2025.01
Morning journal posts from January 2025
Coincidence
2025.01.14
January 14, 2025
Good morning, that wonderful way.
The full moon starts to wane. Time to wax poetic.
A couple pimples for planets, clear in the sky.
Occasional wispy night clouds for blemish cover-up.
How's the make-up of your life?
Planning the work?
Working the plan?
Getting it done?
Waiting on The Sun?
On a treadmill run?
Any which way, hope you enjoy your day.
...
Do you believe in coincidence?
You can be such a fool.
Often times the reason has nothing to do with Reason.
Just because we can't explain a thing doesn't mean it's without measure; only that it can't be measured.
Yet.
If you believe in coincidence you believe the world, Life itself, revolves around human thought.
You can be such a fool sometimes.
Replace your ruler with a sense of wonder. It's the smart thing to do.
Nothing is impossible; we just don't have the words yet to see it happen.
When two things happen at the same time and take on a new meaning for you, it's not coincidence.
It's a poem!
Write it down. Give it substance so someone else can know the experience and experience it, too.
Deep thoughts early morning.
How's your coffee?
Bittersweet?
Well, you are what you eat.
How you take your coffee, though... that's a choice.
Bitter or sweet hope you have it your way and have your better day.
+he Ghos+
Speaking of Spells
2025.01.13
January 13, 2025
Good morning, that wonderful way.
How's the day?
That good?
That's good.
About time.
On with the show.
...
Clear heavy dreams the past few nights. Heavy in the density of their pictures. High pixelization.
Warmer days begin for a short spell.
Speaking of spells, how's your magic?
Your miracle making method getting it done?
Obviously.
Haven't you checked?
Order's up.
You magical mythic marvel, you.
I get up early for the peace.
Established 'acceptable' times tend to welcome the world to descend.
Early puts you in a place better to ready for everyone else's day.
You welcome the day.
The day doesn't welcome you.
You get your house in order.
You be a gracious host.
It's your party.
Own it.
The Sun comes up so you can make something new.
There's no way to do the same thing the same exact way.
As precise as you are at the work, something is always new in the environment.
Do new on purpose, don't meet the day, have the day meet you, and have your better day.
+he Ghos+
The Band Name
2025.01.12
January 12, 2025
Good morning, that wonderful way.
How's your day?
Good sleep here. Slept in.
An Abe pace the floor,
"You waking up yet? There's food in the kitchen; the Sun's coming up,"
...morning.
Up.
...
- Find work you love.
- Stay true to it.
- Have a couple close friends that respect you for it.
- And one to share space, and time, and Love with.
Recipe for a good life. ^
The Sun's already showing. There's a full dog stomach on the loveseat.
A blue jay or crow caw too far in the distance to distinguish.
A couple years ago I realized I hear the same songs every morning and don't know the band names, so I started learning the names of the birds singing the songs.
"There's gotta be an app for that."
There's an app for that.
A few.
Maybe you'll try it too.
How dismissive of you to hear the same tracks every morning and not look up the band names.
This site's a kind of bird's song. A herald for the morning!
There are ways for everyone to enjoy getting their daily dose of language.
Take care, fly in the air, write with care, rock your roll flair, and have your better day.
+he Ghos+
To Bloom
2025.01.10
2025.01.10
Good morning, that wonderful way.
Good day for a good day.
And some lively punctuation.
Period.
What a thing to be, alive and free; what a thing to be.
How are you?
There's only as many ways to say hello as there are versions of a sunrise.
They look the same, read and write the same, though never are.
So, I hope all is well, there's more to tell, so let's carry on.
...
Still Winter. Still windy. Still an hour or so till sunrise. Still a love-seated sort of hound dog rescued, reclining with a full stomach nearby. Still a guy writing words to the sky, for the sky, for you.
A something new kind of day.
Maybe you'll try something new, too. Something good for you. Something you've been putting off. Like being thankful for where you are and what you have. One or two things at least.
It's January in New England and I'm already ready for a Spring sunrise.
Winter will do for now. I've got my imagination to light things up.
Something changed in the world this year. Some unspeakable thing.
You feel it, too?
Children and flowers take time to bloom. So does a change of heart in the air.
Take care, try something new, and have your better day.
+he Ghos+
My Good Dapper Sidekick
2025.01.09
2025.01.09
Good morning, that wonderful way.
How goes it?
Cat got your tongue?
Sleeping like a dog?
Early birding the worm?
Whichever glad to see you.
You animal, you.
...
Windy and cold the past few days. Enough so that I mention it. Shakes the last of the stubborn oak leaves off their branches.
I'm thinking on you and wondering what you pray, if you pray, who you pray to.
Wondering what you think of the sky.
