tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9784885183150093372024-03-12T20:38:51.513-05:00TIBU2-DEUXTIBU2.COM- REBOOTED. REBRANDED. REBORN.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02247960790456136003noreply@blogger.comBlogger1001125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-978488518315009337.post-77947798737929980122012-12-25T00:53:00.001-06:002012-12-25T00:53:02.215-06:009 Chickweed Lane | Comics | ArcaMax Publishing<a href="http://www.arcamax.com/thefunnies/ninechickweedlane/#XrorwBru4lT16myd.15">9 Chickweed Lane | Comics | ArcaMax Publishing</a>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-978488518315009337.post-51509407253230963952012-08-03T05:59:00.000-05:002012-08-03T05:59:07.862-05:00Erm, ok. what is this crap in my blog?<br />
<br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-978488518315009337.post-60759042345312960292010-10-24T10:51:00.000-05:002010-10-24T10:53:12.687-05:00no car crash, no orphan, no suicide, no mourning, no cat-o-nine tailsI remember once,<br />when I think I must have been<br />about 10,<br />and me and my daddy and my mother<br />were off<br />some stupid camping trip<br />somewhere,<br />probably Maine or Canada,<br />and we were in the '59 Plymouth,<br />a big-ass boat of a station wagon,<br />and I was in the backseat;<br /><br />and they had been arguing<br />about who knows what,<br />and screaming at each other<br />as loud as they could,<br />and daddy came to stop sign,<br />and he said,<br />"Ricky, get out of the car."<br /><br />and my mother screamed,<br />"No, Ricky don't move!<br />If you get out of the car,<br />he will drive this car into<br />those trees, and kill us,<br />and then you will be an<br />orphan!"<br /><br />and so, as I would do so many times<br />in my life, I took my mother's advice,<br />and I stayed put,<br />and life, somehow<br />went on;<br /><br />and I remember another time,<br />when I was about 13 or 14,<br />and although I don't remember<br />the cause,<br />I remember my mother being<br />on the phone with my daddy,<br />who was working at the time<br />on Nantucket Island,<br />as she and I stood in the living room,<br />me, with a carving knife,<br />ten inches long,<br />pointed at my belly;<br /><br />somehow, daddy talked me down<br />from that ledge,<br />and life went on;<br /><br />I remember,<br />just a year or so ago,<br />how I reminded my mother<br />about her use<br />of the cat-o-nine tails<br />(for those of you unfamiliar,<br />it is a leather strop, with nine<br />separate tines, to inflict<br />maximum damage)<br />and she said,<br />"I do not remember any such thing."<br />and it was then, that I realized<br />that she had inherited it<br />from my Nana, whom I loved,<br />and that realization<br />nearly made my head explode:<br />all that I had ever known,<br />loved,<br />relied upon,<br />felt secure with,<br />was a lie;<br /><br />and so,<br />a nitwit,<br />soon to be forgotten poet,<br />with a story but not much talent,<br />had his early years formed.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">October 23, 2010.<br /><br />Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.</span>Ricky A. Pursleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12669196147790801123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-978488518315009337.post-74255312222390569762010-10-22T22:05:00.000-05:002010-10-22T22:06:37.675-05:00no addressit's funny<br />it's one of those<br />things<br />that you nearly ever<br />think about<br />until it lands at<br />your feet;<br /><br />consequences<br />that most folk<br />seldom meet;<br /><br />and when it<br />touches down,<br />it grows --<br />so large,<br />that it removes the sun<br />from your sight --<br />no matter how strong<br />you think you are,<br />it fills you with<br />the biggest fright<br />of your life;<br /><br />these days,<br />it is becoming a<br />commonplace<br />tableau:<br />no where to go,<br />even if you have a<br />temporary sanctuary,<br />as I fortunately do;<br /><br />no address?<br />no work, no place to plug in<br />the computer;<br /><br />no address?<br />no license plates,<br />no where to send the renewal;<br /><br />no address?<br />no car insurance,<br />no where it is registered;<br /><br />no address?<br />no driver's license;<br /><br />no address?<br />no food stamps,<br />no where to send them;<br /><br />no address?<br />no voting,<br />you are not registered anywhere;<br /><br />no address?<br />no bank account,<br />no where to send the statements;<br /><br />no address?<br />no mobile phone,<br />no where to send the statements;<br /><br />no address?<br />no health insurance,<br />no where to communicate via snail mail;<br /><br />no address?<br />no subsidized housing,<br />no where to inspect when your turn comes up;<br /><br />no address?<br />no place to be,<br />to just be;<br /><br />no address?<br />no hope,<br />only an ending;<br /><br />so when you next<br />lay your head on your pillow,<br />remind yourself<br />of how fortunate you are,<br />with an address.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">October 22, 2010.