I don't want to write about writing. I want to write.

There must be more going on in Omaha literature-wise than I am aware of. It makes me queasy that I am not more aware of these things. Oh, and it's National Poetry Month. Hey, I will read a poem a day this month. Sounds like nothing but anything that even smacks of consistency is a very some something when it comes to my routine. A severe lack of poetry has invaded my life since college. I have a bit of catching up to do today. I have 12 poems to read today. And by golly, I am not going to limit myself to tiny Shakespearean sonnets (although I read a few a couple months ago and was bowled over with how moving I found them) but I am going to take on Prufrock scaled masterpieces. I might even delve into an epic poem here or there. I will chronologue my efforts and I will be back in business. For the first time in months I have that twinge of excitement I so easily allowed to vaporize. Oh and I think each poem will have to be from a different poet. Yeah, that makes the most sense. I'll do that.

in the same house

I had grand plans/illusions to drive to a semi-remote place with trees and perhaps a bit of grass poking through the snow. I would arrive around five o'clock slip into the back of my car where I have the seat down and turn on NPR because at five o'clock they played an episode of American Routes featuring John Prine. John Prine always reminds me of my dad. Not necessarily the man's particulars but my father introduced me to his music and I was stymied by my lack of knowledge of someone who was so terrific and had been directly under my nose, living in the same house even (his records anyway). Perhaps that is actually the similarity I find between my dad and John. I remember telling one of my roommates in college how fascinated I was with my dad. I was going to write him a letter while I listened to the radio show. I will write him later this week.

brandonpiercegeary