feb 16, 2017 / REST
Inspired by a sore calf, I wrote about calves in 3 different ways: 2 lines from Thomas Gardner in Poverty Creek Journal about his sore calves; some calf stretches to try; a story about my calf muscle knotting up at the end of a lake swim.
feb 16, 2018 / 2 miles / YWCA track
Wrote about a couple that aren’t quite Regulars, but almost, although I haven’t seen them in years (as of 2024):
A couple I’ve seen for years, both at the y and on the Mississippi River Road near the lock and dam by the falls, running and jump roping and pulling sleds or lifting heavy weights. Today one of them was pushing a sled by the wall, while the other was doing some leg exercises, then they both walked around the track carrying huge weights above their heads. One time, last summer, I saw them jump roping! up a steep hill.
feb 16, 2019 / 1.75 miles / 11 degrees / 100% snow-covered
I remember this run (in 2024). One of only a few (3 or 4?) that I didn’t like:
It’s rare to have a bad run in the winter, but today I did. Not because of the company–I got to run with Scott–but because of the path. So uneven and snow-covered. And it felt colder than 11 degrees. Oh well, no more runs on this loop until more snow is cleared.
The start of my poems gathered project! As of 2024, I have 977 poems, which is maybe a little out of control. I refer back to many of these poems, I’ve even memorized some of them. I should stop adding to the list and start revisiting more of them. Would it be helpful to organize some of them into lists by topic?
The other day, I decided to tag all of the log entries on here that have other people’s poems in them. There are 31. Only 31 for 508 posts. I have been reading lots of poetry, I guess i just haven’t been putting it in my log entries. Not cool. So for the next month (at least), I’d like to put in a different poem for each entry. Or, if not an entire poem, a line or stanza or more.
feb 16, 2020 / 3.35 miles / 19, feels like 11, degrees
Tick tock, tick tock. The pandemic is already here, but I don’t know it yet.
Looked up raspberries and discovered that there’s not a clear answer on why it’s RASPberry and not red berry.
Some thoughts that, a few years later, would become my Haunts poem:
At some point, thought about the article I read earlier this morning about the biomechanics of the run and the “double float” phase, which is when both feet are off of the ground. I usually think of this as flying but is also cool to think of it as a floating. What else floats: clouds, hot air balloons, ghosts, bodies in water, buoys, bubbles. I like the idea of being a ghost, floating and haunting the trail that I’ve traveled so many times in the last five years. Haunt is such a wonderfully rich word: to frequent, visit often; to continually seek the company of; to trouble; to reappear continually in; to visit or inhabit as a ghost; to stay around or persist, to linger; a place habitually frequented
feb 16, 2022 / 1.5 mile swim / YWCA
After writing about some gross things stuck to the bottom of the pool, I posted some poems about becoming a tree. The first one, my Linda Pastan, gave me an inspiration for an idea about a series of poems titled, A Forest of Lindas. I have had 2 Linda Pastan cento poems published — I’ve written 4 or 5. My idea (as of 2024) would include a series inspired by Emily Dickinson and vision (the eyes of Emily Dickinson?), and a series inspired by Mary Oliver too. Each set (Pastan, ED, MO) would be in a different form — cento for Pastan, titles from ED lines — not sure about MO.
Today’s Linda Pastan poem reminds me of something I was just writing about for my week five lecture for my class: gnarled branches.
In the Orchard/ Linda Pastan
Why are these old, gnarled trees
so beautiful, while I am merely
old and gnarled?
If I had leaves, perhaps, or apples . . .
if I had bark instead
of this lined skin,
maybe the wind would wind itself
around my limbs
in its old sinuous dance.
I shall bite into an apple
and swallow the seeds.
I shall come back as a tree.
This idea of coming back as a tree also reminds me of a poem I found the other day on twitter by Czesław Miłosz:
Longing/ Czesław Miłosz
Not that I want to be a god or a hero.
Just to change into a tree, grow for ages, not hurt anyone.