Monthly Archives: April 2011

>Closing Schools, Cutting Education—-

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I rarely make political posts on the Questioning Way Blog, and I rarely have guest writers. Today I’m doing both.  My young friend, Ambrosia, is a 20 year old college student who is livid about the fact that many in this country have lately become intent on targeting education for budget cuts.  Ambrosia and I are both astounded that Federal and local governments in the U.S. appear prepared to further impair an educational system that is already a flaming piece of shit. (as we all are quite aware)  Starve the young a decent chance at education to save a few bucks?  What kind of reasoning is that? Anyone who wouldn’t be wiling to pay a few more taxes in order to give the young a decent education ought to wake up and fly right.  We all should be ashamed.  I’m sure you all will find Ambrosia’s essay to be written from the heart.  –DD

I just found out today, that my favorite elementary school is being closed down, due to budget cuts. This made me furious, and sad. We keep cutting the education budget, like there’s still a chance that ruining it will save us. The education budget can’t be cut any longer, what we need to do is cut the budget for other things. One thing that would help everyone, is cutting the funding on military purposes. Cut down the spending on the pentagon. If we just protested harder we could get the government under our control. We the citizens are supposed to be the government, not just a select few. To my dismay it’s been quite obliviously been pointed out to me, that people don’t want or care to do anything against this injustice. They think any sort of fight is useless, because the government is going to do anything they please. No, it’s because we the citizens don’t fight enough, that our government is taking control. We are letting this big bad government intimidate us, thus they continue to bully. Some people don’t want to fight, because they think the government’s half assed protection is worth losing liberty. “A society that will give up a little liberty for a little security, deserves neither and will lose both,” Benjamin Franklin. This is what is happening, and this is what’s true. No one fighting for our rights, is putting us in a headlock. We are making ourselves suffer, and making future generations suffer. We need to not be so afraid of having our voices heard.  Go protest. Protest the cutting of the educational budget, and start demanding a cutting in the pentagon expenses. Make a change, we need a revolution, and we need it now. —Ambrosia Cunningham

>No matter how bad you have it—-

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 Yesterday, I was talking to my friend Tee.  I said, “Today’s a bitch.  One car blew a tire and the other one overheated.”  She said, “Hey, just be glad you’ve got two cars.  Some people don’t have any.”  Wise woman, Tee. 

No matter how bad you think you’ve got it, there is always someone else who thinks you’re lucky to have it as good as you do.

>Don’t Call Me Collect—

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The next two poems go together and are written about a subject we all think about from time to time. “Don’t Call me Collect” was actually written in the late 90’s, “Route 27,” about ten years later. There are a couple things about the subject of religion and God that you can be sure of. First, the more certain you are that you have answers, the more likely it is that you don’t, and second, even if you are an atheist or agnostic, if there is a God, you’d definitely like to meet him/her even if were just to bitch at them for awhile 🙂  After you write something like “Route 27” people ask you if you believe in God.  Well, to be honest, I’ve never really figured the God thing out completely, but I’m pretty sure that if there is a God, finding them has more to do with the questions we each ask than the answers any one of us has ever found. 

Don’t call me collect –God

Perhaps on some golden throne
alive in the sky, you watch over each of us
–rain warm love, bathing one by one
man and sparrow with most tender care

Or, like a child at play
did you make the clock your grand experiment?
then, called to dinner, you plan to be back at eight
wondering if we’ll still be tocking

Are you a big ashen bearded daddy?
with all the answers up there
will you spank us forever if we don’t believe?

Maybe you’re a cosmic hippie
you say “Hey don’t you remember?
ten thousand years ago
we all stood at Salisbury in ecstasy”
Then, with hand to forehead you say
“Or maybe it was nineteen seventy-one
you know, all that acid still gets to me”

Are you a wrinkled old man?
stuttering, the very edge of senility
you wait at the gate, white picket complacency
We come home for a hug and obligatory visit
the younger playing Grandfather for a free dime

Perhaps you are a crone, ancient and wise
living in rock, road, brook, and tree
You made a hard, wondrous, magical land
where stumbling, we acolytes slowly learn of beauty
With fire on your finger tips
maybe you throw lightning bolts
make floods, cause the sky to darken
Perhaps you’ll let five thousand faithful in
“All the rest be damned!” you say as the earth quakes

Perhaps one time, some time, ever time
we’ll be sitting in the park, you and I
Muhammad, Gautama and Einstein play dice across the way
cool green grass, white daisies, blue sky, shade trees
I say, “You know, I wondered always if you were a figment”
You say, “Don’t we all, my friend, begin and end in fantasy?”