<br />Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved. Those rights survive me.</span>Ricky A. Pursleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12669196147790801123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-978488518315009337.post-65592059743898642402010-10-03T22:24:00.001-05:002010-10-03T22:24:51.440-05:00and let me knowI have trouble, these days,<br />remembering all the times<br />that you made fun of me;<br />it's so much easier<br />to remember all the times<br />that you made love to me,<br />and how you held me off<br />on our first date:<br />"Not tonight, sweetie"<br />was all you said, as you<br />straightened your skirt<br />and adjusted your blouse;<br />I also remember<br />how magnificently<br />startled<br />I was, the morning that<br />you deserted me,<br />loading all the stuff<br />that you wanted<br />into that U-Haul truck<br />that was so poorly parked<br />in the driveway;<br />you stole five years<br />of my life,<br />and all that I had achieved,<br />and left me homeless,<br />alone, and bereft,<br />and even my so-called friends<br />could not save me;<br />my first wife drove me<br />from my zip code,<br />and you went one step further,<br />and drove me from my state;<br />what a cruel fate:<br />sent home to mom,<br />tail between my legs,<br />and then some;<br />and now, another curtain rises,<br />certain to close,<br />without many surprises,<br />and still, my mind<br />surrounds all the good times,<br />and I am mystified<br />at how life goes like that,<br />since I still feel like<br />I ought to hate you;<br />go figure,<br />and let me know.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">October 3, 2010.<br /><br />Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.</span>Ricky A. Pursleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12669196147790801123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-978488518315009337.post-87421275994467535372010-10-03T19:12:00.000-05:002010-10-03T19:13:43.895-05:00Ricky doesn't live here anymorehe's on the road again,<br />another leg in his journey;<br />he says this will likely be<br />the shortest one yet:<br />not much rope left<br />in this rodeo of the absurd,<br />only a few steady glances,<br />and a handful of gestures,<br />along with the obligatory word<br />or two --<br />well maybe a few dozen<br />will have to do --<br />the not-so-favorite son,<br />off the photograph his last<br />setting sun,<br />off to finish, hopefully,<br />the remaining work to be done,<br />a few small battles<br />yet to be won (or lost)<br />and ready to pay the price<br />(or the cost)<br />for what he has had, plus<br />what he has lost;<br />what a ride,<br />what a ride!<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">July 27, 2010.<br /><br />Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.</span>Ricky A. Pursleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12669196147790801123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-978488518315009337.post-67387473196175066342010-10-03T17:47:00.000-05:002010-10-03T17:48:27.614-05:00terminal10-year guarantee,<br />the label on the 10-quart cooler<br />loudly proclaimed:<br />a quart-a-year;<br />more than enough time.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">July 27, 2010.<br /><br />Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.</span>Ricky A. Pursleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12669196147790801123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-978488518315009337.post-27018111820901800072010-10-02T21:01:00.000-05:002010-10-02T21:02:01.137-05:00the powerful message of dirty, mismatched sockswhite, originally,<br />but now, worn for eight days straight<br />they are<br />Something Else,<br />including being<br />mismatched,<br />like so much else,<br />tumbling down these<br />stairs, catching each<br />carpet tack,<br />eventually becoming<br />just a loosely woven<br />tangle of threads;<br />but for now, at least,<br />you have a pair.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">July 27, 2010.<br /><br />Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.</span>Ricky A. Pursleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12669196147790801123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-978488518315009337.post-26301911440734941312010-10-02T19:07:00.001-05:002010-10-02T19:10:02.263-05:00Shelter SkelterShe kept apologizing for the condition of the efficiency apartment on the first level of her home, just to the right inside the front door. "I know it's not much, baby," she said, her brown eyes searching my face for approval, "but it's clean -- I cleaned it thoroughly myself yesterday -- and you have a full bath, and the kitchenette, and provisions, and -- most important -- a real bed."<br /> I looked into those chocolate-brown eyes, and took her hands in mine. "It is terrific, <em>mi amor</em>. It is everything I could need, and more. Thank you so much for this expression of your love." And it was: the simple act of inviting me into her home, offering me shelter, and food, and of course, her love, was beyond wonderful, cementing what was already a deep, strong commitment, the love of a lifetime. Everyone should have a chance at a love like this, once in their lifetime.