Well, it has been a good few years, Blogspot. I am moving on.
All future posts will be at this location
http://thoughtsofafoolishdreamer.tumblr.com/

See ya'll there!

The other day, I was driving on the interstate to some 30-minute away destination ( I don't remember where, exactly.) As I was driving and listening to the radio, a black and tan spider, about 1/2 inch long, crawled across my windshield, directly in my line of vision. Ugh! I swiped my windshield wipers to knock him off, but when I did, I realized that he was on the INSIDE. I was driving in pretty heavy traffic, so I couldn't pull over and kill him, and I couldn't find anything quickly on hand to squish him with either. So, I just had to watch him crawl about happily, where ever he pleased. I kept finding myself looking at him instead of the road. Ewww. He kept crawling back and forth in my line of vision, taunting me. Then he would hide and I would freak out, not knowing his exact whereabouts. It was so disgusting and unnerving. I kept imagining him hiding somewhere and then me getting back to my car later to discover him on me or something. Finally, I got off the interstate.  He had crawled right in front of my face and was just sitting there smirkingly.  Ick. I swept him up in a tissue at a red light and threw him out the window. Nasty spider torture....

This is awesome.
http://52projects.com/

“Do You Have Any Advice For Those of Us Just Starting Out?"

Ron Koertge

Give up sitting dutifully at your desk. Leave
your house or apartment. Go out into the world.

It's all right to carry a notebook but a cheap
one is best, with pages the color of weak tea
and on the front a kitten or a space ship.

Avoid any enclosed space where more than
three people are wearing turtlenecks. Beware
any snow-covered chalet with deer tracks
across the muffled tennis courts.

Not surprisingly, libraries are a good place to write.
And the perfect place in a library is near an aisle
where a child a year or two old is playing as his
mother browses the ranks of the dead.

Often he will pull books from the bottom shelf.
The title, the author's name, the brooding photo
on the flap mean nothing. Red book on black, gray
book on brown, he builds a tower. And the higher
it gets, the wider he grins.

You who asked for advice, listen: When the tower
falls, be like that child. Laugh so loud everybody
in the world frowns and says, "Shhhh."

Then start again.

A breath; a shiver.
Autumn leaves scrape the cement;
Summer's death rattle

Collegiate Chrysalis

Shivering branches
sag and mourn the leaves
of summer that swoon
into the clutch of
the cold, unkind earth.
Frosted breaths in the
early morning wake
utter five-year-old
giddiness. Rumours
of impending breaks
strengthen those students
who lack study drive.
The Chocos and shorts
of warmer weather
are packed in attics
and hipsters sport their
scarves less than before.
Ice daggers perch on
the lips of fountains;
the world stops turning.
Frisbees lie dormant,
abandoned for now.
"Door couples" become
"car couples" in a
yearly, fair-weather
metamorphosis.
Christmas stars that hang
from trees year-round will
soon finally shine
in harmony with
an ocean of flames
in the frigid night.

Dreamer

Oh foolish dreamer, do you not see why
hopes woven with gossamer and stardust
will always fall? The moon is much too high
to reach, for earth-bound human shapes like us.
Oh simple child, the world is heavy for
the sorrows of a thousand broken lives.
Deep etchings of night from a silent war
are honest as a tear; as sharp as knives.
No, star-blinded bird, these streets are your own
and you're the only light your world will know.
Not up past the clouds, but to tired homes
and bloodshot eyes are where your wings should go.
The song of the city is calling for
foolish dreamers to dream for those ignored.