Dewey Dirks Copyright 2010

>Route 27….

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Route 27
Late one night
I was out for a ride on the bike
on a long desert road called State Route 27.
The moon was full and bright.
Stars peppered the warm August sky.
The road was empty
and the night was asking
for a high speed run.
I decided to open it on up.
Let her go right to the edge.
Let her really breath.
I brought her up to around one thirty-five
and settled in for a ride long, fast and low.
The headlight shouted out brightly in front of me
and the engine wound out in a high pitched yell
as the white lines blinked quickly on by
silent and oh so fast.
My senses were as alert
as they could possibly get
and in spite of the darkness
every detail of the passing road
jumped out at my eyes.
I swear I could see
the gravel embedded in the rushing asphalt
and the barbs on the wire fence
at the side of the road.
Like so many times before,
I fell once again, in love with life,
the rapid beat of my heart.
and the quickness of my rolling breath.
Just then in my shimmering mirror
on the horizon behind me
I saw the headlight of another bike
coming up hard, coming up quick.
Ten seconds later
a slender figure on a dark blue chopper
blew by me like I was standing still.
I rolled the throttle wide open.
Pretty soon I was doing about one forty-three
but I couldn’t catch her
and I watched her taillight
quickly become a distant dot on the road.
Right before it disappeared,
it looked like she pulled over,
I backed on down.
Before long I was coming up beside her.
I came to a stop
and shut off my bike.
–Figured I’d rest for awhile
and chat with the lady.
Leaning on on the seat of her ride
having a smoke
was a beautiful woman, maybe forty
with deep blue eyes and long dark hair.
She and her bike had kind of a glow about them.
Very subtle but bright at the same time.
Friendly but kind of mysterious.
Very quiet, kind of peaceful,
unquestionably kind.
I nodded hello, not knowing exactly what to say.
She nodded back and said
in a voice like a love song by Dido,
“Evening. Nice night for a drive.”
I looked back at her
and knew I had to wonder out loud.
I smiled as best I could and asked,
“Just who are you?”

She shrugged and said,
“Oh, they call me by lots of names.
You probably know me as ‘I am,’ or ‘Alpha and Omega,’
or some of that other useless stuff humans like to say.
You all really need to learn
any word you want can mean everything
or nothing at all
as you so choose.
Why don’t you call me ‘Sparky,’
or ‘Wiggles,’ or ‘Effy?’
That would suite me just fine.”
“You’re God? Or maybe an Alien?” I asked.
She chuckled and said,
“I’ll leave all that up to you.”
I looked at her confused.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Like you, I’m just out for a late night ride,” she smiled.
I still didn’t know exactly who she was
but I did know she was someone very, very special.
“I’ve got so many questions…” I stammered,
“I don’t know where to begin.”
“One of the really nice things about people” she said,
“Is that they are very curious creatures.
Always full of questions.”
“So what’s the right point of view?
We have so many…” I asked.
“You know all those religions and philosophies
That people bicker over
and fight about all the time?” she said,
“Well they all have a few good ideas,
every one of them.
They all carry around a bunch of bullshit too.
And science is pretty much the same way.
People really need to learn to think
in a many-sided fashion
Instead of just bi-valently.
You can put that in your pipe and smoke it,” she smiled.

I thought about that for a minute
Then I asked,
“So what does the future hold?
People seem so messed up a lot of the time.”
She took a drag on her cigarette and said,
“You know, some guy once said
that the meek would inherit the earth.
Well, I’ve got some news for you
—they inherited it some time back.
But humanity is kind of a fixer-upper species
and change can happen only so fast
without making a big mess of everything.
Imagine the best of the 20’s and 60’s.
Imagine the golden ages of music
and the intellectual leaps forward
during the Renaissance.
These are previews of things to come.
But humans have a ways to go.
You’ve got to get it through
your thick, Cro-Magnon heads
that every time you disagree
it’s not good to start killing each other.
And you’ve got to learn to make governments
that don’t attract power mongers quite so fast.
It’s also important to learn to make companies
that have a conscience
and a genuine sense of human decency.
And you humans really need to learn
to share a lot better.