<br /> And sleep, when it came that night, after five nights sleeping in the driver's seat of my car, was glorious, beyond blissful. My muscles relaxed, and physically I began to feel restored. But my mind, still reeling from the events of the previous week, continued to roil and spin.<br /> I awoke in the night with a start, unsure of where I was. The room was dark, that kind of dark that you only experience in very rural areas, that blackness that soothes some, and terrifies others. The only source of light was the blue glow of the Brookstone CD player and radio. Through the open window, the sound of the crickets attempted to challenge the strong, steady rhythm of her breathing, and the full moon lit the luxurious curves of her body, and made the hundreds of ringlets that framed her face sparkle like the crown jewels.<br /> As I turned over and closed my eyes, I heard the soft whoosh of the front door, and then the drag of the apartment door against the carpet, followed by the unmistakable "click-click" of a semi-automatic pistol being cocked. Realizing that I had no defense, I opened my eyes, to see a small LED shining on my face. As the light slowly came closer, I considered a two-leg kick to try to knock the gun away, but there was too much danger of her being in harm's way at that distance. So I waited. And then came the boom, boom, boom, and three flashes of light.<br /> I heard myself screaming, and could not see anything. Then I felt her shaking me, calling my name. "Baby, wake up, you must have had a bad dream," she said.<br /> "Yes, a terrible one, a really terrible one," I heard myself saying, "your ex showed up for a visit in the middle of the night, and he killed me."<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">July 27, 2010.</span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">Copyright 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.</span>Ricky A. Pursleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12669196147790801123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-978488518315009337.post-83282034467334885862010-10-02T18:22:00.000-05:002010-10-02T18:23:25.136-05:00exit, stage left number twoon the cusp of success,<br />nearly two years of pushing,<br />pimping, hoping,<br />now limping<br />toward the finish line,<br />which I still hope to see:<br />still want to find a way<br />to keep producing,<br />succeeding,<br />until that last day;<br />dammit, let me write<br />my way out of here!<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">July 27, 2010.<br /><br />Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.</span>Ricky A. Pursleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12669196147790801123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-978488518315009337.post-22961643114126698582010-10-02T18:02:00.001-05:002010-10-02T18:02:44.484-05:00Comet the Wonder DogComet the Wonder Dog looks at me,<br />his big, sad, brown eyes<br />full of knowledge, of understanding:<br />he sees the clock above my head,<br />ticking, ticking, ticking;<br />he looks like he wants to<br />bound over here, and grab me<br />in his massive jaws,<br />and just keep me here;<br />part of me wants him to do that,<br />and another part of me believes<br />that he really could.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">July 27, 2010.<br /><br />Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.</span>Ricky A. Pursleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12669196147790801123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-978488518315009337.post-84126443151675503232010-10-02T17:26:00.000-05:002010-10-02T17:27:17.305-05:00the stopsso many times, for so long,<br />I played Life with at least<br />a few of them in, being<br />careful; now, baby,<br />I'm pulling them all out,<br />until the Ride ends,<br />and You should too.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">July 27, 2010, for the Wifey.<br /><br />Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.</span>Ricky A. Pursleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12669196147790801123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-978488518315009337.post-7603822816856930172010-09-29T20:48:00.000-05:002010-09-29T20:49:34.999-05:00the philosophy kioskchecked in with my old pal<br />the other day,<br />toiling away<br />in the philosophy kiosk<br />at the local mall,<br />and she said that<br />there was not much going on<br />at all,<br />just depression,<br />depravity,<br />disconnection,<br />and of course<br />the immutable law<br />of gravity;<br />some mendacity,<br />too much atrocity,<br />and more duplicity<br />than one could count;<br />but hey, trouble is everywhere,<br />it's like dirty underwear,<br />it's the smell,<br />not the amount;<br />and I just smiled,<br />and wished her well,<br />as the whole of us get ready<br />to march into Hell.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">September 29, 2010. From the forthcoming collection, <em>Spoken Rage 2</em>.<br /><br />Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.