Much of this collection of poems is comprised of sketches, starts and stops, begun during these last few years after having rehomed to Arizona, then reimagined and revised these last nearly dozen months here in Tucson.
Despite my tendency to abide by Kerouac’s “the first thought’s the best thought” writing, admittedly, these songs have been edited, certainly heeding the counsel and sagaciousness from my dear friend Carmen Megeath.
Perhaps I have been smitten by the penchant to philosophize rather than psychoanalyze, but these “terribly strange” 70s, to borrow from Paul Simon’s album Bookends, have completely installed themselves into the frontal areas of my mind.
Yet it is what it is, for as long as I am capable of capturing these photographic images that sometimes play through me like one of Charlie Parker’s sonic expeditions, I will continue filling pages with poems, courtesy of the muse, for as long as this “breath” courses through my freeways.
And speaking of Calliope, allow me to offer my thanks to the muse of poetry for her continual inspiration!
Years ago, I vowed to never accept money, regardless of currency, for whatever artistic inspiration I may have tuned into and eventually produced, including my poetry, paintings, and of course music. To honor and respect this gesture, I have consistently refused to take a penny from anyone wishing to buy or donate, so as not to corrupt this singular and gratuitous gift that somehow has been bestowed upon me.
Then these poems, my rallentando of snowflakes, represent my very latest offering.
January, 2023
Tucson, AZ