Behind Blue Eyes

Months ago I bought Gothika, a decent movie, especially if you like Halle Berry, which, I mean, yeah, come on!
Anyway, the song for it was Behind Blue Eyes, which I'd heard a million times growing up, by The Who, only the soundtrack was Limp Bizkit, who I also like a lot (shame on me, being an Eminem fan AND liking Limp Bizkit) Anyway, here are the lyrics, because I love this song in ways I can't even explain. Note that there is no L-I-M-P say it - discover lyrics in here, because Pete Townshend did it better with the real words that go in there. I like Fred Durst's voice better, but that L-I-M-P thing gets on my nerves and the original just reminds me of things more substantial than the movie.


Behind Blue Eyes
by The Who
Pete Townshend
(not Limp Bizkit, though I love that rendition equally)

No one knows what it's like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes

No one knows what it's like
To be hated
To be fated
To telling only lies

But my dreams
They aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be

I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That's never free

No one knows what it's like
To feel these feelings
Like I do
And I blame you

No one bites back as hard
On their anger
None of my pain and woe
Can show through

But my dreams
They aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be

I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That's never free

When my fist clenches, crack it open
Before I use it and lose my cool
When I smile, tell me some bad news
Before I laugh and act like a fool

If I swallow anything evil
Put your finger down my throat
If I shiver, please give me a blanket
Keep me warm, let me wear your coat

No one knows what it's like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes

Things

Sometimes "things" happen you know?

Sure, probably unavoidable, but equally irreversible, and you wish they hadn't happened but they did and you can't go back and undo them. Nor can you unfeel your reaction to those things.

Regret your reaction? Yes. Change the way it twisted up your innards... no.

Christine, or Zoe, or Sweet, or however you know her, if you know her, once said

"i don't belong places. "
I agreed with her at the time, no, I empathized.
Tonight there are places I don't belong. That hurts, and it all comes down like I make the choice to not belong, I don't. I really don't.

On a lighter note, my chapbook publisher called tonight, and she is as in-love with my cover art as I am. It's SO pretty, and I'm SO not telling what it is. I swear I'm not - I swear I swear I swear I'm not.

So there.

Hello!

I just want to say hello to Denver Colorado and Hampton Connecticut, and Edison New Jersey.
I don't know who yas are, but thanks for continuing to visit!!

I guess I've made it pretty obvious what a nut I am about my stats. I love looking through and seeing where people are from. I have readers from as far away as Australia and as close as Matthews NC (15 minutes up the road) and it absolutely tickles me to death to see when I have a regular reader, especially one I don't know.

No offense to my buddies, I'm super glad you guys come too, but it's intriguing to try to figure out what keeps strangers coming back.

So anyway - hello out there! And feel free to leave a comment, I don't bite, and it would absolutely make my day!

Volatile

My emotions are so completely out of control lately. Major suckage.

I have new Iris blooms today. They're a horrible color like old blood. I want to go cut them down. They say certain colors have predictable effects on the human mind, that they can trigger an emotional response on an instinctual level. These flowers make me angry. I can't explain it really - but however you describe it, it is not positive.

I subscribed to Writer's Digest and have received two issues now. It's a very cool magazine for a beginner like me. There haven't been a lot of references to poetry in what I've read so far, but a lot of tips on writing in general that can be applied to my poetry. It's also got other articles, like interviews with successful authors that give some insight into getting published, and classifieds in the back that list calls for submissions and some contests. If you don't subscribe to it, I highly recommend it.

One of the things included in one of these issues is an article siting what they consider to be the 101 best websites for writers. I listed them all on the Moontown Cafe Blog. Some of them seemed pretty useless to me, but the vast majority of the ones I visited seemed very helpful in a lot of respects.

I've also found a lot of amazing blogs with links, resources, contests, calls, interviews, advice and how-tos. I'm on the bandwagon bloggers! Blogging may very well be the thing that changes this millenium, and for so many varied groups of people! This blog gets somewhere around 80 hits a day most days. Now I'm not trying tosell anything, and I don't concentrate much on getting this blog 'sold' - but my stat counter shows that several of the search engines have spidered it, and it comes in up near the top of the search results in any engine I've done a keyword search using the words Erin Monahan. (And the weird thing is, someone else googled Erin Monahan - what's up with that!? I'd love to know WHO!)

Anyway, just having a blog has gotten my name out there to a certain degree. I just wonder if what I've written here is really what I want 'important' people to find if they ever come looking.

Avoidance

I finally got off my ass and left the house for the first time in like a week. I even considered make-up, which I haven't worn very often in about a year. Nothing major, or fancy, I've just been avoiding too much 'real life' lately. There's plenty to deal with here at the house to keep my busy, and buried.

I amaze myself lately, with how confident I feel in my writing, and completely terrified of most anything else. I don't look people in the eye anymore. I don't 'get' that - I don't know what it is I fear from them. It isn't fear really, more like a lack of the necessary energy it would take to look into a person. I've always had this thing about eye contact, it's important to me. I read people, usually pretty acurately too, within just a few seconds, based on their reaction to me meeting their gaze.

When they won't, they're typically followers, weak, generally dishonest - not in the way that means I don't trust what they tell me- in the way that they don't trust what they tell themselves. Usually I find out they have experienced something they're ashamed of, and usually not by choice.

I wonder how well I've just described myself?

They ("They") say I should go see a therapist or something. I wouldn't even if I COULD afford one. I don't need someone else to tell me I'm in denial of too many of the realities of my life. I know what it is I don't want to see when I won't look myself in the eye while I brush my hair and teeth.

The curse of being poetic

I am a writer.

There are many times - most times really - that this fact is as basic as saying "I am human."
It's simply who and what I am, it's how my brain works. I appreciate it as the gift it is, and the curse it can be.