“I said, “Geeze, we sound like bratty children.”
She chuckled, “Well, Homo sapiens
Is a pretty young species.
If all humanity were a single person
you’d be around twelve years old, by my reckoning.
So you see, you’re just starting to grow up a bit.
Far in the future, when you’re much older
you humans will have great adventures
and do great things, if you ask me.

She took a drag on her smoke, then continued,
“I have to tell you,
there will always be some inequalities
because that’s the only way to build a world
in which you can strive.
But one day people will seek to better their spirit
with the same enthusiasm
that today they use to build better guns
and make more money.
There will also always be people better and worse
because that’s the only way to make a world
where those who need to can learn to improve.
But one day the worst of men
will be as kind than the most generous human
of your time.
One day men will fight their personal ignorance
and fear of their own inner beauty
with the same determination
they use to fight each other today.
All this might sound kind of strange
considering the way humans are right now
but you can make this future
a reality one day for all mankind
by making it a reality for yourself today.
For humans, improvement happens
From the bottom up and from the inside out
One person at a time.

Now, don’t think of being a good man
like it means you gotta be
all pansy and syrupy sweet.
One day humans will be kind of like
the good-bad guys of the universe.
They’ll have kind dispositions
and big hearts
but with a lot of edge
like a good rock and roll song.
But humans need to realize
that the most powerful things in life
don’t always end up fighting each other.
You all have the bad habit
of often thinking the greatest tests in life
involve war and fighting and killing each other
when the biggest challenge a human can face
is learning how to love better.
Effy took one last drag off her cigarette.
She glanced at it and said,
“Did I bother to mention
you really need to get off peoples asses
about smoking these things.
it’s really not worse than overeating.”
Then she smiled and said,
“Damn! Enough talking. Lets take a ride.”
She got on her bike and cranked it on up.
I could see the sky move a bit when it started.
I got on my bike
and hit the button to light the tubes.
Effy waited as the ground shook
with every thump of her engine.
Then we pulled out onto Route 27
and pretty soon we were doing around one twenty-five.
We rode beside each other till almost dawn.
Just as the sun broke the skyline,
I felt kindness and compassion wash over me
along with a dose of ‘Fuck a fine mess’ too.
Then Effy down shifted
and gave me a thumbs-up.
About ten seconds later all I could see of her
was a tiny red taillight fading into the horizon.
But I’ll tell you, as the night had rolled on
with us riding side by side
I knew what it was to feel joy. 
Dewey Dirks—copyright 2009

>What’s Right….

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Many days I end up talking to quite a few people for the promotion of The Questioning Way blog and book. Every once in awhile I have one of those really good but really short conversations with someone where not a lot needs to be said, because everyone is on the same page. Today’s post is for my new friend Jeanna with whom I recently had the pleasure of having one of those kind of conversations.  “What’s Right” is a poem featured in the book.  



What’s Right
He was bad news walking
The kind of guy you wish you didn’t know
He was in his late thirties,
And had gone too far too early on
He was a big dog in big business
Leaking money and dripping pride
Smelled of Bourbon every day by 5:00pm
He played hardball and bragged of shady deals
Told me all about steamy nights with his secretary
While his wife waited at home
With dinner getting cold, a barking dog
And two children needing to be tucked in

Then one evening I saw him down at the bar
He said, John, everything’s gone to shit, and I just don’t know
Life is hollow, and I’m all wrong
I think my wife is gonna leave me, take my kids
How did I ever let it get this way?
What I should do? I just don’t know

I said, hell Ed, yes you do
You did all along
They say all is fair in love and war
But I really don’t believe that anymore
You know, a long time ago, I was just like you
I liked lotsa fat in life, loved only fast lanes on fast bikes
Hung always with bombshell bimbos shallow as a cocaine spoon
Every day I played both ends to the middle
Shot jacked-up pool with the best of them
And thought I’d do whatever it took
To make sure I’d always win
Then late one night out on a jet-black 750
Long, hard and deep on a right-hand curve
Ridin’ way too fast, the bike went down
And four days later, I woke up damn near dead
But listen, weeks later, when I walked out of that hospital
The sky couldn’t have been bluer
And the May air had never been as sweet and fresh
Standing there with metal in my hip
I held my head high
And looked at the day with bright new eyes
Live each day
As if it’s going to be your last
Leave a good word with every stranger you meet
Make sure your ideals are well thought out
And worn on your sleeve
Every day, show the ones you care about
How much you appreciate them
And when the chance arises
To do things great or small
Have some faith and don’t hesitate to leap
Because you might not be around too long

