Parting ways with smelly friends

Posted by Unknown | Posted in , , , , , , , | Posted on Tuesday, April 26, 2011

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May you find rest beneath my bed, old friends.
These boots are rather uncomfortable. For the moment, that is. An exact replica of the pair I just abandoned after almost four years of abuse and miles of footsteps. It's hard to imagine that the old, worn leather and cracked soles, which had become comfortable in their embrace of my feet, were ever so cold and rigid.

The leather had become wrinkled with the memory of my movements. Creased and turned with my feet. The back of the heels, like every form of footwear I've ever worn down to nothing, had developed a slight slant wearing more on the inside. It's the way I walk. And I've never been able to correct it no matter how I try. It's a shame you can't rotate footwear like tires.

Three pairs of laces have broken in those boots. Each one right before work as I scrambled to pull them on and cinch them tight. Over the years, I've learned to always have an extra set lying in wait in the top drawer of my desk. It subdues the string of curses which would usually fly from between my lips during such an occasion. It's also much easier than trying to rig a broken lace together.

But the old boots had walked on well past their end. Like two leather zombies, they carried my feet across pavement and concrete, through mud and grime, snow and slush, and countless other conditions. They even made it through a fire and the gallons of water mixed with ash and debris. After that, they weren't waterproof. The soles cracked and the tread wore down to nothing. The leather dried. Water seeped in during the snow and rain. If there's one thing I hate, it's soggy feet.

What will become of these tired, old friends? Truthfully, they will set beneath the end of my bed for quite a spell. I'll even wear them a few more times while these new, rigid monstrosities learn my feet. Like an old pair of sneakers, I'll keep them around. Until I finally succumb to the fact that there is no more use left in them. When the new become comfortable and familiar like the old, they'll find their way out of my life as I forget them.They'll continue some unknown journey past my knowledge until the last bit of leather dries up and decays.

Like this, but worse.
All those miles walked. Rocks kicked to the side. Our old footwear carries with it a story all their own. The places they've been. The horrible things they've stepped in. A life of unforgiving servitude. Maybe it's why most of us keep the old ones around for a while. As a thanks for giving us comfort while taking our abuse. Or maybe we keep them for the stories they hold. I still have my first pair of Chuck Taylors sitting in my closet. The canvas torn from the rubber toe from a punk show. They're beat beyond repair and I never wear them. But they're there. Reminding me, every time I see them, of the many memories they hold.

April washout and roaming the landscape

Posted by Unknown | Posted in , , , , , , , , , , , | Posted on Saturday, April 23, 2011

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Property of Dale R Wilsey Jr.
It's raining. Again. Nineteen of the past 23 days have been full of rain and ugly weather. April showers bring May flowers, but this is a bit ridiculous. Flowers are blooming already. How about we calm down the waterworks, nature? I'd like to get outside and enjoy my days sometime soon.

It's not that I don't enjoy the rain. But I've spent enough time indoors for now and I've felt stifled. It's hard to write sitting inside. What I crave is a walk through the woods. A hike to the top of the mountain to gaze out over the valley and watch the Susquehanna wind its way through town.

Maybe a trip to Rickett's Glen or a cruise out to the Pennsylvania Grand Canyon on the bike. Set up camp. Spark a fire and sit roasting my meal over an open flame. Sometimes, I believe I would have been more at home in this world when the major mode of transportation was fueled by grains, hay and the occasional sip from a trickling stream or still pond.

I haven't ridden in years, though. How would I take to sitting my ass back in a saddle after all this time? Maybe it's like riding a bike. Maybe you never forget. Just like jumping onto my motorcycle and firing it up for the first time after a long winter. A few moments and everything is the way it should be. At least I'd be able to ride a horse through the winter. I can only imagine how beautiful a ride through the hills would be as the snow drifted down among the pines and speckled the stallion's mane.

And here I sit. Rambling on as thoughts come drifting through my head. Daydreams. Images and ideas. Products of another rainy day stuck inside. Here I thought the words wouldn't come as easily. I know they're always there. I've just got to open the door more often.

Let the rain come in through the screen in my window. Walk outside. Let it wash down over me. Warm, summer rains. Those are the kinds of rains you can enjoy. Listen to the thunder rumble off over the hills as it splatters the pavement in with its soothing, white noise.

Happenings in the works

Posted by Unknown | Posted in , , , , , , , , , | Posted on Monday, April 18, 2011

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Submitting work, writing new work and getting involved in a new and exciting happening in the Scranton area. The first ever Scranton Zine Fest will be taking place in June and I've been invited to read some of my work at Anthology, now a part of Pages and Places.

