When it comes to writing, I'm like a skateboarder who lugs his board under his arm where ever he goes and plunks it down when he comes upon an irresistible surface. Yes!
And, like a skateboarder whose tried to master the Basics to the Ollie, I'm humbled by the years of bruising effort it takes to get it right: to start, stop, soar, not hurt myself or others and savor the daring ride in between. The sound of wheels moving across a curve. The scratch of a pen moving across paper. It's all the same thrill.
You could say writing is purely for my pleasure. That's fair. I am having a ball. But, you've got to admit, sometimes I'm compelled to report a stunning social injustice, to share a glimpse of needless pain that begs to be ended by the collective force of sentient beings. If readers are as aghast as I am by an injustice, perhaps we can move to end it together.
This impulse to end suffering seems to be part of our DNA: I recall my first poem published in high school when I was 14 years old and grieving about the bleak Christmas facing Christians in 1960 communist Russia. And 14 years later, after producing realms of term papers and reports for school and work, I started writing poems again about joy and sorrow, wisdom and folly. Find many poems housed on this site for your reading or listening pleasure.
Minus that first teenage effort, I've been spinning away for 42 years. You could say this blog serves as my backyard quarter-pipe ramp. Once I step out the front door, a world awaits for me to plunk down my pen. And, what a trip it is!
What a trip!