Do you think of the sky?
Do you think the sky thinks of you?
If you think of him, I'm sure he does.
The ocean considers him a good friend, so they share the same fashion sense all dressed up in blues.
Night is all deep violet and black formal wear for a celebration of the day.
Any big plans today?
Sleeping in? Same ol' thing?
Prose and Abe's empty food bowl for me.
...
Keys, please.
...
Good morning, that wonderful way.
Again!
Over to the keys. It didn't feel finished so another entry for the same entry.
How you holding up? All systems go? Coffee, tea start to flow? Just so you know...away we go!
Deep thoughts or descriptive picture words what's next?
A little of both, for sure.
I'll mention the wind again because it wants the attention. Old leaves and branches fall off and snap off. A clean up for the sky.
I stopped earlier because a thought that needed thinking without words on a page showed up.
They're rare. Usually words on a screen, on a page, are best for what words can do.
I'll tell you about it sometime in a story.
For now the same old thoughts that come to a poet on any given morning.
I hope the new year is treating you well. Hope you found some new perspective on your life. For no reason at all, or for a very good reason, I hope the view out your window shows a new scene full of new opportunities.
Same old quiet as I can get it room business for me.
...
Abe chose his lamb squeak toy today. He has so many different animals. I sometimes think he's psychic. Wonder what a goose day versus a monkey or pig or elephant means.
This lamb still has the squeaker attached by a small easily chew off-able string.
Why does he keep it there? All the other toys are gutted clean.
There are plenty of metaphorical meanings I could attach to the attached string. Tea leaf reading for a dog squeaky toy.
What keeps the lamb holding on to what makes it valuable to Abe?
Hope?
Then, it's a day for Hope, so says my bowtie wearing psychic dog on today's installment of this Manga cartoon called: "Dapper Abe and +he Ghos+."
That Hope is the name of one of the main characters in a story I work on is not a reference lost on me.
Thank you my good Dapper sidekick.
Prose later of the Hope-full kind.
Take care, live your Manga dream, read your tea leaves and squeaky toys and have your better day.
+he Ghos+
A Secret Song
2025.01.08
2025.01.08
Good morning, that wonderful way.
"Time."
What a thing to say to someone just waking up....
That's a good alarm clock that replaces its buzz with the word time. Over and over and still (!) over again.
Throw that one against the wall and back to sleep, but only after you check the screen to check the time, time, time (!).
How are you?
Everything in order yet?
Ducks in a row?
Well, then, away we go.
Sunrise, daydreams, thoughts of you. Another morning in the mind of Wynn.
"Uh-oh. He's finally started referring to himself in the third person. Guru incoming."
- Concerned Reader
"Oh, relax. Wynn would never be so trite. There are much more artistically inclined ways to share his dreams."
- Agreeable Wynn
On with the show...
...
A couple hours before sunrise. Loveseated dog fed, still words to be said.
Is this working for you?
This whole morning journal business?
Still reading?
Thank you.
I don't know what I expected when I started.
Just a: "I'll store my morning journal on this blog, too."
Pictures work wonderfully with poetry, we'll get some on the site soon. Like when poets picked up guitars and turned rock and roll into an anthology of American Poetry.
See? It's medicine for your dreams.
Driving down the street to the beat of your favorite popular song. Don't sing the lyrics wrong!
What's said there helps define your dreams, gives you a new way to express yourself, a new way to expand the story called 'You'.
If you ever want to know what poetry is for press play on your favorite song with lyrics. Even if you just like the beat, you're reading metric verse.
The melody and arrangement of instruments and harmony are an extra tool to convey the message.
Words and rhythm are the only tools of a poet's craft.
Some might say it's more difficult to paint a picture with only words.
There's some truth to that, but it's only a different medium.
It's the audience that matters; it's how you take your music.
The potential for a closer internal relationship is there with only words.
The head voice we use to read is how we define our lives, how we make our days.
Poetry said is music out loud; poetry read is a secret song for your internal ears only.
There's not enough of it in our world.
When we share our dreams with words only, we find out we're not alone.
Touch can only do so much. But there is another kind of touch: Dream to dream.
Remember as you go through your day everyone you see is experiencing what you are now reading this. Making sense of their lives and what they sense with words.
Some, so many, so sadly, lately, keep that conversation, that self-story silently told, overly simple, rehashed echoes of other people's ideas of what is best for them.
What a shame.
Others can help you care for what you can feel; your heart beats similarly to theirs.
Your metaphorical heart sung to you by that great voice within you call yourself, can only be shaped by your own choice of how you shape your dream of life.
Your tools to do this are the words you speak when you speak silently to yourself.
Science can't measure you a right way to shape your dreams because science is a shaped dream shared.
