There are writers and there are poets.
They are exclusive because not all writers are poets, and vice-versa.
Why?
As a writer, and a person with WAY too big of an ego, I fancy myself as both, so I will start adding a poem or two to my blog.
Certainly not to compete with other poets, because speaking as a poet now, poetry is not a competition but an expression and once that expression is conveyed in writing, voice, or even thought, the victory is complete.
Even if if the audience is one. The poet did their part, laying down yet another piece of their soul.
Now the reader performs their magic by interpreting the words.
Speaking for myself, poetry is as much perspective as art.
Any representation of what is inside a person is such an intimate act of sharing and that is why I appreciate all forms of artistic expression.
Painters, sculptors, singers, et al.
Gracias.
Soulmate
No decisions
Course set
Shoulders will never tire from holding
Your hopes and dreams aloft
My feet will never weary
As I carry you to a soft, sweet garden
Of flowers
Arms strengthened
By your honesty and integrity
Buoyed by your smile and warm countenance
Melting all resolve
Blessing every second we have together
In this sphere of existence
And the next…..
—-Mark Diaz
My favorite poet (and a major influence on my writing for my first book) is Charles Bukowski.
If you are unaware, he is German-born and grew up in Los Angeles. For you movie buffs, he wrote the screenplay for the movie Barfly starring Mickey Rourke and Faye Dunaway.
I remember reading Dangling in the Tournefortia and thinking how it would be great to achieve the same emotional impact as Bukowski’s words except in a short story format.
So I tried.
The result is my book Emotions: Not your Mama’s ABC’s!
Today (Monday, 6/21) is Karen and my 34th wedding anniversary.
If you would have seen me operating in Sin City in the late seventies and early eighties, you would be tempted to bet against ME achieving MY 34th anniversary.
My seishin.
And on we go.
You are going to have to suffer through another of my corny lovestruck posts about my wife.
Wife.
But so much more than that.
Strength.
Honesty.
And she saved me from a very destructive force.
Myself.
I fell like ten tons of bricks when I saw Karen walking up Stearn’s Wharf in Santa Barbara, and I still haven’t hit bottom.
The hands of time revolve and life, as Jeff Goldblum said in Jurassic Park, finds a way.
Closer and closer we get to being really, really far away.
But maybe not.
As long as someone has you in their memories (hopefully good ones) you are alive in a certain sense of the word.
We were not blessed with children, so my words and the good I have accomplished will be my small legacy.
And my love for Karen.
It will be my everlasting legacy.
As dinner time approaches, I am going to walk right over to my loyal, beloved sweet partner, (and like Flap from Terms of Endearment) I am going to grab Karen’s right ass cheek and tell her ”You’re my sweet-ass gal.”
Stay well.
Mark's Playhouse 