Tales of a poet

      I went back again to another poem she emailed me and April 2012, one of four or five she sent to me and I responded to Now, looking back, I realize that her poem practically predicted the events that would take place in the next month or so later. in some ways her poem should have made us closer, bonding us in a way that we could not have done otherwise except I did not quite get what she was sending she said she wanted to climb inside my eyes and remain there while to recharge the beams she usually has in her soul and which frequently grows hard the word hard implies a number of things including loss of innocence and possibly the things she needs to do in order to survive the poem issues a warning, however, and for those who would use each other and selfishly used another to heal themselves, a kind of cannibalistic habit where they sup on each other's soul and suck and dry. those selfish people, she says. never get to know what true love is or even it's close ...

 I’m posting old journal entries from more than a decade ago, neglecting to mention that in the midst of my connection with our poet, I came down with a seriously enlarged prostate – which had an unfortunate side effect. I went to a urologist in the Peninsula City, but before I could get a full evaluation, he had a mental breakdown, and I found myself unable to pee a night, and unable to hold it back during the day – not to mention other things I could not do (which apparently explained one of the issues I had with the poet back then. The new urologist feared cancer, but after a biopsy, he determined the prostate was massive, but not malignant. He said surgery might be needed, but feared that the one problem I had might become a permanent issue if he cut into the prostate. So, he medicated me – giving me a capsule that helped me pee at night, and a small blue pill that was supposed to help reduce the size of the prostate. For a time, it worked. I could pee at night and could hold i...

    Our poet is on a roll, two poems posted in two days. And it suggests she might be trying to recover from the dismal downs she has revealed in previous poems at the end of the year. She may have finally bottomed out and once more is on the rise, as she went from a theme of extreme depression over what she believes she has become (and needs to change) to yesterday’s poem about accepting who and what she is. She has gone through this before, the fall, then the rise from the ashes to resume a form she had been prior to her falling. I should have expected it – since she always comes back to the same place, down then up, unchanged for the most part for the experience, convincing herself that where she is is where she is meant to be, unalterable, when perhaps it is simply just too difficult for her to change, who she was and what she has become, or as she put it, “a life worth living. She seems convinced that if she really changes, she might cease to exist. This is no judgement o...

These are old essays from 2012 to 2016 On trial with herself Jan. 10, 2014 email to Al Sullivan