</span>Ricky A. Pursleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12669196147790801123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-978488518315009337.post-69006539807543219902010-09-23T18:50:00.000-05:002010-09-23T18:51:13.008-05:00echoesthe amphitheatre,<br />formed naturally by the basin<br />that is the lake<br />on this mountaintop,<br />carries the echoes<br />of our having been here,<br />speaking in low tones,<br />since voices carry on the water;<br />when we are gone, too soon,<br />others will fill the spaces<br />that we leave behind,<br />with their own hushed<br />conversations,<br />their own echoes<br />of a short stay,<br />and their imprint<br />will be just as fleeting as ours.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">July 27, 2010, for the Wifey.<br /><br />Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.</span>Ricky A. Pursleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12669196147790801123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-978488518315009337.post-64503791279039688982010-09-18T20:50:00.001-05:002010-09-18T20:50:58.417-05:00drug aidthe television commercials<br />had me conditioned:<br />"was I healthy enough for sex?"<br /><br />I was, accordingly,<br />determined<br />to find out:<br /><br />(back soon)<br /><br /><br /><br />yep<br />three times.<br /><br />and don't get me started<br />on that whole "erection<br />lasting more than<br />four hours" thing;<br />She's on my speed dial.<br /><br />my doctor can fend for<br />herself<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">September 18, 2010, for the Wifey.<br /><br />Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.</span>Ricky A. Pursleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12669196147790801123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-978488518315009337.post-69318676607502666822010-09-18T20:00:00.000-05:002010-09-18T20:01:41.212-05:00pot o' goldstep<br />by<br />step,<br />down<br />that<br />murky,<br />dank<br />stair,<br />a trillion<br />glistening,<br />slimy<br />microbes,<br />their<br />teeny<br />clutches,<br />seeking<br />any hold:<br />the darkness,<br />overwhelming,<br />the only<br />sound,<br />your brief<br />stifling;<br />when<br />suddenly,<br />upon the<br />final step,<br />is found<br />not terror,<br />but<br />a pot o' gold.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">September 18, 2010.<br /><br />Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.</span>Ricky A. Pursleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12669196147790801123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-978488518315009337.post-14927314142931421332010-09-18T00:28:00.000-05:002010-09-18T00:29:30.899-05:00having donephilosophers cogitate<br />while poets and playwrights<br />and lesser such<br />consider much<br />of life:<br />from the rude<br />to the polite,<br />always stopping<br />to note wrong<br />from right,<br />and the vast chasm<br />of uncertainty<br />in between:<br />life as life,<br />and life as dream,<br />possibility<br />for what can seem<br />to be none;<br />not for being sure,<br />but for having<br />sought,<br />for having<br />fought:<br />for simply<br />having done.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">July 27, 2010.<br /><br />Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.</span>Ricky A. Pursleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12669196147790801123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-978488518315009337.post-12464066689932647772010-09-17T23:43:00.000-05:002010-09-17T23:44:18.145-05:00the last of the impatiensthe remnants of the impatiens<br />stare blankly, if brightly,<br />right through me, as the sun<br />reminds us both of stories<br />of past glories, of sunrises met<br />with few worries,<br />way back then, way back<br />when life was buried treasure,<br />and not just a sunken measure,<br />with little left to play,<br />with little left to pray,<br />if praying helped plants<br />or people.<br /><br /><br /><br />July 27, 2010, for the Wifey.<br /><br />Copyright © Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.Ricky A. Pursleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12669196147790801123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-978488518315009337.post-666929889337458602010-09-07T23:15:00.000-05:002010-09-07T23:16:05.003-05:00bound by chainsa seldom seen scene,<br />when the careless son<br />of a careful man<br />encounters a woman<br />of uncertain parentage,<br />unswerving in Her resolve:<br />"don't tell me what to do"<br /><br />not merely sparks,<br />but fireballs ensue,<br />as destiny drives me<br />to You:<br />not a simple kismet,<br />but a foreshadowed<br /><em>adieu;<br /></em>it must always be<br />"see you later,"<br />as I can never say<br />"goodbye" to You;<br /><br />time roils,<br />and words spill out<br />like watermelon seeds<br />from the mouths<br />of summer's youth,<br />and the simple truth<br />remains:<br />I lie in the basement<br />of Your heart,<br />yearning,<br />but bound by chains.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">September 3, 2010, for the Wifey.<br /><br />Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.