Math is its language.
Options to the weather is all it can ever give us.
How we speak to ourselves, how we tell ourselves the story of ourselves, always determines what life actually means. How we dream our days is always the best hope we have for how well we can spend our days.
Take care of the weather called your body with science, save your actual self, the one who dreams, with music, brushstrokes and words, keep in mind everyone is doing the same, and have your better, share your better day.
+he Ghos+
Sensibly Better Teleportation Holes
2025.01.07
2025.01.07
Good morning, that wonderful way.
Sun's up, fun's up.
How are you?
Same ol' blue?
Well, cheer up buttercup there's a big star lighting up the day, showing you the way...
To shine.
...
"To sleep, perchance to dream."
More like: To dream perchance to get some sleep, these poet's words run so deep.
Abe's deliberating whether or not the squirrel on the fence is worth his charge and bark.
Nope. January's cold won that one for the squirrel.
Change is in the air.
My wake up for a midnight snack turned into an 'I best get a couple hours of sleep before sunrise.'
A couple hours later... O/ Hello, at it again.
So, what shall we talk about?
Peace? Love? Togetherness?
Or make the nightly News worthiness?
Or how they ought to be the same thing?
Nah, there's plenty of that in my silence not silence.
...
Breakfast is always good.
Unless the toast is burnt.
Then, it's a playground do-over for breaking the unspoken rules.
Not checking the toaster setting before pushing down the lever is definitely Out of Bounds.
Oatmeal, cereal, left-over spaghetti? Whatever gets you ready for today.
...
Fun words, the letters want to jump.
Bounce and flounce and woah... look out! Alice already fell down that hole.
Let's live a different, write a different, story today.
Chase a cellphone talking while walking badger to his den.
That guy's never late no matter how important the date.
Wonderland give way, Predictable-ville is center-stage.
Where Sensible would be their middle name, if a town having a middle name made any predictable sense.
Wonder where the woodchuck runs to under the shed when Abe chases him away?
A bunker in Better-senseville where dogs behave better than they do in Predictable-ville where they always chase the badger away.
Always is only sometimes, Mr. Woodchuck knows, in Better-senseville.
Take care, personify an animal or two, don't jump into predictable teleportation holes, (unless they're sensibly better ones) and have your better day.
+he Ghos+
A Petal This Morning
2025.01.06
2025.01.06
Good morning, that wonderful way.
Another one... A day!
Hip-hip-hooray or blankets up and overhead 'leave me alone I'm sleeping,' morning.
Time to fly, big guy.
About time, too. You've been on the ground too long. Gotta stretch those wings once in a while, gotta dream in the sky once in a while.
A good day for something new.
Like that dream you've been having, the one that won't let you go, time for that next step towards it.
Sun's still a few hours from showing here. Spring wakes him a little earlier every morning, though.
Wintertime is vacation time for the star; he sleeps in.
Slow insistent words this morning, maybe pushing for keys. For now, press on pen, press on.
It's good to see you when seeing is finally a feasible friendly thing to do.
Quite humbly frankly, a world that spends so much effort to keep a guy like me in the dark isn't a world worth much.
Words on dreams, peace, equality, even love poetry, should be embraced not erased.
I'd tell the world it breaks my heart if anyone could read the words.
You're so much better than your ignorance of these lines.
So, so much better.
I'll tell you again one day, and you'll agree, and I'll hear and read the agreement.
Until one day, on with the words.
A big change in the air.
Sometimes we wish for Spring to do her thing.
All systems green!
Sometimes Winter's chill is chill to chillout in front of fireplaces with warm faces of friends with hot chocolate stories and laughs and sappy Christmas movies for an excuse to eat peppermint chocolate chip cookies.
Today is a Spring in Winter preparation, a time to gestate seeds.
Daydreams turn to doing today.
I wrote a few days ago that it takes a long time writing before you can call walking away from a piece working and not procrastination.
Today's a day to return and check-in with an old, imagined friend and see what she's been up to.
You'll meet her one day. When my stories reach over the wall to all and back to me.
The wall is quite content with daydreams. A story is for you.
A wall makes a horrible you.
Abe prefers a bowl of food, a squeak toy, a pet behind the ear, to a story.
I wonder if other writers are like that. There's a story we know we're going to write. Some dream that won't give up.
It's not writer's block.
Which I don't believe in by the way. It just means you can't write what you think you should. If you can make a sentence, you can write. So, write something, nonsense if you must, but write something. Write plenty, just not that think you should thing.
Perhaps it's a flower metaphor persisting to bloom.
I think I see a petal this morning.
Time for pedal to the metal?
Only one way to find out.
Write.
Take care, enjoy the air somewhere new, and finally have your better day.