Just as every man can love
So each of us has a sense
That tells him what he ought to be doing
Knows what is right and what is wrong
Shows him what is kind, caring and strong
Sometimes it takes losing everything
To take a good hard look
And find out that all you really need to know
To steer a better course in life
Is already written in an open book inside of you

Live life full and hearty
If you find love, don’t walk away
But make sure you run your desires
Don’t let them run you
Always remember
Each morning begins a day not yet penned
Throw the game a time or two
In someones favor, who has less than you do
Guide your life with a compass that hopes
When your story is all written
And you’ve set your sail one last time
The blue and white rippling wake
You quietly leave behind
Will be gentle, uncommon and kind

Dewey Dirks—copyright 2009

>Lullabies and Legends…..

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This is a possible cover for my upcoming book “Lullabies and Legends.”  I’ll be posting several different covers for this project as we try to decide on exactly which cover to use.  Lullabies and Legends is a book that will include some of the content that has been posted on this blog, such as the poems “Journey,” “Touch a Heart,” and “The Great Blue Dragon”.

>Melody—-

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These next two posts are about the same woman.  The first shows her when she’s around  twenty-four years old and a very wild young woman.  The second is about her twenty years later when she is in her forties

Melody

Rock & roll lady, rock & roll classy
rock & roll ride
She’s a little too pretty
a little too sassy
a little too easy with her time
Got a blond haired boy in her pocket
two boys in her purse
and another on the telephone line
She’s always been part of the music
her soul, pieces of a dozen songs
looking down the years
swaying to the rhythm of the lines
she’s said ‘I love you’ to thirty steely eyes
embraced passion and saw it in the melody every time

She tells little white lies
just to keep the world alive
and she hides like a child sometimes
but the song forever rolls
with a beat strong, insistent & true
where guitar’s rebel like a sharp edged tool
while bass notes weave smoky blue doubts
and the music makes strong men fools

Each night I move over her body
and do what I want with my time
I can touch the music, caress a lullaby
but lyrics are fleeting shadows
the song, a secret question
hidden in the sparkle of turquoise eyes

Dewey Dirks copyright 1992
For Elaine

>Forty-Four—-

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Forty-Four
Summers come, summers go
Good days forever following strife.
And all the years have shown
winters will always pass on.
She savors the spring
when life is a blue sky and laughter is for free.
With her feet in the pool she sits.
Draws lazy eights in the water.
Smokes slow and sips iced tea.
–Wonders if fishes ever tire of seafood
swimming around in the deep blue sea.
Other days when times are the worst.
When problems storm at the gates.
When it hurts her even to breathe.
Then her heart flows with the bravest of bravery
And like an Apache she attacks whatever is wrong.
She knows just when to hunker.
Knows just when to smile, knows just when to fight.
Savvy, sharp, bold, happy and strong.
He flame burns bright forty-four years on.
She’s found a love deep and true.
Found a love tender and long.
Back to back, face to face,
where once there was one,
now two travel on.
She keeps him close.
She kisses him often.
She keeps him free.
And he knows she’s a lady.
Knows when she is right.
Knows when she is wrong.
He knows the mistress in her, knows the little girl.
And she’s the finest thing he’s ever seen forty-four years on.
Children growing, children grown.
Children happy as the days roll along.
First words, first sights, first crunches
first years, first cars, first flights.
First dreams to dream on.
She teaches them to stoke the flames.
She teaches them kindness, gives them advice.
She shows them how to be strong.
She gives them candy, teaches them jokes.
Her face forever mother forty-four years on.
It’s the twenty-first century
and much of the world
has forgotten the song.
But she remembers how to be a hippie
and her soul keeps up the beat.
She’s still a rock and roll lady.
True to herself forty-four years on.
Dewey Dirks—copyright 2005
For Elaine

>Dragon Series—Spirit of a Kitten

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The next three poems are part of a series of work about dragons.  All three poems dovetail into one another.
Spirit of a Kitten—-

She’s just a tiny little thing
small baby size meow
bitsy white and tan paws
fat baby belly, milk teeth, baby claws

In your lap she lies curled
like a tiny calico coin
She sleeps, cuddling the ginger glow
As you sit beside a winter night fire

