Gentle Readers

Let me say that taking what you read too literally may lead to misunderstandings.

Some of you who read this blog worry too much. Please keep in mind that these little poems are fictions. They are not suicide notes or otherwise cries for help. They are what I see, filtered through my imagination. They are just instances, true only in the moment of their birth; after that, I'm not responsible.

As I have written elsewhere: if I write "suicide," don't think I'm planning to; if I write "whiskey," don't assume I'm a drunk; if I write "sex," don't assume I'm promiscuous; if I write "despair," don't assume I'm depressed.

I appreciate the concern, but I get a lot of kind, but mistaken emails fearing for my life. Thanks, but - really - it's OK.

Truth is, I'm the best I've been in decades, with some hope that such progress will continue. Of course, making such a statement may tempt God's laughter. Time will tell.

If I were going to commit suicide, take terminally to the bottle or try to beat Wilt Chamberlain's record with women, I certainly wouldn't announce it in a blog. And when I'm really depressed, I can't write at all, so it won't show up here.

What you do see happening here is an ongoing look at a life in progress, one man trying to understand what he encounters and, occasionally - I hope - a worthy poem or two.

Robert Penn Warren described what I try to do here best when he wrote:

"This
Is the process whereby pain of the past in its pastness
May be converted into the future tense
Of joy."

Read, enjoy and please don't fret.

Mike