</span>Ricky A. Pursleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12669196147790801123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-978488518315009337.post-22338724495309802592010-08-23T22:47:00.000-05:002010-08-23T22:48:11.587-05:00the differencebetween You<br />and Every One before You,<br />is how well, and<br />how completely,<br />You love me;<br />such that I feel<br />unworthy,<br />and daily am thankful,<br />for such an amazing woman<br />to yearn, to burn, to turn<br />to me.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><br />July 26, 2010, for the Wifey. From the forthcoming collection, </span><span style="font-size:78%;"><em>For the Wifey: Lessons in Love, Passion, and Laughter.<br /></em><br />Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.</span>Ricky A. Pursleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12669196147790801123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-978488518315009337.post-42759032558188247262010-08-20T19:26:00.001-05:002010-08-20T19:27:41.158-05:00fightthe sounds of You sleeping,<br />so rhythmic, so sure,<br />lull me like little else,<br />and make me want more:<br />to cuddle You,<br />and feel You, like an infant,<br />as You mold Yourself<br />to me;<br />I am blessed,<br />even as I am distressed,<br />loving You now,<br />but dreading Tomorrow,<br />when You will be taken<br />from me;<br />I want You to live,<br />and thrive,<br />to shine,<br />to be alive,<br />and yet I know,<br />that without Your miracle,<br />these seeds will not grow;<br />I stand askance,<br />waiting, as always, for<br />Your glance of approval,<br />and I cry, inside, at the<br />thought of Your removal<br />from this life,<br />from my touch,<br />from my taste,<br />from all that we know;<br />fight, dammit, fight,<br />against all of the things<br />of the Night,<br />stay with me, please,<br />stay with me,<br />and let this illness<br />be blinded by the Light.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">August 19, 2010, for the Wifey. From the forthcoming collection, </span><span style="font-size:78%;"><em>For the Wifey: Lessons in Love, Passion and Laughter.<br /></em><br />Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.</span>Ricky A. Pursleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12669196147790801123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-978488518315009337.post-89493952818132194172010-08-20T19:05:00.000-05:002010-08-20T19:06:07.022-05:00certaintynot at all certain<br />if there is a Hell,<br />but I am most positive,<br />that if there is,<br />I am saving you a seat.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">July 24, 2010. From the forthcoming collection, </span><span style="font-size:78%;"><em>Spoken Rage 2.<br /></em><br />Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.</span>Ricky A. Pursleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12669196147790801123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-978488518315009337.post-20715929774508157902010-08-20T16:54:00.000-05:002010-08-20T16:55:12.002-05:00storminessthe storm rocks the sailboats,<br />gently at first,<br />but as it gathers strength,<br />with more violence,<br />more insistence,<br />that the boats give way<br />to its power,<br />several of them<br />seem in danger<br />of swamping;<br />but the rhythmic rocking,<br />I find quite soothing,<br />as I try to focus<br />on the storm<br />inside of me.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">July 23, 2010.<br /><br />Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.</span>Ricky A. Pursleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12669196147790801123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-978488518315009337.post-2248227370351534822010-08-20T15:59:00.000-05:002010-08-20T16:00:13.385-05:00The Book of RuthJane Hamilton's first novel<br />really deserved its<br />PEN/Hemingway Award in 1989:<br />Ruth's voice is simple, but strong,<br />and every sentence<br />pulls the reader along.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">July 24, 2010.<br /><br />Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.</span>Ricky A. Pursleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12669196147790801123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-978488518315009337.post-55082947739557969482010-08-19T19:45:00.001-05:002010-08-20T16:00:58.345-05:00reversalthe irony of once again being<br />homeless,<br />just after learning that<br />my first poetry collection,<br /><em>"Songs from the Road,"<br /></em>written while I was last<br />homeless,<br />will be published soon,<br />is not lost on me;<br />on the eve of having<br />my first poems to be published<br />in <em>"Notes"</em> magazine,<br />I ought to be celebrating,<br />eating well,<br />and sleeping late;<br />woulda, shoulda, coulda,<br />and a little more misery<br />to feed to the Muse.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">July 23, 2010.<br /><br />Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.</span>Ricky A. Pursleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12669196147790801123noreply@blogger.com0