Wednesday, October 31, 2012

Wonder Wednesday? #7

Well pretties, I mean poets since it is Halloween, I saved wicked for today.  What do you think of when you hear the word wicked?  I think of the Wizard of Oz, the Wicked Witch.  Growing up in Maine, we sometimes describe something good, as wicked. I know sounds crazy, but it is a Stephen King kind of world,up there... muWHahahaha.  I also think of the play Wicked, but wicked doesn't have to go in this direction. You could describe anything you like, weather, an outfit, a book, etc.  This can be in Trick or Treat fashion or not.









This woman creeps me out...she probably was a sweet old lady, but there is something sinister about her eyes!



Yes pretties, I mean poets it is I...

I'm casting a wicked spell, I mean recipe. My daughter wants help making Cinnamon Rolls.  I hope you are enchanted with  WICKED !  Off you go, now and write a poetic spell, perhaps you will turn a few heads!   I'll be back my pretties to get you, I mean to read your poems!  I hope they are wicked good-muWHhahaha!!!!








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Monday, October 29, 2012

Poem of the Week ~ The Unknown Gnome

Kids, it was easy to find the poem of this week this time. I made my morning cup of tea, saw that The Unknown Gnome had a new poem, clicked on it, and was totally flamboozled. Methinks, it is his best poem ever. Let me know if you agree.

Steve writes lovely romantic verse from a castle in the clouds in Cantabria, Spain, where he lives  with his fair Dulcina. (Be still, my heart!) If you haven't done so yet, check him out at The Unknowngnome Poems. He says he is "a simple gnome, writing simple poems", but we beg to differ.




Sir Gnome

Sunday, October 28, 2012

Poetry Pantry - #121


The Poetry Pantry
2nd Chance Poems or 1st time shares

Hi Poets - Happy Almost Halloween to you all.  How are you doing this week? Hope you all have found poetic inspiration since we met here last Sunday. And hope your life has brought you good things.  It is always nice to look forward to spending time with you sharing poetry on Sunday.

Even if you wrote your poem for another site originally, consider also including a link back to Poetry Pantry to spread the word and the joy of poetry and help others to discover our site. I have been heartened by the number of people who really have gotten into the habit of visiting a large number of fellow poets.  Please try to visit as many other poets as you can. 

If you see someone's name you don't recognize, stop in and say "Welcome."  And if you are a person new to this site, the best way to be known is to visit others' sites.  If you are someone who links on the second day, the best thing for you to do is visit others' sites as well; and hopefully they will then return your visit. And don't forget to leave a comment here at this site after you link.  Even if just to say hi to your poet friends.

And now...here is the procedure:  Each Sunday we start a new post with a New Mr. Linky for you. This is so that you can post a link to a poem in your blog. The link will close Monday at 8:00 p.m. (CDT), but you can still visit the links of those who have posted them.


There 3 simple rules:

1. Link only 1 poem per week.  If you link more than one, anything after #1 will be removed.

2. Please visit several other poems linked here when you link to yours. Please
don't just link and run, waiting for others to visit you. 

3. Leave a comment after you have posted
your link.  I find that people who leave comments tend to be more participatory.  They wish to be part of the community.  A little of this goes a long way.  It feels good for all.

Friday, October 26, 2012

I Wish I'd Written This


Landcrab II

By Margaret Atwood

The sea sucks at its own
edges, in and out with the moon.
Tattered brown fronds
(shredded nylon stockings,
feathers, the remnant of hands)
wash against my skin.

As for the crab, she's climbed
a tree and sticks herself
to the bark with her adroit
spikes; she jerks
her stalked eyes at me, seeing

a meat shadow,
food or a predator.
I smell the pulp
of her body, faint odour
of rotting salt,
as she smells mine,
working those martian palps:

seawater in leather.
I'm a category, a noun
in a language not human,
infrared in moonlight,
a tidal wave in the air.

Old fingernail, old mother,
I'm up to scant harm
tonight; though you don't care,

you're no-one's metaphor,
you have your own paths
and rituals, frayed snails
and soaked nuts, waterlogged sacks
to pick over, soggy chips and crusts.

The beach is all yours, wordless
and ripe once I'm off it,
wading towards the moored boats
and blue lights of the dock.

from True Stories (1981)

'Landcrab I' is a magnificent poem too — but somewhat more metaphorical and philosophical. I love Landcrab II's greater focus on external observation (though both poems have both aspects) and I admire the wonderful creation of atmosphere.

Wikipedia, PoemHunter and other online sources note that Margaret Atwood is 'a Canadian poet, novelist, literary critic, essayist, and environmental activist. She is among the most-honoured authors of fiction in recent history; she is a winner of the Arthur C. Clarke Award and Prince of Asturias award for Literature, has been shortlisted for the Booker Prize five times, winning once, and has been a finalist for the Governor General's Award seven times, winning twice.' (Which perhaps you didn't need to be told, as she is deservedly famous.)

