Poetry, NaNo, and Mario Kart

Have you ever gotten to that point where you’ve done so much work that the thought of ending your day to go home and continue even more work until bed and then get up to do it all over again starts to wear at your sanity?  That’s how the last two and a half months have felt since starting my 7th year of teaching.

That being said, there are good things going on despite the struggle to keep my head above the water.

First, my Kickstarter campaign for my upcoming chapbook Chasing Distant Horizons has gone well beyond my original goal.  I’m currently only $47 away from hitting my last stretch goal.  If you want a collection of poetry for a low price of either $3 or $8, check it out.


NaNoWriMo is upon us soon, and that means my failed attempts at writing a book.  Hopefully it goes well this time despite my endless piles of responsibilities.  I’ll just have to shirk some of my normal responsibilities or find ways around them for the month of November at the very least.  Getting to participate with my students again this year will be the best part of it all.

Our school has been fundraising yet again and gathering donations for local food banks.  It’s my favorite cause.  There were times early in life that we had to lean on the help of others for things like food, so I always see this as a way of giving back.  I’m wrapping up a Mario Kart Wii tournament with my students.  It’s brought in about $85 toward donations, so it’s been great!  We even got donations for gift cards from a local video game store chain, Video Games Etc.

And now I should really get to that work I’ve been putting off.  Only 22 days to get in on my Kickstarter!  I’ve been working on some new poetry that may make its way into the book as well.  I’ll preview it here soon.

In place of my usual quote to end my post, I leave you with one of my favorite poems by Walt Whitman.

The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains
of my gab and my loitering.

I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

The last scud of day holds back for me,
It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow’d wilds,
It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.

I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,
I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.

You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.

Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.

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