Just kidding--There was no plan! (William Carlos Williams)

So, I haven't updated this in quite some time. 

And while I was away, apparently blogger lost it's mind. I have no idea how to align this so it looks like a normal paragraph. It would seem that everything is going to be center oriented from now on.

When last we spoke, I was going on another Silver Surfer Fit...thing. 

Since then I lost my job, got a new job, and was quarantined at home. 

We've actually been doing our best not to actually leave the house. I started a new job on April 1, 2020 so I had to go over there to get a new laptop to work from home. Although, I'm not so much working as training, which is strange. I'm a little nervous about what it will be like when they actually want me to start working and being productive beyond simply learning the ropes. 

April is national poetry month, by the way. The Salt Lake Community Writing Center is having a thirty poems in thirty days writing contest. I don't know if you have to be a resident of Salt Lake County or not but they are posting prompts on their Facebook and Instagram. I did the purchase to enroll in the contest, which is a free purchase, but I don't know if I'm going to actually enter my writings. I'll post most of them on my Instagram eventually. My poetry Instagram. Not the Silver Surfer Fit Instagram. 

So. I'm writing poetry again -- a little at a time anyways, for now.

Anyways, here's one of my favorites from William Carlos Williams: you may know him as the guy who wrote that red wheel barrel poem. Or, you may not know who I'm talking about.

Danse Russe
BY WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS

If  when my wife is sleeping

and the baby and Kathleen

are sleeping

and the sun is a flame-white disc

in silken mists

above shining trees,—

if I in my north room

dance naked, grotesquely

before my mirror

waving my shirt round my head

and singing softly to myself:

“I am lonely, lonely.

I was born to be lonely,

I am best so!”

If I admire my arms, my face,

my shoulders, flanks, buttocks

against the yellow drawn shades,—

Who shall say I am not

the happy genius of my household?