I chose to spend this Christmas Day, for the first time, with Danny. A considerable crowd of friends showed up at the house for roast ham last night; we were 14 altogether. Today Bill and Daniel headed to Hamilton for the morning, so Danny and I were left to the quietest Christmas I can remember, and I'm pleased with that.
I phoned Stephen, my
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sounds like you had a good time.
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But what about us???
Even so, I somehow doubt poetry is dead.
Whew! You had us worried.
Merry Christmas, Van.
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That's an interesting, even moving question, and I don't know how I could ever answer it. But I'm finding writing must come mostly from a desire to do so for its own sake, rather than to impress anyone (or even help them).
Anyway, I hope this evening finds you feeling reasonably okay and able to enjoy it. Happy heathen days!
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Yes, and I am grateful just to have known a good percentage of those 14 for more than three years. Good cheer and health to you as well. Van
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If I never write another poem in my life, but walk every day in contentment and belonging, I would be better off. Even so, I somehow doubt poetry is dead. Beautifully and -- I think -- wisely said.
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I hope you don't mind that I stumbled across your blog via Sue R's site! Your writing is captivating. I've just begun to write myself and reading your words (Dec 25th in particular) is inspirational. I love what you have to say about poetry (being an aspiring poet myself and rather sucking at it!)
Thanks for sharing, Tara
(I'm a blogspot blogger so had to choose Anonymous ... www.commonfuture.blogspot.com to 'even the score')
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