Posts Tagged Tolstoy
They are three deep on shelves,
Wilted and torn but all too special.
Kindle was to save the day,
But I keep buying and buying.
Read in Kindle, that’s fine,
but often I need the paper.
I write, underline and star in my books.
Books on seeking God,
Hundreds and hundreds,
Yet I keep seeking.
None have the final answer, but
They all have beautiful answers.
Conversations with God, I love, I wish.
Every Man Dies Alone,
In English, and saying who I am.
Recovery, recovery, millions of
Ideas on recovery. I’m not recovered.
The Joy of Living, but not much joy.
No Joy of Cooking.
I love my books on Churchill,
But I’ll never be great like he was.
My favorite book in the world:
The Way the World Works,
Not my favorite, but I love the title.
I wish I understood how the world works.
I want to write a book with an
Arrogant title, to show how
Smart I wish to be.
The Secret of Prosperity, my ass.
Black Dogs and Bad Dog, that is I.
I’m asked to give them away to
Make room for nothingness.
But I need more room so I take boxes
and boxes to the library.
Here is my contribution.
Someone might read these.
I save all of my books because
I might want to find an excerpt or
Might want to read them again.
I never read them again because
There is not enough time in the world
To read all the books I need to read.
However, my re-do of Anna Karenina is
Smoking in the Kindle with torn leather cover.
The dog chewed up the cover.
This is my entry for Poetry Potluck – Hobbies & Passions, Pastimes & Entertainment at Jingle Poetry.
This is new content from the Who I Want to Be effort:
It has been a long week. By Wednesday, I did not think I would make it through. On Thursday morning, a distinct feeling welled up in my heart, one that told me that I wished more than anything to run away and hide in a cave and die quickly. I needed to be alone because people were bringing me to the slaughter fest. Of course this is my perception, deepened by my depression and incessant and obsessive sensitivity. (I told my wife that I am no more mature than a first-grader when it comes to sensitivity because I continue to feel the same feeling when people hurt me now as I did when I was in first grade. I have gained no skin from my progression through life.) The only one who seemed to be okay with who I am was my sponsor and best friend. Today, my wife told me she thought that it was odd that he stuck by me. The implication is that good friends are loyal only to a point, but then they should ditch you. Humans all over the place are ditching other humans and other humans are making other humans ditch humans and it is solid badness wherever I look.
I won’t confess here. I much prefer to confess in my poems. Confession is good for the soul, but my soul needs reinforcement more than anything. On Friday, my father joined the crowd Read the rest of this entry »
I visited with one of my favorite people on earth yesterday, and she explained to me what causes so much of my suffering – A certain type of idealism and an inability to escape singularity of focus.
She could perceive that I was having difficulty deciphering what this means and what I can do about it. She knows I love great books and she said that I was carrying on a bit like Anna Karenina. I trust she meant the part before suicide becomes the good option, and she wasn’t suggesting that I was acting like a female. She also assured me that one of my over favorite women in the world, a target of the strongest of my affections, may not be as negative as the male protagonist (or is it antagonist?).
Off I went to Amazon and discovered that the masterpiece is free for Kindle folks so I quickly downloaded it. I’ve started to read it again. I had forgotten how long it is and the style is clumsy at times, but I am going to discover who I am, discover my most significant faults in one of the greatest masterpieces in fiction. This is so very exciting to me, but you may not identify.