem or two. I hope you have also. The trees have turned here in the mountains, and while I don’t look forward to winter, I do look forward to putting words on paper and seeing what they become.

Guess you can tell it has been a good few months, by the number of "greats" I have used in this writing. Forgive me!

I’ve been working on this poem for some time, and after I left Charleston it came together for me. Maybe it will be longer, or maybe not.

Mermaid

What if there was a day
Long after I had seen you,
and you had come closer
Long after I realized it wasn’t an hallucination

After you had let me touch your hair,
We both realized it wasn’t the siren song, but love
That brought us back to the water’s edge.

Then with the kiss
The knowing that one would need to make the sacrifice
Knowing that the pain of the transformation
Could never be as bad as the separation.

I'm Back!

The picture for this month is me at the Gannett Poplar. How cool is that? It’s an old growth tree not far from where I live in North Georgia. The bark is full of moss from hundreds of years of watching people go up the trail. Just standing near it is special and magical. I know there are bigger trees in the U.S. but this was a great moment in a hike a friend and I did not very long ago.

So much has happened since we talked last. Once again I am saddened that we cannot communicate on a real time basis because of some people who would take advantage of my being away. It’s hard thinking about security when all I wanted to do when I started this blog was to share with you. But those in the know tell us to not communicate in real time if we are away from home.

My friend Marty’s mother passed last month. I drove over to Little Rock to attend the service for her. The place was packed. She was a weaver, and her and her husband Perk were bird watchers all their lives, and for many years banded hummingbirds at their home in Arkansas. She was a woman who encouraged her children and others to dream dreams and to be who they wanted to be. I will miss her smile, but I know one thing, there are a lot of people who are better because of her.

Two things have happened with my writing. I joined a poetry critique group here in North Georgia. I like my group in Blue Ridge, but I needed a group who concentrated on poetry alone, and where I didn’t have to be the leader. It’s a good group, and they keep me on my toes.

The other thing I did was to accept an invitation to attend the quarterly meeting of the Georgia Poetry Society. I traveled to a college south of here, and it was a very good meeting. I was able to read, and was welcomed. I was impressed with the speakers, and they revealed this year’s anthology, “The Reach of Song.” A beautiful book. It is a collection where the poems are judged, and the works are a joy to read. I liked what I saw at the meeting, and am considering joining. The trouble is that the meetings are held throughout the state, and the travel time is a problem from up here in the mountains.

I have been writing. Just sent a dozen or so poems to the lady who edits for me. If you don’t have a person who will read your work, and who will edit for you and will be honest about it, then you need to look around. You will be a much better writer if you have a person like that. Critique groups help me a lot, but having a person who is not a writer and has fresh eyes has really helped me through the years.

I’m also working on my audio book, and hope to have it done by the time I attend the Kentucky Poetry Society meeting this year.

I did want to say something here about my cousin Clay. He has been sick for a month or so now, and will be entering treatment soon. He and I have spent some special times in high mountain steams together, and I believe we will again.

So, since I wrote this a few weeks ago I have been working on the book, and have decided to call it “Air Swimmer.” Well, that’s my first thought. I’ve also decided that I might submit it to a contest first. I really like the poems in it, and I think I have grown since my last book. They are different, but I’m getting less afraid of what I write, and am stepping out with some new things from old notes I’ve had for years. So, I’ll put one of the poems here, and see what you think.
Here’s the first draft of the title poem.

Air Swimmer

I see a far off day
When I will lift myself
Up on tip-toes
Push back and down
With my hands
And fly

Just as easy as that the air
Will hold me aloft
In a room a little bigger than this
I will fly

By myself at first
Because I wouldn’t want
Disbelievers to break the magic
Of the moment or dirty the
Pure joy I feel

When I finally get the courage
to go out, the children will say
Why can this old man swim in the air
Call like a Red Tailed hawk
And we can’t?

When I see them gathered far below
I will come down, collect them around
me and whisper the truth of it

Tell them not to be afraid


Robert W. Kimsey 2010

Thoughts From the Middle of a Stream

When I was an artist I learned quickly what more experienced artists had learned early in their careers.

If you’re away from your art for a week or so you realize that the edge has gone. The lines no longer echo the confidence they did before. Even if others don’t see it, you do. If you stay away for much longer it becomes harder to find the path back, and after a year, well, chances are you won’t go back at all. The duties of life fill the void you’ve opened, and all you’re left with is the craving for something lost.

I’ve seen writers take that same road to oblivion. Always hoping to get back, but just never finding the time.

I’ve seen it happen in the writers group. A person will visit, full of enthusiasm, and when they read the group is in admiration of the story line, or the powerful words coming out of the poems. Three or so months later they may have added a few lines, or fallen into what Natalie Goldberg calls “Monkey Mind,” and are reshaping the idea until it is watered down and dying. A month later they may have nothing to share, and then they are gone.

There are others who are on fire at the meeting, and they disappear also, but when you see them in the coffee shop they speak of the book being at the publishers, and it is always a time for celebration. They have been home writing.

I know life gets in the way of writing, but that’s not what I’m talking about. For the last few days I’ve been in the woods cutting down trees and clearing the brush so I can at least see the bears before they arrive on the porch for a picnic. I've also been in the mountains discovering new paths. That’s just the way it is, but the poem, the story, the rhythm of words is always with me, and even when I’m tired they call to me. I hope they call to you also.

We live in a woulda, shoulda, coulda world. I have friends who are fighting to get their first chapbook out at the ages of 70 and 80. Don’t keep your poems and stories a secret. Send something to a friend today, and share your heart with them. I pray you’ll find the time. I have seen only a few of my mother’s poems. I am told as her Alzheimer’s progressed she would read them, then tear them up as he sat and wept. They are lost forever. Don’t let that happen.

PS I apologize for the misspellings in a few of my blogs. That’s what I get for posting them from Starbucks and not doing any editing, or letting the computer do it for me. I’ll try and do better. That’s why I have a college professor friend who edits my poems before I submit them. Nobody ever claimed this Kentucky boy was a good spuller!

PSS I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that tomorrow is my anniversary. My wife and I have been friends since we were 7 years old. I have always loved her, and she continues to love me even though I can be a real turd sometimes. She is my conscience, and if I haven’t done any writing for awhile, she steers me back, or reminds me of who I wanted to be when I grew up.


White Passion, Black Joy


I remember a green Volkswagen
white passion steaming windows
on a dark October night.

Your angora sweater
turning my uniform into
a horse hair rug.

After all these years
I see your Father’s face,
smile fading in the light.

Black joy on
a cold October
night.


It Must Be Hard

It must be hard to give me the love I demand.
That yearning to catch up for an empty past.

You must be exhausted fighting off demons I resurrect,
and holding my hand to calm the winds of panic.

I hope my love is enough to give you strength.
It’s all I have.

Robert W. Kimsey