But far across a vast Asian steppe
her spirit flies on fleet white wings
There, she dines with the great blue dragon
and stalks the golden eagle’s lair
And far across a gray forest night
Lesser gods– gods of mice and men
shiver at the breeze of her passing
and the spirits of small creatures
of rabbits and ground squirrels
call her mighty and scurry to hide
hugging their trembling lives
deep in the hickory glen
High, high above rocky mountain spires
her emerald eyes mirror the silver moon
and pierce all dark shadows
where she rules life and death
between the setting sun and the next azure dawn
of tomorrow’s cloudless winter day
Dewey Dirks copyright 2009

>Dragon Series—Great Blue Dragon

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The Great Blue Dragon—-
Some of us see dragons
in our minds eye every day.
Some of us never see dragons at all.
It’s said crazy men and small children
often see them flying in the sky
If you ask one of them, they’ll tell you
dragons seldom fall.
I’ve heard it rumored
cats and dogs and small creatures
see dragons often
and talk to them all the time.
I’ve heard it rumored the men we call wizards
knew them well
and considered most dragons
wiser than most men.
The great wizard Fizzreeb who long ago lived
in the Egyptian town of Aditahur once wrote,
“Dragons come and dragons go.
There are dragons good and bad
and dragons in between.
Dragons just and unjust
and dragons just biding times long flow.
They come in all colors.
Dragons European, and Chinese and Indian.
Dragons in the sea, on the land, and in the sky.
Dragons from the north and east
or from the south and west
and dragons from nowhere at all.
There’s dragons young and old
dragons dumber and smarter
but the great blue dragon
is the oldest and wisest of all.

He lives in a cottage
just west of the end of time.
No one knows his real name.
No one knows from where he came long ago.
No one knows how he gets home.
He is very big and very blue.
Some say he looks cruel and mean
but there is laughter in his eyes
and happiness in his words.
His touch is gentle
and unless he’s roaring
his voice is soft, quiet and kind.
He can shape shift
and what he looks like
reflects what is in the hearts
of those who meet him.
He appears savage to those who are mistaken
and very good to to those who are good.

He has many scars from great battles long, long ago
but these days
only an idiot or fool would try to fight him
or be stupid enough to bother him
when he doesn’t want to be bothered by wasting time.
He’ll talk to anyone for a little while
but these days he talks mostly
to people who are innocent,
or friendless, forsaken and lonely
and only those who have ears to listen
can hear what he has to say.
If ever your days seem very, very dark
when you feel in dire, desperate need of a friend.
if a stranger walks into your life for a while
with words that are very helpful
and with eyes that are very, very kind.
If he can see into your heart,
if he gives you the gift of great thoughts
and asks for nothing in return
then likely as not you’ve met
the great blue dragon
who wanders quietly and unnoticed
the world of mortal men.
Now every coin has more than one side
and the great blue dragon has a downside too.
You see, if he stays too long with those he helps
they always fall in love with him
so they always try to win his heart
and keep him with them for all time
because they do not know
the old blue dragon promised his love to his lady
at the dawn of time, many eons ago.
Her kiss is the only touch he’ll keep
and into her arms each night he wanders
his only wish at the end of the day
is to be homeward bound.
So the pain of a broken heart
is hidden in the gift of the dragons friendship many times.
He knows what will happen.
He has seen it over and over again.
It is a great sadness the old one must always wear.
He knows he can never linger long with those he meets.
And he knows he must stay
with those for whom he feels the most
only for the shortest while.
Behind him are one hundred thousand years
of dear and intimate confidants
he had to leave behind.
Ahead of him are one hundred thousand years
of watching true love
like a clear blue river seeking the sea
begin to flow in each close friend he meets
and having to leave just in time.

Still, there are many things to keep him happy.
Wrapped around him he keeps
like a warm blanket on a cold, cold night
the memories and deep wisdom
of a million intimate and honest conversations
with a million dear souls
whom he loved and who loved him back.
A million times where all alone
in some dingy pub or dumpy coffee shop
late on a slow Wednesday night
two hearts cast off the pretense, posturing and haughty banter
of ordinary conversation
and revealed who they really were to each other
like a pair of brilliant white suns shining
over a cup of black coffee sitting on a dowdy, faded counter.

Dewey Dirks Copyright 2009

>Dragon Series—Karrianndi Golden Dragon

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Karrianndi Golden Dragon—-
Once there was a great golden dragon
whose name has been lost to time.
He lived in a cave on top of a mountain
near the village of Karrianndi,
far east of the Black Sea.

In the village there lived
a brilliant and beautiful young maiden named Oroxxa.
The great dragon fell deeply in love with her
when she was only sixteen.
He swore his heart to her
and because he was a very kind and just dragon,
she returned his love and pledged her heart to him.