You would think that someone who plays with words all the time, who studies the nuances of connotation and placement, the importance of context and innuendo, you would think I'd be a pretty decent communicator.

I am, most days, with most people.

And then there are days when I try to say something to someone and get a blank stare, as if they have no idea what in hell I'm talking about. Normally, these are the days I try to talk to people who do not write. Shifting gears to speak to the unpoetic, in unpoetic terms, is hard for me - especially when it's an emotionally charged subject. Emotion is one of the greatest ingredients of poetry, I react to it as a writer - my brain goes into poetrymode.

I don't know how to say, "I am afraid" or "I am angry" or "I am worried."
well that's too banal, bland, unimaginative - show, don't tell. Write what you know.

Sometimes others just don't get that that's what I'm saying at all.

Meteor Showers

May 4th - the Eta Aquarids Meteor shower peaks.
It's considered the best meteor shower of spring you can see it from April 21 to May 12.

"Fireballs are often seen from May 9 thru May 12 so observing on as many nights as possible is suggested."

Fireballs!?
I'm SO in the yard for this!

Ever have an oops moment?

Ever have an oops moment?

Yup, the ones where you pray to some higher power that the ground will open up and swallow you whole to save you the embarrassment, like when you bust your ass in the parking lot and get up blushing and looking around in hopes the place is deserted so no one saw you?

Yeah I hate those. I'm presently pulling my foot out of my mouth and hoping it goes unnoticed.

No - sorry - I'm not retelling the story! I'm embarrassed enough from the experience itself thanks.

Guest Poets

Had an interesting thing happening today. One of the boards I belong to had visits from John Sweet. Look him up if the name doesn't ring any bells. It was an honor - doesn't that sound corny?- anyway, it was very cool to read his poem. Partially made me realize he's just human. It was a good poem, but I wasn't blown away. The best part was disecting it, looking at all the bits and pieces and watching how he assembled them, and to what affect.

Another guest dropped in, though I can't swear until I talk to the board owner - but I believe it was Lyn Lifshin. Now THAT'S someone to learn from eh?

I am thrilled at the opportunity to learn from these two, even if only by dissecting their poems, and some light commentary they've made. No in-depth crits from either one of them -- yet.

But one can always hope.


PS:
Just found out it isn't Lyn Lifshin - the identity of said poster/guest poet is a sworn secret. Rumored to be Sheila Murphy - but does the name really matter, I know it's a successful poet, whoever she is, and the poetry she posted was amazing - so many nuances that made me slobber. . .

Summer Vacation

Summer Vacation

My first impression was of Jasmine,
sweet and gentle, tangled in my hair --
kite tails in park trees, lingering
after reality works free and floats
away.

Your kisses were lilacs pressed
between the pages of my eyelids,
impressions, outlines, beautiful
only in my periphery.

I hid there, in multi-colored snowfall
making angels below
the bowed head
of the crepe myrtle,
dappled by scented sunshine
and barefoot shade.

Poetry

Flashback to the Present

When I first discovered the internet, I wasted the first year or two with chat. Not something I regret -- just something I wish I had gotten over sooner. Eventually I had the unintentional joy of re-discovering poetry. Now we all know that poetry.com is a scam, but I owe them at least some small thanks for getting me interested, thrilled, truly motivated to write again. Yes it was because I typed in "poetry" into a search box, and poof poetry.com came up. I went, I posted, I got letters! I was gonna be published! Woo hooo!

I learned my lesson about poetry.com, but I realized in the interim how much I missed the saving graces of poetry. So I went looking for other places for poetry - surely that place couldn't be the only place online that accepted poetry...
I got lucky, I daresay "blessed" (those of you who know me know how rarely I will ever use that word) yes, blessed to find moontowncafe.com. It was a place where I was welcomed, encouraged, and taught.

Thank you God for MTC - without them I would still be sending horrid rhyming and overly sentimental poetry to poetry.com. I will honestly tell you all that MTC has made me the writer that I am. I hope that they take that as the compliment it is intended to be.

When I first found them, my first comments came from someone named Tara. She was amazing. Her poetry blew my mind, made me see what real poetry looked like. He replies were equally awe inspiring, so warm and helpful and professional - well thought out and worded so as to give me no choice but to understand. I honestly thought she was from some other-worldly place, a place where mere mortals could not possibly reside - where words strung themselves together in ethereal ribbons of sheer beauty.

She made me ache to write well, to be successful in writing. Not 'to be published' or 'to become famous' but to write in a way that other people would see and like and understand and be touched by.

Eventually Tara faded out of MTC, I never really knew where she drifted off to, or why. But she taught me more in the span of a year then I had learned in the first 25 or so years of my life, and she was able to do that because she instilled in me a desire to learn, and an inspiration to write.
I've often wondered what happened to her, what (successful) endeavor she was a part of, and yes I knew it would be something successful.

Tonight I found her. Or at least found where she went to. She has her own ezine, a very nice looking one. I seem to have some vague recollection of her saying she was a part of one all those years ago. I'm considering submitting, I don't know, we'll see. Part of me is happy leaving her as the memory she is - you know, like a child with fond memories of Christmases when Santa brought the presents, or lost teeth where the tooth fairy dropped off a quarter.

Poetry in Metamorphosis

There are certain movements in poetry these days, as, I suppose, there have always been movements. Once upon a time those movements were rebellions against things like, oh, I dunno, Iambic Pentameter in sonnets. Somewhere along the line there was a movement against rhyme - thank you jesus - and apparently now there seems to be a movement agains clarity. They call it "Experimental Poetry" it's a bit of an offshoot of metaphysicism I think. It's all very intellectual, and honestly, normally over my head. Seems to be over a lot of people's heads, and many people use that as an opportunity to write poetry that uses all the right words and means absolutely nothing - and call themselves good, because the masses can't decipher what the hell they're even talking about.

