When I was a 17, an English teacher in Colorado convinced me to write a poem for a contest. She has been bemsued, but also impressed, by my strange papers in her class. Ideas didn’t flow in a linear way but instead slid horizontally and progressed by strange juxtapositions. I wrote a strange poem and it seemed alright. So I wrote another. And another. For years . . . until it became clear that a person could not pay rent and buy food writing poems. So I stopped for many years, over a decade, except for intermittent pieces when overwhelmed with something or other.
It is time to start again. Writing and photography help me understand other people, the places I am at and have been, and ultimately myself. There is a sense of sudden clarity when the words fall together almost of themselves. Not that I am any good, but I try to be real. That is my goal for this blog. Authenticity. And in this place, perhaps, there will be something of a more interest to others.