For many years the dragon watched over Oroxxa
and the village in which she lived.
Oroxxa and her grand dragon could often be seen
on the steppes near Karrianndi
enjoying the passing days with one another.
The villagers didn’t mind Oroxxa’s strange love affair
because the dragon protected them
and brought them food and trees for firewood
from time to time.

The two were constant companions
and the great dragon
soon showed her many wonders of the world.
By the time she was twenty-one,
young Oroxxa knew of the Rhine river,
the Alps and the great rift valley.
She had seen China,
and had met a Pharaoh of Egypt.

The villagers of Karrianndi were very proud of her
and they liked to say that one day
she would become the wisest woman in all Asia.
Then, when Oroxxa was twenty-four she fell deathly ill.

The great dragon flew as far as distant Crete in the west
and China in the east seeking a cure for Oroxxa to no avail.
On a dark, moonless night in September four sixty-two B.C.
Oroxxa died.
The great dragon fell into a deep depression.
In mourning the loss of his true love,
he returned to his cave
not to be seen or heard from again for ten long years.

In four fifty-two B.C. he returned to Karrianndi
and told the villagers he would seek out
the finest human he could find,
and teach them some of the ways
dragons gained knowledge from the world
in the hope that humans could become wiser
in the subtleties of their own kind

The dragon searched far and wide for two years
until he befriended an eleven year old boy
near Kos, Greece named Hippokrátēs.
It is said the dragon taught him until he was in his twenties.
By the time Hippokrátēs died in three seventy B.C.
his fellow Greeks knew him as the father of all medicine.
Although many of his views have been lost to us,
twenty-four centuries later
the man we now call Hippocrates
is still well known among men.

Dewey Dirks copyright 2010

>Success….

>Success in what we do is what we all strive for but just like everything else, success has an upside and a downside.  The upside of success is–guess what?–it’s successful.  Unfortunately the downside of success is that it can breed a lot of contempt for others.  How successful are you?  How often do you let your success lead you into the delusion that you are somehow better than the less fortunate souls on this little blue speck of ours?

Writing

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Writing—-




I think one of the fundamental features of the human spirit is the need to build, to create things. For many this need is satisfied by the day to day struggle to make a happy home; raise a family, buy a house, pursue a career, build a business. For others, this drive finds fulfillment in more conceptual works of the mind and hand. Such people become musicians, painters, hand-craftsmen, designers. I find my satisfaction in writing.

I think sometimes writing is an exercise in megalomania. I get to create entire worlds, build up and tear down glorious civilizations, bring into existence brave people and all sorts of strange creatures. I can invent wonderful contraptions of both high and low technology and dictate the courses of countless lives. All this by pecking at a keyboard for only three or four hours a night over several months time. Writing can be thought of as the low cost economy way of being God.

Another thing that compels me to write is a great need I have to be understood. Poetry gives me an avenue to express my feelings about myself, my views of other people, and my outlook on life in general. The particulars of my stories reflect my opinions on what the world should or should not be like. This is contrasted by an equally insistent compulsion I have to be mysterious. I can pepper my stories with bits of myself scattered among the strangest universes and most oblique characters my creativity can conjure up. I really don’t know if my writing is very good at being an interesting study in psychology but the heights to which I aspire are the sheer weirdness of Douglas Adams and the mangled sensibilities of Edgar Allen Poe. Imagine the deep, dark, unfathomable abyss the stories of these two present to any attempt at analysis.

I believe the things I write need to be read by someone else before they are complete. It’s this wonderful, intimate exchange of intellect and emotion between the writer and the reader that completes the circle of creativity. The world around me inspires me to conceive new ideas. I forge my ideas into a stories and poems and release them back into the world that engendered them. The reader absorbs pictures from my imagination. In turn, his reaction to my writing contributes to the pool of thought from which we all gather raw material. Essential to this process of recursion is that I express myself well. This can be rather frightening. I have to set my innermost feelings and the farthest reaches of my imagination to paper and then share them freely with someone else. A friend of mine who is an exotic dancer once told me that it is far easier for her to showcase her body on a dance stage than it is to let someone read her poetry. Writing is self exposure. Good writing is stripped-to-your-bare-skin-look-at-THIS self exposure. Perhaps if I’m persistent at my work, one day I’ll flash you provocatively enough for you to invite me to stay awhile.


See you left of center,
Dewey Dirks