I have recently been speaking to a fellow named Ryan, who writes this type of poetry. I tended to dismiss it, avoid it - until I came across one that he wrote that almost made sense to me, somewhere in the recesses of my subconscious. It was this nagging tickle in the back of my brain, and I couldn't rinse it down or wretch it up.

Now see, don't misunderstand me - some people manage this style quite successfully, and even when you don't 'get' each word or line, they leave you with an impression you can't deny. This seemed to be one of those - but I was too in-the-box to get it. He emailed me and we talked a bit and he showed me another of these experimental/metaphysical pieces that someone else had written.

It was really quite amazing, the vague aha without the true comprehension - I was still trying to define the poem by looking at each of its parts/lines/words. He used her poem, his interpretation, and her reaction to his interpretation to tutor me, though he says that was not his intention. I, in the span of a few hours, learned a new respect for what these folks do, how they create - in a world where every nuance, every space vs. dash vs. accent matters in the overall meaning.

Now I don't want to write like these people. I like knowing that I write and people understand me. Accessibility is important in my creative process - but I' certainly like to learn to think like them. Unfortunately, I don't think it's something that can be taught, I think it is an in-born trait, as Ryan said, "hard-wired."

Neruda

Again, I have been reading, losing myself in others' words, because mine are so lacking. Cher cites Neruda as one of her favorites, one who influences her style. He wrote in Spanish, and has been translated. Im sure there is much lost in translation, the 2 languages don't necessarily run parallel. But tonight, I found some of his work, both in Spanish and in English. I wish I could read the Spanish, but I'll settle for someone's translation.

Love
Because of you, in gardens of blossoming flowers
I ache from the perfumes of spring.
I have forgotten your face,
I no longer remember your hands;
how did your lips feel on mine?
Because of you, I love the white statues
drowsing in the parks, the white statues that have neither voice nor sight.
I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice; I have forgotten
your eyes.
Like a flower to its perfume, I am bound to my vague memory of
you. I live with pain that is like a wound; if you touch me, you will
do me irreparable harm.
Your caresses enfold me, like climbing vines on melancholy walls.
I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every
window.
Because of you, the heady perfumes of summer pain me; because
of you, I again seek out the signs that precipitate desires: shooting
stars, falling objects.

I've seen this formatted different ways - but this seems most appropriate. It's beautiful don't you think?


Poetry

I forgot - a poetry contest

I forgot, I entered a poetry contest today. First prize is $500. It looked like a damn small operation, making my chances better I hope of winning. You have no idea how badly I need that cash at this point in my life.
I entered 2 poems, all I have that weren't already submitted somewhere else.

The Change

"fine" "Wonderful" "powerful"

and the head patting begins.
The above words were all used to describe one of my poems. One that took me about 15 minutes to write.

"Powerful" does not happen in 20 minutes. Maybe if someone such as Strand, Bukowski, Neruda - maybe they can write a "fine piece of poetry" in 20 minutes. I am an amateur and have done no such thing.

The Change

We left Mardi Gras and gumbo
took only our clothes and accents
with us -- our adventure
to rediscover love. Pacific dreams
and salty sunrises lured us.

When the Jeep limped into Austin
you knelt, laughing
one-kneed in the dusted lot
and asked me

to help you swap spare for flat.
Perhaps the problems we ran from
were stowed away, locked in the trunk,
escaping with the jack and 4way.

More likely they were carried
in the lilt of your voice
and the deception of your
mechanical proposal.

Poetry

Dazed and Confused

Poetry is a strange thing for me. So many writers say that they lose inspiration at times in their lives when they're happy - that they need some sort of negative emotion to draw from in order to be poetic. I find I'm the opposite, that during the worst times in my life, I was so overwhelmed with the ugliness of whatever the situation, that it was impossible to write a poem.

At this point, for reasons I couldn't even explain, I'm miserable. The sun is out the fllowers are blooming, it's warm and sunny and clear, and I don't give a damn. I only go outside when I have no choice, grocery shopping, doctor's appointments, whatever. The other day Trish stopped in and as much as I love her, I just didn't want to deal with her. I don't want to deal with anyone. I'm becoming a hermit, there's nothing out there I want to see or do. Fuck it.

And writing is a chore. Oh I'm writing, a poem a day for the National Poetry Month contest on Moontown Cafe, and about one a week for another challenge oriented thing I'm in right now. Vickie and I throw each other a challenge every once in a while too, and I write for them too. But I haven't just sat down and written for the sake of writing in weeks. There's just nothing there say.

I've been avoiding everyone. Everyone. I'd be more than happy to have no need to speak, I have nothing to say anyway. I've been burying myself in work type stuff - newsletters and mod duties and whatever. . .
it's easier than trying to figure out what this is, I don't want to know what this is, I just want to leave it alone, and basically to be left alone.

How utterly emo.

Moontowncafe's new blog!

I just made a blog for moontown, so I can archive the newsletters and contest winners. I'll also add all the contests with cash prizes and calls for submissions that I've been posting on the site. Just to keep up with them I guess. I figured a blog for moontown would come in handy if only for my own benefit, but I think it could come in handy for getting some more traffic to MTC as well. You can find it at moontowncafe.blogspot.com All you moonies do me a favor and add a link to your blog eh? Even if you mention it in a post, it shows up in a technorati search :)

It's pretty damned empty for now, but I'll get it going tomorrow. Tonight, I'm on strike. I don't feel well and I just don't feel like doing anything more.

