Category Archive for wash

Testing 1 2 3 or Just start, redeux

Starting with an apology has begun to become cliche and,for this blog anyway, just redundant.

But I am. Sorry for anyone who hung on, hoping I might return and to those who stumbled here accidentally and got…nothing. Blank sky , white wash.

But mostly, I am sorry to me, myself for stopping. My fellow writer pal (one of many I’ve never met but have known in some deeper place from long ago) expressed the hunger, exquisitely.
It hurts me not to write. Not (just ;)) in some tortured “oh woe is the Writer ” way. No I mean something much much more basic. It hurts my head, spinning muddled banalities. It hurts my heart, opening all the wrong doors to familiar ghosts — blues and lows that sink and sludge. It hurts my stomach, gurgling the junk food of laziness of mind and body.

I know this. And yet I don’t or easily forget anyway. I can’t take back the forgetting.

All I can do is start. Again.

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Haiku Friday: Sweet

Haiku Friday

Apples and honey
rain drops dance, september walks
l’shana tova

beginnings straddle
endings, sorry crosses love
white cloud and still voice

apple-y honey, sweet
are friends who stretch oak-like arms
billow cool warmth, peace

for more Washwords’ (and friends) haikus see Haiku You

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“And there was no one left to speak for me”

So, there was this protest  in my fair city this weekend. “Against what? What are they so angry about?” asked a doe-eyed college kid on the metro “Everything,” replied my love. “Ask a different one, get a different answer.” “Oh,” said the student, playing with her “peaceful co-existence” button.

At first I was annoyed – I planned to head to the Martin Luther King library book sale, the nearby arts festival and perhaps the last day of Shakespeare free for all that day. Then I decided… nah, I should go. Besides those locations – books, MLK, arts – probably pretty safe.

The Metro (a partially subsidized by the GOVERNMENT) ride was packed. I counted one person of color on the train, up the stairs at metro center, across the click clack of those familiar octagon tiles. There were flags (Nazi, Confederate, U.S., the colors and meanings layered together.) There were pictures of Obama with Hitler’s moustache, with nooses around his neck. There were mis-spelled and innacurate signs about facism and socialism and big government being handed to children with giggles.

Others saw it too and the reports started flowing in…The Smithsonian (also Read the rest of this entry »

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