A little while ago somebody asked me what motivates me to write. I’ve thought about that off and on for a long time, so you’d think I’d have a pretty solid answer by now. I don’t. At least, not really. It’s a case where the real answer is somewhat amorphous and changes shape from time to time depending on the circumstances. When I think I have a relatively complete answer, something around me or in me shifts just enough to alter the answer in substantive ways, and I am left with a hole that hasn’t been filled in yet. That … Read the rest
Category Archives: Peter’s Writings
Things Peter writes for his own benefit, not necessarily intended for or made available to the general public.
Anyone Interested?
UPDATE:
To the handful of people who were interested in this, it has fallen victim to the whims of fortune and my current lack of motivation. It’ll be a while before I can afford the up-front costs to get this printed. Sorry for the teaser. You probably didn’t really want one anyway, but I appreciate the thought.
Just finished putting together a “book” of the poetry I’ve written. You can download a crummy low-resolution version of it at the following link: Low resolution proof of “Doc Johnson’s Magic Mix”
I’m thinking of getting a handful actually printed and bound, but … Read the rest
Evolving
I... Wanted... THIS!!! I wanted this... I... wanted this? I wanted this???
Inch Deep
Once fed by melting white snow Tumbling quickly with great energy Living rock yielded to the potent push As it carved deeper and built strength Life's elements careening down stream Then dreadfully harnessed and tapped To suit the intent of designers Pounding and frothing for naught As twist upon turn changed the course Sapping the potential and power Till an inch deep and two miles wide Sluggishly creeping along the way Stagnantly pooling, nearly halting Releasing what was suspended All is lost by expanding too wide
Is it selfish, and is that okay?
If you read these pages, it should be pretty obvious that I like to write. Why I write is a question I’ve been asking myself a lot lately, and I’m having difficulty coming to a reasonably believable and simultaneously satisfying answer. The truth of it is that there are many answers, but when I consider the implications of those answers the results are highly contradictory and/or unsatisfying.
When I started writing, I pretty much wrote for myself. Writing was a chance to organize my thoughts and either deal with what was on my mind or divert my attention away from … Read the rest
Left undone
An afternoon unallocated Retreat to the shop, pick something up "Dad!" -- A call for my help It can wait... I whisper to myself As I answer the call of a child An evening to write -- maybe a chapter Open the draft and read what I wrote Memory refreshed, prepared to compose A knock at the door draws my attention A neighbor needs help The story will be there tomorrow I guess The oil needs changing -- maintenance deferred A banging noise calls for investigation It'll only take an afternoon or so Maybe I should just pay someone else… Read the rest
More to do than time allows
Time is a teacher, but many of her lessons are about herself. One lesson time repeatedly and frequently tries to teach me is how fleeting, rare, and precious she is. It always seems I am putting some project or another on the back burner to wait the day when I’ll finally have enough time to finish what I started. In fact, as a college kid I would joke about what I would do when all I had was a day job and school was over. After graduation, I joked about what I’d do when we had enough money so that … Read the rest
Final Thoughts
What will you ponder When providence calls And you must answer soon -- Passing beyond mortal life And leaving all else behind Concern for loved-ones remaining? Freedom from sorrow and longing? Fear that there's yet more to come? Hope for what is yet to come? Regret for things left undone? Satisfaction in successes hard won? Hot anger and spite? Or calmness and quiet?
A Penny For Your Art?
Would you pay a penny for a poet's rhyming words, That sent your soul up soaring in the heav'ns among the birds? Or the beauty of the artist who had captured morning's light, Painting a young mother who has nursed a child all night? And don't forget the music that inspires, calms or thrills, Took hours and hours of practice just to master simple trills. So please do not insult us and demean a pricelesswork work, With worthless bits of copper tossed with pity in your look. The slighting little tokens meant to ease your inner shame Are little more… Read the rest
Free Range Kids
Not quite feral and yet not tame Undisturbed by hovering parents Who watch quietly from a distance And see the joy of discovery Mostly free they wander the landscape Exploring the wonder about them Touching and tasting and seeing Excitement in the plainest of things Pushing limits and boundaries Taking risks and meeting danger Taught by nature to judge and adapt Learning lessons no school could teach