Epitaph for a Writer

This week, among other things, I've decided what I want written on my epitaph.

"Perfect submission, all is at rest."

Blessed assurance has been one of my favorite hymns since I was a little girl, singing it loudly and proudly (not to mention off-key and uncaring). In a bunch of drafts and scribble scratch it has taken on particular new and special meaning to me. This line is often my reminder to keep digging in the trenches and putting my behind in the chair. For a writer, the search for perfection is continuous. We're always striving to capture feelings, brilliance, elegance, and delight through stringing together the perfect choice of words. Yet, what really is this illusive perfection? I think it's different for every one of us, but we always recognize it when it's a small moment meant only for us. How great art thou editor of editors!

Interment: An Internet Poem

I wrote this poem a while ago, as the first line oddly began while I was waiting in a funeral procession and looking at everything around me. Strange, how that sometimes happens...a line begins, in a most unusual sort of way and then it goes in its own direction. Granted, a somewhat odd take on things, but a different perspective...it did make me pause for a few moments at the unique similarities and at how various aspects of pop culture tend to "pop" into my mind at the most unusual times.



Interment

Traffic to the site,
closely monitored by
clicked on headlights.

In an instant,
policeman messaging forward,
eyes google out of windows.

All the while, struggling to reconfigure-
defragment this hard drive.
Error. Files not found.

Surfing. Searching. Yahoo!
Baby boomers of the plot com era!
Can you digg?

Friends, no BC or CC gathered here,
yet decorate myspace
and write on my wall.

Choose to stumble upon
the links, the interconnectedness,
of deleted cookies crumbling.

Switch packets to packets,
In God We Trust,
Rest in unassembled pieces.

Visitors are always welcome!
Please no tracking urls,
but feel free to roll over.