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tranquility
as day slips into night
everything glows

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I posted this to my twitter yesterday for 3 Word Wednesday, but it was pointed out to me that I should post it hear, so that people can comment on it more easily (and therefore I can go check out what they have written. Made sense. So here it is.

Miscalculation
Miscalculation rendered this moment:
Me collapsing
into the sweet ache of yearning
as your train rattled by.

Here's one I love from BadGods.com. It's a famous poem written as a limerick.

The Raven

There once was a girl named Lenore
And a bird and a bust and a door
And a guy with depression
And a whole lot of questions
And the bird always says "Nevermore."



And here's one I wrote:

Zombie Limerick

One would think the dead to repose,
but instead they all arose.
Rotting away, they eat
the brains, the arms, the feet,
and the horde, it just grows and grows.

I submitted four of my poems to A Public Space, which is a professional paying market. It's always a little scary for me to submit to pro markets, because I'm never really sure if I'm there yet. But I read some of the sample poetry online and thought that my poetry might be a good fit. Hey, it could happen.


I've been far more productive this week, having written several hundred words on a short story as well as sending out a poetry submission. It may have to do with having my room clean, so that I want to spend more time there and can think more clearly. Or it may have to do with the fact that I have cut my TV consumption down and so spend more time being more productive on my computer. It's probably both. But regardless, I feel really good about it.

If you like zombies and you also like poetry (as I do), you might want to look into submitting to Poems of the Dead, which will appear as both a print book and as an e-book.

I wish I had a great idea for a zombie poem right now. I'm going to have to brainstorm that one.

The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.

--Francis William Bourdillon (b. 1852)

1.5/6 goals completed from last week, this includes making a youtube video and managing to not TV channel flip most of the week.

My Easter weekend included my Aunt and cousins coming down from Sacramento, a taco, margarita, and tequilla shots night on Saturday (followed by a dance party in the kitchen and karaoke to the American Idol Wii game), and egg painting and hunt on Sunday. We always joke that my family brings its own party. This is true.
:)
Good times.

( Six goals for this week. )


ETA: Oh, yeah! I almost forgot. I received an acceptance for my poetry submission last week. "India" and "Interrupted" will appear in Bear Creek Haiku sometime in the next couple of months.

From wordweaverlynn: When you see this, post your favorite a poem you like.

The Night Has A Thousand Eyes

The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of a bright world dies
When day is done.

The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.

By Francis William Bourdillon (b. 1852)

This poetry lives in the adolescent, in that its focus remains for the most part superficial. Since this book of poetry is directed toward a young adult audience, this is not a bad thing.

Many of the poems center on body image, fashion, popularity, finding self, boys, and the like. They revel in the insecurities of the teenager. If I had read this when I was in high school, I would have been amazed, thinking, This is me. She knows. I would have believed.

Even the language itself remains very on the surface. The breaking of the lines often seems arbitrary, and the descriptions tend to be repetitive (the first things to be noticed are the shade of the eyes or the color of the hair).

There is no punctuation throughout the book, except the odd question mark. Sometimes it helped the poem, allowing the thoughts to run into one another, the way they actually do in our minds, undeliniated. Other times this was a hindrance, causing confusion in the lack.

Block brings in mythology and fairy tales to help bring these poems depth and life. And every once in a while, she breaks away into something sublime, and I find myself wanting to linger over a line. I reread it, savoring it on my tongue. And there are those few poems where I have to pause and be still for a minute after finishing, because I just need to be there for a moment before I go back to read the poem again.

I went to go see a poetry reading at the Grace Cathedral last night, an incredible building and just about as fabulous as any of the cathedrals I saw in Spain or Mexico. Grace Cathedral also has a labyrinth for walking meditations, which I choose to do. I breathed deep and worked on staying present as I twisted my way to the center. I needed that, as it had been a very stressful day.

The setting was perfect for the reading, because the theme was the sacred and the profane. The poetry was great, each poet with a different voice and reading style. My mind started to drift during two of the five poets readings. But the other three kept me right there, present, and their work was so profound. I ended up buying three books of poetry, the works of Kay Ryan, Jane Mead, and Dan Bellm. I got two of them signed, too. I love finding new poets to love.

There are more Litquake going on this week in San Fran. Go here to check out what other events are going on. I'll be at the Steampunk event tomorrow night (Thursday), so if you think you are going to be around, let me know.

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I also posted a new video on youtube. Basically, it's just me describing my trip to Ireland. I thought I would post it here, just in case you were interested in knowing more about what went on during that trip. Watch and enjoy (or not).

I found this through a friend's facebook posting. Hart Seely has found the poetry in Sarah Palin's speeches.

The Poetry of Sarah Palin.

Pretty genius if you ask me.

I got the chance to see Neil Gaiman read for the first time this weekend. He was as funny and charming as he seems to be in the interviews of him that I'd seen. He read from his new book, called The Graveyard Book, and I have to say that he is one of the best readers that I have ever seen, doing all the voices and reading with perfect pacing. He also showed some exclusive clips from the upcoming movie Coraline, answered some questions from the audience, and then read from another book coming out, called Blueberry Girl, which is an illustrated version of the poem that he wrote for Tori Amos' daughter. It was very sweet. My brother and I could hardly contain our excitement at getting the chance to see him (I bought him a ticket as a birthday gift). It's nice when people who write work that you admire turn out to be as awesome as you would hope they would be.

Have you had similarly good experiences with the author's you've had the chance to see in person? Or have you had the experience where you've gone to see someone you admire, only to be dissapointed?

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I saw today's topic and I couldn't help saying something on it. I would love to say that the answer is that poetry still can have the same impact, but I think the unfortunate truth is that poetry is loosing some of its power. It just doesn't have the impact that it had 50 years ago, which as a poet, makes me sad.

Yet, even as I write this I know that there are books out there like Crank, a novel for young adults written in poetry. I haven't read it, but it seems to be doing rather well in the market place, as far as I can tell. So maybe that's a sign that there's hope for poetry yet, because if the younger generation can discover a love for poetry, then maybe they will keep it alive.

Do you think there's hope for poetry?

I spent a fabulous week long vacation at Clear Lake. My days were spent reading, sitting in the sun, swimming in the clear green water, hanging with friends and family, and going out on the boat. I camped out in a tent by the lake.

No meningitis outbreak this year. Yay!
But we had a plethora of animals (1 cat, 2 kittens, 1 puppy, and 3 dogs), an infestation of rice flies (weird looking white-yellow bugs that swarmed the tents and were essentially harmless but very annoying), and vodka-spiked water melon (the looks on people's faces when they bit in the awful tasting slices was worth the effort of making it).

It was great, but I'm happy to be home. I was starting to get homesick by the end of it.

I loved my beach reading though:
( Swendson )

( Bierds, with a passage of poetry )

( Whitman, with a passage of poetry )

Two of my poems, "Buddha Knows" and "The First Kiss," are published in the current issue of Ascent Aspirations Magazine.

You can read my poetry here.

( Problems and a happy thought. )