Skip to main content

View Diary: Atheist holiday traditions (50 comments)

Comment Preferences

  •  Walking in an empty city (15+ / 0-)

    ...drunks and junkies, queers like me, hopeless urbanites all,  the young suburban adventurers gone home to Christmas trees.  Nothing open except a few bars and the drugstore, infrequent cars and no bus, the cold December air wet with new rain.

    ...j'ai découvert que tout le malheur des hommes vient d'une seule chose, qui est de ne savoir pas demeurer en repos dans une chambre.

    by jessical on Mon Dec 24, 2012 at 08:22:08 PM PST

    •  I gotta do this: (6+ / 0-)
       
      Walking in an empty city
      ...drunks and junkies,
      queers like me,
      hopeless urbanites all.

      The young suburban adventurers
      have all gone home to Christmas trees.  

      Nothing open except a few bars,
      and the drugstore,
      infrequent cars
      and no bus;
      the cold December air
      wet with new rain.  

      That's solid poetry!

      I hope it's okay
      that I gave it that edit,
      just for this comment thread,
      on a cold Christmas morning.

      Thanks for writing it.

      I think I know the feeling,
      maybe a little.

      Thanks again.

      •  To both of you: (3+ / 0-)

        Very, very nice. Bravo!

      •  heh (1+ / 0-)
        Recommended by:
        bigjacbigjacbigjac

        that was sweet of you!  I think I'd probably spare it down a little if I'd been so ambitious as to think it deserved line breaks :}  But I had to smile this morning, seeing that, probably the nicest response I've gotten to any comment, ever.

        ...j'ai découvert que tout le malheur des hommes vient d'une seule chose, qui est de ne savoir pas demeurer en repos dans une chambre.

        by jessical on Tue Dec 25, 2012 at 07:42:41 AM PST

        [ Parent ]

        •  Ever since I wrote this diary: (1+ / 0-)
          Recommended by:
          jessical

          http://www.dailykos.com/...

           He called about ten times a day,
          I would try to listen to his messages,
          and I couldn't,
          because,
          right in the middle of trying to get through the backlog
          of eight messages,
          he would call,
          again,
          and interrupt the process
          of checking the messages
          from him.

          Of course,
          it's not hard to figure out
          why he called me so much.

          He was bored,
          and he loved me.

          He adored me.

          At the first of every month,
          I would take him to the pawn shop,
          a few blocks away,
          where he would cash his SSI check,
          and pay his celphone bill,
          and get a money order for his rent.

          Then I would take him to the landlord,
          to give them the money order,
          and to the cable company,
          to pay his cable bill.  

           

          That diary marked the turning point,
          when my readers convinced me
          that I can write poetry,
          words that make folks cry,
          when I want them to,
          or make them feel good,
          when I want them to.

          One of the best things
          about feeling certain
          that I'm an artist of sorts,
          is that I feel,
          deep down,
          that I can recognize
          solid,
          effective art
          when I see it,
          when I read it.

          I gave you all this background,
          about me,
          to persuade you
          that you
          wrote a solid piece of poetry.

          I gave it line breaks,
          I added two words,
          I changed some punctuation.

          But you wrote it.

          I like poetry;
          I think everyone should try it.

          I wish I could teach writing
          to college freshmen,
          but I have no college degree,
          and you need a masters to teach
          at university level.

          I daydream about speaking to a class,
          as a guest speaker.

          Maybe someday,
          maybe soon.

          Thanks again.

Subscribe or Donate to support Daily Kos.

Click here for the mobile view of the site