Wikipedia adds, 'She is also a founder of the Writers' Trust of Canada, a non-profit literary organization that seeks to encourage Canada's writing community.'

 I particularly like her feminist slant.

She is of course best-known for her many novels — literary works which sell! Those I've read I have found intriguing and satisfying. She is a prolific poet too; and she has also written in other genres such as essays and children's stories. A complete list of her writings appears at her official website, and at the end of the list is a link to check out audio versions of her works.

She has both novels and poetry collections available on Amazon, and you can read more of her poems at PoemHunter.



Poems and photos used in ‘I Wish I’d Written This’ remain the property of the copyright holders (usually their authors).

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Wonder Wednesday #6 Web

Salutations! What do you think of when you hear the word, web?  Do you think of a spider weaving n' casting silvery threads.   Maybe you think of being online and how far our thoughts and words travel?  Or maybe you think of reading a grand novel, which has a web of deceit exposed.   Web can mean so many things...


web

[web] Show IPA noun, verb, webbed, web·bing.
noun
1.
something formed by or as if by weaving or interweaving.
2.
a thin, silken material spun by spiders and the larvae of some insects, as the webworms and tent caterpillars; cobweb.
3.
Textiles .
a.
a woven fabric, especially a whole piece of cloth in the course of being woven or after it comes from the loom.
b.
the flat woven strip, without pile, often found at one or both ends of an Oriental rug.
4.
something resembling woven material, especially something having an interlaced or latticelike appearance: He looked up at the web of branches of the old tree.
5.
an intricate set or pattern of circumstances, facts, etc.: The thief was convicted by a web of evidence. Who can understand the web of life?







Poets, look around and cast your eye in any direction and see what tangled thoughts you can gather.
Please share a web that attracts your attention in any form!   I look forward to your intricate poems~


 
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Monday, October 22, 2012

Life of a Poet - Sara Vinas

Kids, now that the interview rotation has slowed down, Sara, of Cracker Jack Poet, has waited patiently for several weeks now for her turn in the spotlight. Sara says she named her site the way she did because she offers "a poetic snack with a surprise inside".  Aptly named. Draw your chair up close and settle in, for a most enjoyable visit to a woman who loves the sea, and her wonderful family.




Poets United: Sara, I am looking forward to this chat. We share a love of the sea.  So let’s dive in, metaphorically speaking :) Can you give us a verbal snapshot of your life these days, set the scene for us?


Hector and Sara by the sea

Sunday, October 21, 2012

Poetry Pantry - #120


The Poetry Pantry
2nd Chance Poems or 1st time shares
 
Hi Poets - How are you all doing this week? Hope you all have found poetic inspiration since we met here last Sunday. And hope your life has brought you good things.  It is always nice to look forward to spending time with you sharing poetry on Sunday.

Even if you wrote your poem for another site originally, consider also including a link back to Poetry Pantry to spread the word and the joy of poetry and help others to discover our site. I have been heartened by the number of people who really have gotten into the habit of visiting a large number of fellow poets.  Please try to visit as many other poets as you can.  Admittedly if I have visited people who have not returned visits  or who I notice never visit other people's poetry blogs to comment, I may not find my way to their blog after a while........

If you see someone's name you don't recognize, stop in and say "Welcome."  And if you are a person new to this site, the best way to be known is to visit others' sites.  If you are someone who links on the second day, the best thing for you to do is visit others' sites as well; and hopefully they will then return your visit. And don't forget to leave a comment here at this site after you link.  Even if just to say hi to your poet friends.

And now...here is the procedure:  Each Sunday we start a new post with a New Mr. Linky for you. This is so that you can post a link to a poem in your blog. The link will close Monday at 8:00 p.m. (CDT), but you can still visit the links of those who have posted them.


There 3 simple rules:

1. Link only 1 poem per week.  If you link more than one, anything after #1 will be removed.

2. Please visit several other poems linked here when you link to yours. Please
don't just link and run, waiting for others to visit you. 
 
3. Leave a comment after you have posted
your link.  I find that people who leave comments tend to be more participatory.  They wish to be part of the community.  A little of this goes a long way.  It feels good for all.

Saturday, October 20, 2012

Classic Poetry ~ "Sonnets from the Portuguese - XIV" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning





Elizabeth Barrett Browning, 1806 - 1861

"How do I love thee..." are the words most of us conjure when thinking of Elizabeth Barrett Browning; but the prolific prodigy, who had four books to her credit by age twelve, wrote hundreds of love poems. Suffering from a chronic lung disease that descended upon her in her fourteenth year, as well as a spinal injury from a riding accident when she was fifteen, Elizabeth lived a life of pain and reliance upon morphine. Despite these challenges, she wrote passionately, enthusiastically and romantically, personifying the artist who must express. 