So, that's my news for the night :)

Garden Part 2

My azaleas won't be blooming this year. Too much stress from the badly timed transplant I guess. The rose bush is looking pretty sad too. I doubt we'll see many of those this year either. I'll be glad to get it pruned down this fall, if it did bloom this year it would be horribly lopsided, but I didn't want to stress it too much this year with the transplant AND a massive chopping, let her get her roots in, then we'll trim her up.

My Irises were/are a fair show, most didn't bloom at all, but the ones that did are beautiful. And my calla lilies are still praying their way through the dirt - about 8 - 12 inches tall now. They're so pretty even as they emerge, little green tubes that push up. As they unfurl and grow they remind me of hands in prayer, or hands held so as to catch and hold the rain to siphon it to the roots. They're just fun to watch.

The Daffodils are long past prime, I should cut the old blooms away - oh and I finally identified the other plants, they're Bluebells. They're still very pretty. A dainty little puddle of purple in what has so far turned out to be a generally green garden.

I think if we can finish up the interior bit of area before fall, next year it will be a very nice little garden. This has been a mixed blessing for me. I have enjoyed the planting and watching the plants adjust, recover, grow, what have you. But I'm not a very patient person, and I'd like very much to get a season out of this garden that is more beauty and not so much disappointment. I really wish my lilac and hibiscus plants hadn't died.

Lilac just isn't indiginous to the south, very tricky to get them to grow and bloom in our climate, and the hibiscus was killed by fire ants. No fire ants where you are? Be glad, very very glad, they're horrible, and they bite, and damn near nothing will kill off the colony. The worst part is the way they multiply. One mound becomes 20-30 in a matter of one season. You have to watch every crumb and every footstep. They swarm and attack and hurt like a bitch.


PS: *waves* Hi to whoever is here from The Versifier!

Too

I am: too tired for days like today, too young to be this tired.

Last Train Out

Last Train Out

We waited in silence, impatient
passengers for the late train.
Goodbye stood, shifting
foot to foot, baggage in hand
between us.

He turned his brim down
over his eyes, curled it
the way the calla lily hides
in an August storm. Clouds
rumbled down the track.

We boarded, separate, overwhelmed
by the silence of this parting rush.
It raised my hair and kissed my nape.

That always was the most tender of spots.



Poetry

The Things We Do

The things we do for beauty! Poor Kassi is only ten years old. She got braces a few weeks ago, and we knew then that they'd have to extract 4 teeth in order for her other teeth to have the room to adjust. Now let's face it, this is 99% cosmetic. Her teeth were terribly twisted and crowded, and she's even more buck-toothed than I am, poor thing. But she never had problems with eating or speaking, no cavities caused by the crowding. . . This is mostly so she can be a hot mama when she's older.

Well, today they pulled those teeth. All four in one sitting. They don't let Moms go back for the actual extraction. Wise choice probably, but she was waiting for the doctor, after they numbed her and she got scared and started crying, so they took me back to comfort her. Poor kid was a wreck, and when she was done - they just sent her out, slobbering and bleeding and crying and numb.

She's now buzzing, on Tylenol w/codeine - rather drunk, and in no pain. I'm glad of that but from the point they took me back to her and I saw her crying and terrified, well, I kind of lost it too. I for one am glad it's over - glad she'll have beautiful teeth, a perfect smile, and all the best looking hottest sweetest richest boyfriends (she will, right? Perfect teeth promise that right?) but more glad it's over.

Now, I'm going to go write.

Poetic Intricacies

OK so ISBN #'s are really expensive. Not a justifiable expense for the likely sales income from a chap. OK I can deal with that. So I look up ISSN #'s and think I've hit the jackpot, they're FREE! They're also for series, like a magazine with a monthly issue under the same title. I'm thinking I'm not even interested in talking Shaela into publishing a chapbook for me on a monthly basis.

HA HA!

Write what you know. Historically proven to be pretty good advice. I'm trying to keep it in mind here, but I don't know very much. Maybe my chapbook manuscript #2 will be poetry about labor and delivery. I know that pretty damn well. Not a very marketable genre of poetry though. Hmmm.

I fear I will have to delve into my neuroses to do this well. That's a wealth of subject matter eh?

Beginning a Second

First, I want to say that Jenni is probably going to be my savior - or at the very least - my oracle of wisdom. I so completely appreciate everything she knows, and her willingness to share with a lunkhead like me.

With a much better idea of exactly what "chapbook" means and entails. I start, today, on the manuscript for my second. The first poem (at least for today) is written, and I've been staring at it all day. I decided to take a break from it for a while, so I can go back to it to see how badly I've screwed it up.

It will be the story of, no, I'm not going to say, since it's liable to change. This is, after all, day one.

Scotty just spent a few hours tilling up where the vegetable garden will be. Quite a little plot. My care packages will all be fresh vegetables this summer and fall! We're cooking out today. It's really a beautiful day for it, and Scotty is psyched about getting in front of his grill. Nothing fancy, just burgers and slaw and tater salad. Ma made the slaw. It's THE BEST.
The kids have been outside all day, running and racing - literally racing, their remote control cars. Kassi is off with Jessica and her family. They would happily adopt her, and she's happily go. Jessica and Megan are adorable girls, beautiful olive skinned dark haired little girls with beautiful manners and soft spoken voices. If only the mother wasn't so rude.Is it me, or is it strange for a woman to show up at your door and tell you she wants to take your kid somewhere - "somewhere" being a company cook out for the families of the employess?

Maybe I'm just too suspicious and over protective, sue me.

Lumberjack Tricks

Lumberjack Tricks

The mountains have risen beyond my youth.

I was lost in the forest of adultery, where Mama
was lonesome and Papa smelled of ale
and sawdust and sex.

Joy was sifted, like sand through a sieve
and fell away to the sides. The silt gathered
at the mouth of my Mississippi and
shored the ships that lumbered
through my dreams.

