Tuesday, May 22, 2018


no matter.

was that?



In the ground:
smudged in the underbrush.
Small this time of day.

Texture-hollow inside
distinct groves in the cap-done.

Pick one
and a second.

More scouring
back to the path.

So much for being too early.

Monday, March 21, 2016

Whatever May Come

Somedays the words            jump

       One Place

                    They need to be

            more often.

                                 Let the energy-
                                 The words
                                                           form            half-realized revelations.

Other times the words sludge.
    They creep around corners
stay back in shadows.
They play a game of catch
                                 or tag
    without predetermined boundaries
or fair play rules.

I should have practiced more.

Today they come slow.
Scribbles as one becomes another.
      Both wrong.
Not what I wanted.
Not welcome.

Yesterday they didn't come at all.
I sat calling into the great white etherial space
without response
not even an
to remind me I was there.

I should have waited.

Somedays it's easy.
Somedays it's hard.

I try to be the constant.
I sit here.
Pen at the ready.
Date at the top.

Ready for the strike.
The lumbering trod.
Ready for the edge of precaution to catch
the wind of inspiration.

Persistently Ready.

Sunday, February 28, 2016


It peeked out from behind her ear from time to time. More often in the summer when the the wet air would encourage even the most modest or cold blooded to throw cultural expectations to the wind.

Some asked. Others stared. Few really knew or understood.

It was the best of her - lost. She had felt the pain in her soul and needed an outward sign. A physical manifestation.

It was a feather. Light and breathable with the ability to carry multitudes. Unique and scientific. Art and structure. Everything.

There were days she forgot. It has been a long time after all, but a love like that never really leaves you.

It pierces your soul with the ink of unspoken words.

Sunday, February 7, 2016

My Collection.

You come to me at the end of your journey.
Your poor, your tired, your huddled masses.

       Folded over
                         Written on
                                  Stamped in
                                           Left to rot


Today, I seize your well-loved spine and
pull you out to rest on a
hand-stained shelf.

You'll fit right in,
next to the others in this collection
of multi-colored ideas.

I promise to turn your welcoming pages.
Learn your secrets.
Smooth your wrinkles.
Hear your story.

I appreciate those that came before me,
and the bit of their story they left behind.

You come to me well traveled.
Be assured.
I'll read your verses-
                                            In time.

Monday, January 18, 2016

Because Love Withstands

[Unedited Writer's Notebook Entry 1/14/16]

Is there a calculation for the time in a person's life when most of the culture they consume (books, music, movies, etc.) is made by people younger than they are? For that is when you have truly aged.

Is there a consolation for the time in a person's life when they realize most of the culture they consume (books, music, movies, etc.) is made was made by dead people? For that is the moment there is true, introspective, grief.

Upon Alan Rickman's Death.

Tuesday, December 1, 2015

Looking for a Friend

[Edited Writer's Notebook Reflections from December 1, 2015]

I sat in a room, coming near a year to date, when David asked, "What are you most excited for in your classroom when you have your very own?"

I knew my answer immediately. I wanted the Feminists' classic and repeated call - a space, a room, a desk, of my own.

I felt I was ready to create my own space. A classroom I could call home.

I've taught in five classrooms hence and none (including the one I currently occupy) has felt as the one ought to.

I sit here now, putting pen to paper (for I did write this all down before I typed it-the importance of  drafting is not lost on me!) for the first real time in far too long to record my new ideal. The thing I never cherished while having it. I was a friend. A partner in crime. A Nick to meet me with an unabashed and unassuming smile. A Matt to bid me and a gaggle of students, "Good Day!" Someone to call me the ever-enduring "Larson" when we find ourselves far too excited about the changers we are about to make in our teaching, classroom, and selves.

The Smile.
                 The Quip.
                                 The finish to an over-enthusiastic train of thought.
                                                   The perfectly placed real-life emoji.
                                                              The next Best idea.

I desire, no, need someone to feed my passions (no matter how random, ridiculous, or ridiculously random), partner with me in projects, and simply not judge my thoughts as they come. (After they come is fine, just not in the moment.)

When I started this job I described it to those who asked (and those who didn't) as, "Someone I could grab a beer with after work." I have that now. Yet I am unsatisfied. Empty in some way. I vital piece is still missing for me.

I genuinely love my job and the ever changing nature of education, the English language, and my students. I still, however, long for someone - student or teacher - to grab hold of. To help me not simply float, but swim toward the betterment of the educational community I happen to be a part of at the moment. 

Friday, January 31, 2014

Scraps [14]

I'm trying to get back into the swing of things.
While that happens the blog has taken a back seat, and I'm sorry.
Scraps is really special this week; it comes with some pretty neat news!

Way back in 2012 Fred and I took a trip the the Door.
This was our second or third time there together.

We walked around both Peninsula and White Fish during my spring break.
I marveled at the rock formations and, as always, the water.
It's all so beautiful up there!

I really like how this two page spread turned out!
I was able to use a bunch of photos without compromising the feel of the design.
This layout also allowed me to keep things minimal, but still journal what I needed to.

Fred and I will be making another visit there this weekend.
This visit will be a bit different though.
Fred now works at White Fish Dunes State Park.
This will be my first visit since he's taken the job, and I'm really excited!

I hope you have a great weekend.
Enjoy your adventure.