in which i explain myself

I've always wondered about those recording artists whose sophomore albums are named after themselves, and not their debuts as is the norm. Could they not find a title they liked? Did they run out of ideas? Maybe they had more artistic license the second time around and felt the album was more theirs.

Whatever the case may be, I seem to have done the same thing. My first post flew from my fingertips and shouldered its way in before I could explain what this blog's purpose is supposed to be. (It's a family trait, though. I have three brothers, of whom the oldest is the only one not named after someone in our family. The youngest has our mom's maiden name as his middle name, and the second is a junior. Although, technically, he's not. Yes, that's right, my parents forgot to put "Jr." on his birth certificate. Of course they didn't. That would make things too easy.)

So, the purpose of this blog is poetry. (You might have already figured that out.) Specifically, poems I like and poems I write. It's supposed to make me write more. We'll see how that goes.

In honor of the unseasonably warm day we had today, here's a piece about one of my favorite places in the world.

Franklin, Tennessee
by Catherine M Braun

Cicadas and porch swing creaks
serenade fireflies
as wet earth and mossy pond
perfume the air.
A slight breeze stirs,
reprieve from the still night.

This is the quiet time,
when the world winds down,
emptying the mind.
When there is nothing to do
but breathe the loamy air
you wade through
during the heat of the day.

If you stay long enough,
blood thickens,
weighing veins down
‘til they sink to the bone,
and the brick wall of humidity
you used to hit lung-first
disappears.

You think if God dropped you
into the thin air of the Rockies
you might just float away
and not touch down
‘til you reach the river Harpeth.