As a child I dreamed of gowns and flowers,
but the mountains have risen beyond my youth.
In the shadow, I can remember that mama was lonesome,

and Papa smelled like sex.


Poetry

In Tamafyhr Mountain Poetry

TMP is going to include my poem "Daydreams and Regrets" in their newest issue (#34) Which is mucho coolio. Another Emag, but a credit nonetheless. Wish Richard @ JAW would let me know something. - If I'm going in JAW, I'd like to add it to my credits in the chap.

Current Credits:
TMP Irregular - TMP publications
Poetic Acceptance - chapbook - Meeting of the Minds Publications
Voices from the Crater - Moontown Media
The Paranormal Wormhole -- Moontown Media
Moontown 2004 Poetry Calendar -- Moontown Media
Meeting of the Minds Journal
Where the Sidewalk Ends

and maybe JAW?

It's time PRINT stuff damn it.
Can't wait till Ploughshares opens for reading again. I'm gonna get my first real live rejection from them! I just know I am, I can feeeel it! We spent the morning at the orthodontist. They took Kassi's wires off, along with 4 brackets, and Monday she loses 4 teeth. Not looking forward to that one. Bless her heart, she has no idea what she's in for. She's not afraid of the dentist -- yet.

This afternoon, I am dying my hair, a nice normal shade of medium brown. Sick of this damned grey - I look like I have highlights. Grey fucking highlights. I'm only 32!

I need a filing cabinet. My shit's a wreck, with all the projects I've got going! S'ok though, I'm busy, sometimes a little fried, but happy to be feeling like I'm DOING something for a change!
Now, I'm going to go DO something ;)







Poetry

ISBN

Well, due to my doofusness, I completely misunderstood, and this chapbook won't have an ISBN at all - they cost $125. I mean, I can buy one, and have it listed with an ISBN, but the deal I'm working right now doesn't come with an ISBN, and I thought it did. I'm bummed - as much for misunderstanding as for not having the damn number.

This is what I was talking about when I said I was clueless.
Damn it I feel so stupid.

I mean don't get me wrong, I'm still tickled about the chap, I can still use it to market myself. It will still be a cool thing to have, and I'm considering the ISBN, but I'm realistic enough to know what my budget looks like. Know what I'm saying?

Anyway, I got the contract today, filled everything out and made copies for my own benefit. It'll go out Monday, and the book will be out as scheduled. And I'm going to sell the hell out of it by god - then I'm going to find a million contests and calls for chaps and submit to them too damn it.


*sigh*


Poetry

Free Writing

Uninvited
a free write

Winter seems to have found new breath
blown back across the grasses
into my yard, cold chimes ring
taunting from the porch.

The dogwood blooms -- too weak,
its leaves too tender to hold back
the breeze, too young to fight
this frigid invasion.

April has gone, a short hiatus
allowing the hostile return
of the uninvited.








Poetry

Proof

Wow. I am so floored with Shaela and her massive truckloads of initiative. And damn if she ain't fast too!.

I got my proof today via email. It's so. . . mine. I LOVE it. Now if my packet would just arrive already! All we're waiting for is for the contract to get to me, be filled out and returned, and the cover. She says it'll be ready the end of May.

She also says I should make a list of people/places that might want to buy my book, like, having it announced in my local paper. . . stuff like that. Maybe the local library, I'll have to find Ms. Helms. I know she'll want one. She was my Senior English Lit. teacher. I haven't talked to her in about a year. Maybe I'll send one to Sun Valley (my highschool, back in the day. Can I call it my Alma Mater if I didn't graduate?)

May 31. Wow.
I can't WAIT to get the first copy!

Now, I've got stuff to do.







Poetry

Bound to my Poetry

Well, I've submitted 3 more poems - to a Emag who takes email subs. A good thing, I haven't got the money for postage right now. If there was ever a time I needed to get a job it's been in the last few weeks - it's been really hard lately. But I've been selfish - in some weird Bohemian way. I quit smoking (mostly) because we couldn't afford cigarettes for us both. But I was willing to do that because if I went to work, I'd lose every bit of momentum I've got going.

I'm not going to mention where I submitted, but with the chapbook thing, it's the third submission I've made in 2 months or less - considering I've never submitted until now. I figure I'm bound to know soon if I suck as badly as I think I do.

I'm not nervous about rejections. I figure I'm sure to get my share of those - pay my dues or whatever. And I'm impatient as hell so the place I submitted to tonight I chose simply because the editor said that he never takes more than 3 weeks to answer.

Unfortunately, if I'm going to submit anywhere else, I have to write more, since simultaneous subs are frowned on.

Oh wait, I found a place that takes sim. subs, I forgot about that. I'll have to remember to check that out in the morning. Does it matter if I submit poems that are going in the chap? I so need to learn what the fuck I'm doing. *sigh* I'm so clueless.

Anyway, here I am at 1am and I'm shot to shit. I am going to bed - 2 hours earlier than usual!





Poetry

Poetry in NC and SC

I've been searching, hunting down other resources to promote poetry in North and South Carolina. I've found more than I expected. I hope to manage to convince some of them to network with me when it comes time to launch Carolina Poets.

Technorati is an amazing thing! I have fallen in love with it! I hadn't been able to find any way to search blogs successfully - Technorati solved that for me! I'm busily adding links here to them there so I don't lose them in the meantime! I'm such a twit like that sometimes.





Poetry

Poetic Acceptance

So I sent in the manuscript yesterday. Amazingly, she wanted it via email. She wants to get to work on it asap I suppose. I keep vascillating on how to feel. I'm so excited and proud, but I don't want to seem all giddy, like some teenaged dumbass. (Like I was 6 years ago, when I found out Poetry.com was going to publish my poem, lol)

Anyway, like I've said before, somehow being solicited makes this better for me, more proud-making. And I'm thrilled at the opportunity. I hope it will lead to bigger things!
And part of me just wants to do a goofy-girly dance and scream like a little bitch!

I'm getting published!!!!!

My kids are so proud of me. That's the best part. Scotty hasn't said a word, I don't know what that means. And Mom is going to want to read it, which is scary, I've never let her read my work, I think most of it would upset her, hurt her feelings. I found myself omitting certain poems with her in mind. That sucked. Some of my favorite poems didn't go in because of her, and some of the ones I did send in the manuscript will kill her anyway.

I probably shouldn't have told her anything about it, approach it like I do my sexuality! What she don't know won't hurt her... but then, maybe it's time she knew eh?
I titled it Poetic Acceptance, what else would I call it? And maybe she'll just have to accept.

Anyway, next week we'll be buying the domain name, so a week or so after that I can start the NC/SC Website & Forum. I've been so busy with Versifier and Shaela that I've barely had time to think about exactly what I want to do with it. And I've got to get to work on some other stuff too, or I'll never be done by deadline with it. But today, I think I'm going to take off, mostly. I'm tired and frazzled and grumpy. I really need to sleep more, but my brain won't shut up long enough to fall asleep until I'm so exhausted that my body just over rides it.

It's rainy and grey and it's all swooshy outside. Terra got up super early today (6am) so she'll be going back to bed soon. I think I'll try a nap when she does.

3am daydreams and regrets

Daydreams and Regrets

There is nothing to be found
in the fog, even if it is
that which laps at the shoreline
and sags the palm with
the weight of dawn.

We can only see as it is
peeled away by the fire of morning,
boiled back like burning skin
from a rotten carcass.

Where ocean and sand flirt
there will always be beauty
--the scents of salt and gutted fish.

Poetry

Chapbook

Well, someone approached me in email today, someone I knew from an ezine I was published in, and a board I used to post on, and asked if I'd let her publishing company publish a chapbook for me. I am so excited, even though I know that this is only a step or two above self-publishing. I know that the product will be professional in appearance, it will have an ISBN #, and will afford me the opportunity to site something other than just online Ezines for publishing credits. I realize that I'm not going to get rich off of this, but it's a first step for sure!

And I'm just so flattered that someone thought my work needed to be "out there" that they solicited a manuscript from me!It was so sudden and unexpected - I was hoping she couldn't hear my heart pounding when I called her. I'm such a wuss about talking on the phone, especially to people I don't know. And on top of the usual sense of panic I feel when calling strangers, I was nearly in a panic about the fact that, having never been published, I was so completely clueless as to protocol.

Thank god she was so down to earth and sweet on the phone!
Now to get together 20 - 30 poems that "tell a story."

I'm not at all sure I have 30 that need to see the light of day!


If you guys don't see me so much for a while - I'm either working on a chapbook, or dying of a nervous breakdown!

Networking Made Easy

It's funny, in the last month I've gone from really not giving a damn about being published to suddenly feeling like I need to get published, quick! I've never really cared about being in print, getting my name out there. I was always happy just writing, and honestly, enjoying the sense of "fame" (for lack of a better word) within the community at MTC.

I think it has something to do with Lynn Sweeting. She joined MTC and posted one poem. One. She came in second in the IBPC that month. It was the best placement we've had in ages. But see, she didn't come back, I wondered if she even knew she'd placed. So I Google her and find out that we've had a minor celebrity join, post, and damn near win.

If you haven't read anything by her, seriously, hunt her down. She's an activist/feminist type -- I can't honestly relate to that, but her poetry is simply amazing, so strong, no -- powerful. I discovered she had founded her own magazine, and was impressed.

Anyway, first place that month went to someone at another board, so I decided to join that board, sneaky me, and see what it was that they did differently, because they always place well there. I was unimpressed with that board and quit going there since, but in the meantime, I got an invite to another board. The one I've mentioned started by a fellow conspirator. The owner and several of the admin are published multiple times. I really enjoy that board, seriously. They invited me to moderate there, and I accepted. It's a whole different world from Modding at MTC!

From that board, someone else who has another board saw me, and invited me to their board, basically an invitation only board. I joined there too. They're run by a girl who is starting what amounts to a publishing business. I know her from another board, though neither of us can quite place which one. Once upon a time I belonged to about 10 simultaneously.

I also have done some searching online for groups that support NC and SC writers and found a board sponsored by the SCWW that I joined. That seems very promising, being sponsored by a fairly local writer's workshop group.

The other day I got email from a fellow who found some comments on my webpage interesting. He added a link from his blog to mine. Only after we pingponged in the email a few times did I find out that he's a published author.

Moontown needed a newsletter to celebrate April, being NPM. I've never done a newsletter before, and it pretty much sucked. I didn't volunteer to do it every month, but I probably will anyway. Kyle has emailed me some stats that he'd like added in the next newsletter. So I guess that says something huh? Anyway, one thing you do with a newsletter is trade ads with other related newsletters and sites - ie: Ill be shopping for/selling ads for the newsletter, which means I'll be dealing with other poetry and writing groups and sites.

It's like the universe is doing some networking for me.
I'm realistic about my chances of being published, of being anything more than I am right now. I'm also smart enough to know that it isn't what you know, but just like Hollywood, WHO you know.

I feel like I'm riding a wave... only, I don't remember deciding to wade out into the water. But I have to tell you, I'm enjoying the ride so far, and looking forward to whatever twists and turns may be in store!

No Man's Land

No Man's Land

There was little in the indigo-blue haze of
midnight -- nothing to have raised
his suspicions or desires.

It was not the tell-tale scent of
another man's breath -- none lingered
on her lips as he smeared himself
across them. Yet he forced himself

on, in, unforgiving -- thrusted, as a fist,
into her, where the memory of last night
may still reside, riding
the cadence of lust, with
the intent of ripping it away.

He peeled open her
hands, held them against
the mattress, licked the sweat
from her palms with his tongue,
searching for the flavor she might
have held that wasn't his.

His epiphany came when he realized
that what he smelled, wanted, tasted,
belonged to no other
man
at all.

Poetry

Happy Birthday Vickie!

So I worked a while on my website last night. Got all of my poetry from the past loaded. I lost all motivation somewhere in the middle of 2005. I need to finish it off and be done. I so used to love doing that shit, now it's so much like work!

I swore I was gonna do yard work today, I haven't. I've done 4 loads of laundry though. . .

It's just that Sundays are the only day Scotty has off, now that the season has started back up he works 6 days a week every week, and spends those six days doing yard work. If I go out there, he'll come out to help, then I'll feel bad. But god it's a wreck out there!

Besides, the race is on!

I went out yesterday scouting for photo-ops (lol!) and everything I thought might make a good picture was backdropped by weeds and tall ass grass and crap and garbage. . .
sad sad yard. Gotta get it cleaned today, my film is bound to arrive in tomorrow's mail!

For anyone who doesn't know it... It's Vickie's birthday!

Happy happy birthday, on this your special day!
Happy happy birthday, that's what we're here to say
HEY!
Happy happy birthday. May all your dreams come true!!!!
Happy happy birthday, from Erin's Blog to YOU!!!!!!!

Nosy Me

So this page is counted and monitored, and I get some strange voyeuristic thrill out of seeing who has been at my blog, how they found me, where they're from whatever... I'm somehow amused and intrigued to find out that someone in NY, NY has returned several times.

Why does that thrill me so much? I have no idea. Also someone in Seattle keeps coming back, and someone in Missouri. I don't know anyone in NY, WA or MO -- so I suppose I'd just like to know what it is that keeps them coming back.

Nosy Me.

Last Call

At 11:45 I poured my last cup of coffee and promised myself I wouldn't make more.

I am honest to a fault, keep promises if there's any way possible, so here I sit at 12:30, staring at an empty cup and thinking how I need to make another pot. The thing is, I'm exhausted, I'm so tired I can't even read poetry, let alone interpret it. I've been at another board started by a fellow conspirator, doing my best to get in at the start of a new seemingly good thing. Cher is one of those people... you know the type, I've barely spoken to her, nothing more than a few comments on each other's galleries. Her poetry is more romantic than I typically like, but its her. She is so talented and elegant. Elegant, odd choice of words I think for someone I've barely spoken to. It's the truth none the less.

She's just one of those people who has the personality that saps you of any desire to resist. I don't mean that she's pushy or manipulative, couldn't be further from it - she's just the type that's too sweet to say no to. I've just ordered her chapbook - something I've never done before. There's something about her work that is just tranquil and beautiful. I'm sure the chapbook will be too.

Anyway, it's going on 1am, and I'm pretty sure I should go to bed, but somewhere between meatball subs and chocolate cake and ice cream, my stomach decided to revolt, and who can sleep with their stomach in a knot? I came here to write, freewrite, splurt something out. See I had this idea last night for a poem based on a Bukowski poem (again) but it disappeared into the ether and it won't come when I call it. Guess I should have given it a name when I had the chance.

So, more coffee? No, more cake? Hell no. . . more poetry - ugh, I can't.

Guess I'll go pretend I'm watching TV or something. Wish we still had a TV in my bedroom. . .

Breathe Erin breathe!

There's nothing like brilliant ideas, mind blowing sex, and tongue searing coffee to start a day off right!

Jenny, I have to admit I never even thought of you when Scotty came up with this website idea, you're so much more informed and knowledgeable about so much, whenever this comes to fruition, I'd love to have you on board!


Brainstorming of the day:
*The cost of a domain name is really small, but the hosting is the killer. I'm thinking sponsorship is the key to getting this up and running. I'll be selling myself all over town here, and I think Schools and Colleges will be a good way to network, expand a membership base, and again maybe some of the colleges will be good tools in the sponsorship hunt.

*Flyers/business cards.

*Creative Loafing

*contests

*network with publishers for various genres/age groups.

*Remember those cheesy ass books of poetry the schools used to publish your little poems in? Yeah, those sucked, how about an organized state(s)wide elementary poetry anthology, and one for middle school, and one for highschools. . .

*I've never even been to a writing workshop, or anything like one: must research the prospect re: cost and 'accepted' etiquette thereof and such.

I have some really great ideas, but I'm getting the horse before the cart here. . .

Breathe Erin, breathe!

Sometimes

Scotty, being male, is naturally precluded from "perfect" but sometimes, he's perfect anyway! His brilliant A #1 idea for the night is for me to have a poetry forum/site specifically for poets in North and South Carolina. He even volunteered to do the programming stuff for the forum part, which is exactly why Poetic-Acceptance (the site) never happened -- because I don't know how to work a forum! So now, I'm going to start a new site, all for poets in NC and SC and I can even see about starting writing workshops, and get togethers and organizing local readings and open mic nights and WEEEE! I'm all excited!

I can make this happen, be successful and shit, I know I can. I need to take a breath, we haven't even bought a name yet lol!

Bukowski Said

Bukowski Said

Concentrically jagged are your thoughts,
like forgotten strands of forgotten webs where
flies die, and for no reason --
in your dearth.

You are beautiful and broken,
and the beautiful are found
in corners crumpled
into spiders.


I have, as I mentioned in some earlier and since forgotten post, endeavored to work on reading some massive amounts of contemporary poetry, I am sadly lacking on knowledge of what's going on in my market. I can identify a lot of the Moontown poets without seeing their names, based solely on style and language usage, but that doesn't mean that the majority of MTC is up on contemporary poetry either.

