The binding of boots

The binding of boots,
is matched by mufflings
of thick cloth, scarves, gloves
to meet slush caked to concrete—
Winter is the day
you discover a new song
that promises so much.

A change of climate.
A change of heart.
No hesitation.
No compromise.

Winter cuts away years
and makes a new day.
The palimpsest challenges
the ever-changing record
of personal evidence writ,
then destroyed, but now
melted resolve is fast frozen.
We walk upon empty promises,
unafraid to promise again,
to dream, desperate to be free,
despite that which binds us.

—   30 —

That’s how you would end filing (posting) in the old days — my Dad was a journalist.

This is the end of 12 Books in a Year.  I made the home page and posted it a year ago today.

The facts: 423 posts, 214 followers, 81 comments., 2,710 views, most views: 95, 53 countries, a whole lotta likes (cue Led Zeppelin).

Thank you. At the end of the performance, the performer says, (hopefully heartfelt) “Thank you”. Thank you for listening/reading. Thank you for your encouragement. I started this blog to see if I could jump start the poetry — there have been some body blows through the journey — oh yeah — I have been happy to stand in the sawdust ring and shout “Are you amused!” — but poetry is not a blood sport — it is a heart sport, a joy sport, a calling and an … aegis. And yes, the joy has come back.

Joy — because to be a poet — you can’t look away; you can’t stop your heart saying to your brain — make sense of this, tell me what I know— and what I don’t. Tell me — this can be better.

And if you give yourself up to this kind of sobriety/giddy madness — you do it — for your world/your writing — and your girl/guy, children, if you are so blessed — they suffer as a result of your curse. And the only reward is … they smile when you talk to them, they suffer the storms because they know — your joy, your rages, your trying to make sense of it all — comes from the heart.

That is what poetry is … the beat of your heart/the beat of the world.

Thank you for your likes, your comments, your follows — I had no idea WordPress possessed healing power — but, apparently, it does. From the bottom of my rusty soul and my mud mired shoes …

this is done. Thank you

— 30 —

The original idea was one year, it’s done and it all goes into a black hole. But no longer — sometimes you start the journey with the wrong goal in mind — it’s important to adjust in response to how the world continues.

The blog continues.

It is not going to be me anymore — 12 Books. Whether books or chapbooks — that took a lot — not all of it — but a lot.

I am arranging a gift/joy/surprise — a most wondrous array of poems that will begin soon. There will be a hiatus for a couple of weeks while details are ironed out. But after that—prepare for the main show. 12 books was only the introductory act!

cheers, Ward
<cheersward —  a plot of land reserved for vocal supporters of the home town; in the direction of joy; a Dionysian rout…>