all is quiet on the eastern front

i recently picked up "mooring against the tide" and read the intro. it was a text book i had for a poetry class a couple of years ago. i didn't read it then, but i kept it in case i decided to read it someday. the intro went on to say that we should write poems about the everyday things that matter, the things we can see only if we stop and really look and listen. take a moment, it said, the abstract of what you are feeling, and turn it into something concrete, that others might be able to see. i guess i never really thought of it that way. it also mentioned taking notes all the time and forming a poem later. i've never taken notes for a poem, i've just written them. i've never not finished a poem and then came back to it later. that seems weird to me. oh well. writing is not something i want to do, so i'm not too worried about getting better at it. the book has caught my interest, however. the smell of graham crackers and bath bubbles makes me smile as i brush a blanket over tiny fingers and toes sitting back at the computer i man my post listening to cars go by smelling the smoke as the mothers sit silently on the porch today has just turned into tomorrow the traffic has slowed on holland except for the sirens doors slam i can hear the wind for a moment peace i notice a novel next to the computer "all quiet on the western front" for now all is quiet on the eastern front as well