Thursday, October 31, 2013

Poetry Butcher of the World after Sandburg

           






















Poetry Butcher of the World
Fool Maker, hacker, naysayer,
Flinger of magnetic curses,
Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action,
Bareheaded, sniveling, wrecking, berating,
Laughing, even as an ignorant fighter laughs,
Bragging and laughing,
Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of Youth, half-naked,
sweating, proud to be Poetry Butcher of the World.

Monday, October 28, 2013

Yellow Creek


A Glossary of Dierdres, a poem-video produced by Didi Menendez

https://vimeo.com/77944602

You can buy the poem as a poster and poem here:

http://www.magcloud.com/browse/issue/649522

Didi is so talented and amazing.  She takes poems and brings them to life.  You never know what she's going to think of next.  To read about her projects and submit--check out:

http://www.poetsandartists.com

http://www.poetsandartists.com/submit/

Monday, October 21, 2013

Thursday, October 17, 2013

Rain



And when it rains, it pours . . .

My latest not so good read--Gladwell's David and Goliath, which is so full of vast generalizations and half-believable arguments, it's bothering me.   On a day like today I have to find a better book . . .


Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Fall




Fall again . . .  and I can't complain except that it still feels like September.  And I seem to be writing the same poems over and over again.  Each time I think I will find the perfect fix . . .  
I am reminded of this 12 year old girl who lives on our street, and she rides her scooter up and down her driveway every day after school.  Back and forth, back and forth.   She never goes into the street with the other kids.  I sometimes feel like I am doing the same thing with my writing.

Thursday, October 3, 2013

Yeats comic
























When You Are Old

BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.