What is a "Zine Fest" you may ask? Well, I asked the same question. This is what the site has to say:


The Scranton Zine Fest will be a celebration of zinesters, zine distros, artistic press publications, crafters, workshops, and live entertainment under one roof for the community to enjoy.
The festival will be a great place to learn something new, get inspired, discuss, interact, meet friends, connect with local writers, and get involved with accessible media.
 Jessica Meoni and Dana Marie Bloom are the brains behind the operation.

Joining me at the reading are fellow writers and poets Rachael Goetzke, Charlotte Lewis, Amye Archer, Alexis Czencz Belluzi and Brian Fanelli. I'll be sure to post more about this event as the time draws near. For now, visit the links provided to find out more about the Zine Fest


http://scrantonzinefest.com/
Facebook Event Page for the Reading

Heart in a foxhole

Posted by Unknown | Posted in , , , , , | Posted on Friday, April 08, 2011

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Heart in a foxhole
-------------------------

there are times when I can't
feel my heart beating inside my chest.
it seems that the blood in my veins
backs up like a city-wide traffic jam
filled with blaring horns and red-faced
motorists in a rush to get
nowhere.

I listen, but there is no sound of the
constant thump thump...
it's one thing to lose your keys.
not even a reason to panic when you
lose your mind. you can go on perfectly
content being crazy.

but this dead feeling between my ribs
sends me searching. I pull myself apart
like a Cronenberg scene spilling a
cluttered mess of me to the floor.

I have a lot more guts than I thought.

        but where the hell is that fickle,
               bastard heart of mine?

                        maybe it is my mind I've lost.

I begin rummaging through the inside of
my whiskey-soaked shell until finally,
tucked away between the aching
bones of my spine, I find that
barely beating mass of muscle.
hiding like a chicken-shit 
from the battlefields of 
everything.

but it's about time it started pulling
its weight around here.
my liver has handled sorrow for too long.
and my dick is tired of dealing with love.
so I pull its cowardly, beating ass from
the foxhole of my spine and
throw him to the frontline.

face the blitzkrieg.

     take a few bullets and
     shards of shrapnel.

                    collect scars.

      lose fights.

women.

lose it all and
die bleeding with a smile on
your face knowing you
lived.



~Dale Wilsey Jr. 2011


"Heart in a Foxhole" was recently published on the Young American Poets blog (link).

The first ride and published work

Posted by Unknown | Posted in , , , , , , , , , , , | Posted on Monday, April 04, 2011

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The first ride
-----
 Dust-covered chrome, 
a lazy blanket remains
from a Winter's rest.

Two hours, patience,
two bottles and a cut-up
t-shirt.

Stubborn to wake.
Starved for pulses of 
electricity.

Force-fed juice from
gasoline-guzzling,
steel-cranking mass.

Roars to rumbling life.
Breathe in Spring day
and kiss with flame.

Cowhide jacket, gloved
hands gripping. 
Cradled in saddle.

Grab reins and 
twist spurs.
Twin horses gallop.

Snaking road along
muddy river gorged
on mountain springs.

Wind comes rushing
with double-yellow
veins on asphalt.

Taste of sun and
bursting life, waking
to the thaw.

Echoes of throaty roar
bouncing from rock-face
through valley.

Taking in, with every
mile, forgotten, roaming
freedom of cowhands.

Journeys of travellers
seeking new sights.
Expanses of life.

Mile after mile,
along a wandering path.
Riding on.

----

April is National Poetry month. You've probably been made aware of this by hundreds of other blog postings and Facebook updates containing snippets torn from Shakespeare, Poe, Angelou and Frost (I had enough of that through winter). Not surprising since setting aside a single month dedicated to poetry caters mostly to those who, in their daily life, think little, if not nothing, about poetry. To save you the trouble of being bludgeoned with the same spiel from another writer who will tell you that every month, day and hour is somehow related to poetry (and writing as a whole), I'll end my rant now.

The warm weather has finally set in and the above piece was inspired by my first ride of the year. It's always an incredible feeling to jump on the bike and head on down the road, but that first ride after a long, cold and miserable winter is always a bit more special.

Today, the Young American Poets blog published one of my pieces entitled "Heart in a foxhole". You can read it here. The YAP blog publishes work from American poets born in 1972 and later. There are some great writers being showcased over there so, after you finish reading my piece, browse around. There should be something there for everyone. Also, check out their sister site, Young British Poets.