Sonnets from the Portuguese ~ XIV


IF thou must love me, let it be for nought

Except for love’s sake only. Do not say

“I love her for her smile—her look—her way

Of speaking gently,—for a trick of thought

That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
        
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day”—

For these things in themselves, Belovèd, may

Be changed, or change for thee,—and love, so wrought,

May be unwrought so. Neither love me for

Thine own dear pity’s wiping my cheeks dry,—
        
A creature might forget to weep, who bore

Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!

But love me for love’s sake, that evermore

Thou mayst love on, through love’s eternity.


Friday, October 19, 2012

I Wish I'd Written This


Money


Once I aspired to
Humble black turtleneck sweaters
And spare unheated rooms
With the Kama Sutra, a few madrigals, and
Great literature and philosophy.

Once I considered money
Something to be against
On the grounds that
Credit cards, 
Installment-plan buying,
And a joint checking account
Could never coexist with
Great literature and philosophy.

Once I believed 
That the only kind of marriage I could respect
Was a spiritual relationship
Between two wonderfully spiritual human beings
Who would never argue about money
Because they would be too busy arguing about
Great literature and philosophy.

I changed my mind,
Having discovered that

Spiritual is hard without the cash
To pay the plumber to unstop the sink
And pay a lady to come clean and iron
So every other Friday I can think about
Great literature and philosophy.

No one ever offers us a choice
Between the Kama Sutra and a yacht.
We're always selling out for diaper service
And other drab necessities that got ignored in
Great literature and philosophy.

A jug of wine, a loaf of bread, and thou
No longer will suffice. I must confess
My consciousness is frequently expanded
By Diner's Club, American Express, and things undreamed of in
Great Literature and philosophy.

I saw us walking hand in hand through life,
But now it's clear we really need two cars.
I looked with such contempt at power mowers,
And now, alas, that power mower's ours.
It seems I'm always reaching for my charge plates,
When all I'd planned to reach for were the stars,
Great literature and philosophy.

(from It's Hard to be Hip Over Thirty and Other Tragedies of Married Life)

I fell in love with Judith Viorst in 1968 when this book was first published. I wasn't the only one. In 1970 The Australian Women's Weekly published my equal-favourite Viorst poem, 'A Women's Liberation Movement Woman', which was later published in her next book, People and Other Aggravations, in 1973. Of course I bought that book as well. 

It was very unusual for the Weekly to publish any poetry, let alone by a non-Australian. Her poetry became very popular in England too. A reviewer described her work as 'wickedly funny'. I agree. It was topical, of her era, but I trust not too long ago to be well understood.

Only a few years older than me, I think she totally spoke for Western women of my generation — well, the educated, middle class ones anyway. (I majored in English Literature and Philosophy at university, and later experienced suburban wife-and-motherhood ... like so many others. I certainly had the black turtle-necks.)

Of the two poems I was tossing up between, I chose this because I couldn't find it anywhere else online. There are some others — though not enough! — at PoemHunter.

The internet informs me that she is best known for her books for children. She has also written a number of other poetry books which I was unaware of. The (online) blurb from her publisher, Simon and Schuster, says:

Judith Viorst was born and brought up in New Jersey, graduated from Rutgers University, moved to Greenwich Village, and has lived in Washington, D.C., since 1960, when she married Milton Viorst, a political writer. They have three sons and seven grandchildren. Viorst writes in many different areas: science books, children’s picture books, adult fiction and nonfiction, poetry for children and adults, and three musicals, which are still performed on stages around the country. She is best known for her beloved picture book, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

Wikipedia notes that she is also a journalist and a psychoanalytic researcher.

This talented woman is a prolific writer, and her books (listed at Wikipedia) are available on Amazon.



Poems and photos used in ‘I Wish I’d Written This’ remain the property of the copyright holders (usually their authors).

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

Wonder??? Wednesday #5 Wolf

  Halloween is soon approaching.  I thought it would be fun to pay a visit to the Big, Bad Wolf.  Okay, not big n' bad...just Wolf.   What comes to mind when you hear the word wolf?  Do you see Little Red Riding Hood walking in the forest with a basket full of goodies, off to visit Grandma.  Maybe you see the Three Little Pigs outsmarting the wolf, or you see a gorgeous creature shrouded with mystery.  Maybe you think of the howling type with vampires always trying to nip at their toes, not nose, lol.  Maybe you think of folklore and Indian legends or maybe you think of Clarrisa Pinkola Estes' book, "Women Who Run with the Wolves".  

*photo via here

                                                            

"Wolves are legendary because of their spine-tingling howl, which they use to communicate. A lone wolf howls to attract the attention of his pack, while communal howls may send territorial messages from one pack to another. