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. . .
Sunday, April 10, 2005
Saturday, April 9, 2005
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!
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!
Friday, April 8, 2005
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!
Thursday, April 7, 2005
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
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
Wednesday, April 6, 2005
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
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.
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.
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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.
Sunday, April 3, 2005
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!
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
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
Friday, April 1, 2005
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.
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