Libraries Have Everything

I've always spent a lot of time at libraries. When I was young my grandmother would take me to one or two of the libraries in the Lucas County system. I loved the Holland and Sylvania branches. She waited for me to browse the rows and stacks and spinner racks full of books. I read the whole Oz series in just a few weeks. I borrowed the same couple of books about dragons and knights over and over again. I read The Mists of Avalon far too young, and Salem's Lot, too. Over the years I borrowed thousands of books. The sad truth is I probably only read hundreds of them.

Station Identification

My name is Michael Kocinski. I'm an amateur poet; a citizen scientist; a casual gardener; an advanced doodler; a cook, a father, a husband; a sometime tutor; an aspiring naturalist; and an utter failure at life. I dream of writing a novel. I have enough poems to collect as a manuscript. I want to learn to play the banjo and speak Sign Language. I want my kids to have a better early life than I had but I don't know if they do; I won't know until one of them is 41 and writing a blog about his or her shit parents.

More Like NOvember, am I Right?

Today I did something I haven't done in many years. I left my house, walked to the woods, and walked right into overgrowth. I didn't use the path managed by my wife's uncle and his bright orange Kubota. I didn't take my phone, a pen and paper, a child, or a walking stick. I plunged into thorns and fallen leaves ankle deep and I wandered. I tried not to look for anything, since it's NOvember after all, and what I really want to see, animals like snakes (I especially and foolishly look forward to finding a copperhead in these woods), turtles, salamanders, and frogs, have all gone to ground for a little while. Well, wait. I don't really know for sure. You see, I'm in North Carolina now and I don't know the laws of hibernation here. It's been cool, and rainy, and NOvember for about eight days now. And if the wild animals around here are anything like me, they hate NOvember too, and will sleep through it if possible. I know I would. 

The Four Chambered Heart, a eulogy for my mother.

My mother died on January 19, 2017, nine days before her 64th birthday. My dad asked me to write something to say at her funeral because I'm the poet in the family. To be honest, I was reluctant to say anything, knowing full well I wouldn't be able to put my whole heart and intention into the words I needed to describe this woman I loved so much. But I did because my dad asked me to, and he's done almost everything I've ever asked him to do for me. How could I refuse?