Following recent reading at “Muriel’s Journey” poetry campaign from Vancouver, spontaneously share the honourable-mention poem “Small Box of Cereal” with some related artifacts, backstory, feelings about the poet’s task in creating, the impact the poems have on me +++
So, while drinking coffee wearing dashing pajamas in the caboose — the affectionate name for the recent addition to our home in Okayama Japan — read a previous piece included in Muriel’s Journey anthology book “Fire Within” in 2022 called “Alchemists Confer with Hypnotists” with a bonus side bar included. I don’t talk much about where this poem came from let’s just say there was a lot of medical experimentation going on during this time
Also, express my fondness for this particular inclusive & unique campaign for including lesser-heard poetic voices aside from the usual gamut of MFAs (no disrespect to you graduates, it’s just nice to have something a little bit different) plus the “entrance fee” of telling how you help your community
{Did I mention papers seem to be tumbling off my reading rack while all this is happening}
I meant to run down a list of other poets who read or otherwise participated but well I wasn’t entirely prepared however I did manage to call the spectacular editor/publisher Kyle Hawke by slightly incorrect surname (Hawkes) while I was trying to complement him by mentioning how he treats all the poetry transcripts as they were lost works of James Joyce
And while fumbling and rolling hit into “Osaka Afternoon” with a dedication to Emily & Reb who have chimed in with kind words recently – written at the beginning of what eventually became my “Japan 2.0s” era 20+ years after my first foray into Japan working as a mushroom farmer in Tottori yet here I was in a completely new environment in all possible ways and facets of life yikes – regardless it’s called “Osaka Afternoon” as hadn’t revisited this poem for some time which was written in a time of tumult & confusion while diligently seeking a home it hit me quite hard feeling like my heart was flayed (or filleted) open with all my most raw emotions and confessions
Sigh yet the poet’s task is to channel emotions which might strike as universal and float the kinetic words out into the world – right?
So couldn’t quite end on that note so jump into (another) long-form confessional coming back from Indonesia closing off a chapter of a life with a conundrum in my otherwise lovely teeth feeling completely overwhelmed by the strain of “life” and celebrating the purposefulness of having items that can be evolved and curated into collections it’s not “stuff” it’s materiel to create more because the future is unwritten and history is made by people who write it down
Meandering through forms, I poke back at pop Buddhist riffs and dance around the joy of creation sort-ganizing – was submitted to the same Muriel’s Journey campaign in 2024 yet did not receive an accolade no big deal :-) called “Smiling on the Inside (hold on)” I think it is anyway
Oh also I “pump my own tires” by reading kind words about the Muriel’s Journey live stream from Riki-san aka and Kurt Bell aka – both of whom tuned in from Japan, and my buddy Pat in Austin, or is it Arkansas ;), and send special hellos to others who participated, ergo:
Whew finish with a bit of ukulele a lot more thanks adding in Neal who helped me prepare for the live stream KK and his convening community at the planetarium my dear penpal Monique other people like Tamara with her bookshop (Western Sky) whom I forgot to mention
So hey there’s all of me sliced and diced as such a request to me your poems perhaps
After all as mentioned in one of the poems I’m home forever now – My address won’t change no more secret hideouts, just one safe house
"Never changing addresses again, no more mail forwarding, no more storage lockers, no more *go bags* scattered here and there"
#ParaphrasingMyself
Get an address stamp in ink on wood
