Jim Trainer

This wonderful mourning, this grave celebration.

In anger, Being A Poet, Being A Writer, Being An Artist, Poetry, publishing, self-publishing, sobriety, therapy on September 2, 2015 at 11:21 am

Follow your heart in all things.
Honey Polis-Bodine

It’s been a banner week. The crews are up the street drilling and wrenching their towers of greed into the sky. We had a slight rainfall and now is this pause between hot&blasing hot. Of the tempest I’ve sunk through and at the rat’s edge of despondency now comes this-what, could it be summer breaking? The terrible summer over? You don’t say. I’m out here on the roof burning down my wish and geeked on cold brew and nicotine. A variety of easy days has come and bounds through that torpor of desperation like a white-eyed vireo. Ah but don’t too wise says the old soldier mind. The grackle are still pensive and the jungle of survival is not absolved. Even if these purple-black beauties have found shade among fallen stalks and petals the color of rust.

I’m completing work on September, due out on December 1 through Yellow Lark Press and the manuscript and screeds therein are art in service to the high order of understanding.

In therapy I discovered that instead of angry I’m just disappointed and that’s an easy pill Brother if not pleasant. I’m disappointed that I never had any support at all as a young man, even though I struck out and did it anyway. The job’s a grind but it’s my grind and working full time affords me the choice between submitting poetry and fucking off.

My dream was to write and print my own work. And as it comes home to roost, I save the accolades and celebration for you my People. Let the rest be cast aside. I’m torn between a decades old heartbreak and an increasing frequency of buoyant days, nose down in the work, not wondering the detriment of flatlining people who didn’t have to share my vision but certainly didn’t have to try and quash it either.

One always had to pay for one with the loss of the other…
-Herman Hesse

Sorry to be cryptic but that razor-thin line is where I am riding now. Relinquishing again the junk of the past. Moving forward and beginning to grieve now, really grieve, for what I never and never will have. What I have is you and I am ever in service to it-connection, transmission, media and music and all the rest. The road is still ours and I am called to pray. For the living to march on and the dead to stay buried.

What else is new?

…set your heart’s beacon ablaze…
-from a forgotten poem


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