Join Carey Taylor as she celebrates the launch of her debut collection, The Lure of Impermanence, next Friday, August 17, 2018, 7:00pm, at Tsuga Fine Art and Framing in Bothell.
This is a guest post by Carey Taylor. You write poems. You workshop poems. You submit poems to literary journals and some get accepted. Finally, you have a collection for a book and a small press publishes it. Then, just before it is scheduled for release you realize you have no promotion plan and you […]
Today I am sitting in my back yard at a picnic table writing this blog. I am looking at the back of my new/old house that was built in 1947 and was advertised as a Cape Cod when we purchased it a month ago. The clatter from the windows is grating as I watch a man push and pull a large industrial sander over the old oak floors in a desperate attempt to salvage them. He has told me he can make them beautiful and for a small fortune, I have decided to believe him.
I have been counting down the days this project would begin because once it is finished, I can sleep in a real bed and unplug the blow up one I have been sleeping on for three months. Once the floors are done, I can sit on a sofa and not a fold-up outdoor bistro chair. Once the floors are done, I can set up a “real” office and get back to my writing schedule, submit poems, and pay bills, at my neatly organized desk and not at a picnic table with a tote bag for a file cabinet. Once the floors are done, I can have people over for dinner inside the house and I can binge watch Netflix.
But in the meantime, I wait and look up at the large Italian Plum tree in front of me with its purple-blue-skinned fruit hanging thick on old branches. I listen to the Scrub Jay in the spent lilac, the sound of a distant lawn mower, the words in Romanian I do not understand coming from the back bedroom, the whine of a small Fed-Ex plane overhead, the neighbor next door watering his potted plants.
And I wait. For the house to be a bit closer to finished, for my new book of poems, The Lure of Impermanence (Cirque Press) to have its final edit and to not forget a line from a poem in my new book—
Sometimes it’s important to stop—
to imagine a brush filled with Prussian blue
its earthy taste on your tongue
to see a night more richly colored than day
a jewel in the darkness.
Or in my case, a jewel in the waiting.
Yours in poetry,
I am sharing a poem today from my upcoming collection The Lure of Impermanence (Cirque Press). I wrote this shortly after the recent presidential election. It seems that the number of corpses on frosted asphalt has only grown larger in this increasingly unkind and immoral political atmosphere many of us Americans find ourselves in. May we all join together and be the song we need to hear.
Yours in poetry,