So I started with Mark Strand and fell in love. He writes a lot about death and the process of reaching death. I don't want to say he writes about death, it's not so simple as that - more that he writes about life, and its inevitabilities. He's wonderful. His images are vivid, sometimes shocking, and always always stick with me. I found that his sense of mortality, and his acceptance of it, began to creep into the poetry I was writing. I'm not saying that I'm a big fan of death or dying, but I was somehow amused and even a little proud that I was so affected so much by him.

Then I read some Bukowski. I immediately hated him. He's ugly and bitter and there is so little beauty in what he writes. Of course, part of my reading was his biography, which explained much about how he came to write as he does. It didn't, however, change my impression of his poetry. I did not like his poetry, and through his poetry, disliked him personally. Shame on me.

So I was more than mildly surprised to see that he too would crop up in my poems -- one in particular that I wrote today. It was a challenge poem, the challenge being to write a poem inspired by a photograph. The picture was of a spider web, backlit by sunlight that was filtered by a dusty aged window pane.

The picture immediately brought to mind two poems by Bukowski that I've recently read.
What's the use of a Title?
Death Wants more Death

Both use imagery of spiders as metaphor within them, and so I thought I'd post the poem and the picture, just because, again, I'm somehow pleased to find that I've been affected by him.

Poetry

Death and Resurrection

Death and Resurrection

I begin a journey through hell,
clench my jaw, gnaw on the intangible.
Lucid fires lick my lips and burn
the words from my mouth and I,
I must reconstitute them from
my ashen tongue, with blood
and wishful thinking.

I scribe them then in scrawled lines
from the jagged tips of my battered teeth --
forged, as steel,with desolate flame
and frigid liquid realization.

It is my daily death and resurrection,
immortalized in ink, indelible,
unforgotten in the scars on my fingertips.

Poetry

More

People from other wheres think I'm crazy when I talk about how warm it gets here, and how early. I'm spoiled when it comes to my local weather. Check out this next week's temps!
Spring is short lived around here!

Ma came home from her 2 day beach trip with Kory today. They went to Carolina Beach, just outside of Wilmington. It's not a tourist spot, it's quiet and much less commercialized than Myrtle, which is the only beach I've ever been to. She came in gushing abut how beautiful it was and how many homes she saw for rent, and how I'd love it. She added how Wilmington was a city big enough to support several lawncare companies that Scotty could go to work with.

Kory brought home a bucket of shells and shark's teeth. They were warm and wet from being in the trunk. They smelled like salt and home.

Back in the Garden Again

Dear Mr. or Mrs. Seattle Washington... you keep coming in on this page, and thinking I haven't added anything (yes I know I'm a nut for making this edit) so click HERE to go to the blog's front page ;) I feel bad that you keep coming back - thinking I'm too lame to update!
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We finally got those azaleas in the ground this evening. They probably won't bloom this year, but the way we've planted them, they'll be beautiful when they do. The back patio will b surrounded in colorful flowers. The Daffodils have faded past their prime, and what I thought were crocus when we planted the bulbs are something else entirely. . . I have no idea what, but they're beautiful. The foliage looks like crocus, but the flowers are dainty little purple bells that hang about 10 per plant - really very nice, but I can't seem to identify them.

I have Irises planted around the fence row and around the parking pad. Some of the Iris plants are about 4 feet tall, but the blooms are feeling stubborn. The cala lilies though, they're in a rush, all bursting out of the ground they're interspersed between the Iris out back. . . can't wait till they all bloom.

I think the rose bush will remain dormant this year -- poor thing. But the Dogwood was gorgeous today. The front bushes are finally bushing... damn clover though, I'll have to get some spray, they've overwhelmed me and my ability to pull. Actually, I need to get some fertilizer. All this clover means there's too much nitrogen. Cripes what a pain.

The lawn, which is mostly clover, with a spattering of onion, is halfway up to my knee. Time to crank the mower up. God I love Spring!

I've got to get some film.

One Week

Today is day seven, and I smoke about 20% of what I was smoking a week ago.
I think an 80% reduction in 7 days is pretty good.

Yes, I am patting myself on the back. As a reward, I may put myself to bed
:)

Right after we go plant my 3 new azaleas. You know how they have those wildlife rescue places that take in wild animals and stuff? Yeah, that's what we have, a floral wildlife rescue.

Time to get my fingernails dirty! Yay!

A Villanelle -- for L

The Promise

As the scent of promise ascends on the sultry breeze
it rings the world in gold, a diamond in the rainfall --
and travels the globe with Spring's guarantee.

The Iris peeks through the sodden earth and sees
Morning Glories climbing the garden wall
as the scent of promise ascends on the sultry breeze.

April wafts in through the budding trees,
embroiders them in green, like a bridal shawl
and travels the globe with Spring's guarantee.

The dawn's colors sing, and the robin agrees;
together they vow to forever rebuke fall
as the scent of promise ascends on the sultry breeze.

Bouquets and blossoms serve as the dowry
as sun and rain are joined and enthralled
and travel the globe with Spring's guarantee.

It's the season of lovers that the sun has appeased
and this amazing rebirth reassures us all;
the scent of promise ascends on the sultry breeze
and travels the globe with Spring's guarantee.



This is one of the hardest most structured forms I've ever attempted. I did a few in highschool, this is the first one in, what. . . 18 years?

Poetry

April Fools!

April 1st snuck in with the fog that was the final ascension of the spirit of March. It was, in my mind, the symbolic representation of the death of winter. We couldn't see the moon and stars, just a grey mist that rose and cloaked the world beyond the window. It put me in the mind of a b&w Starry Night by Van Gogh with all the swirls of silver around the streetlights above the houses. It was all oddly ethereal, as the arrival of Spring tends to be for me.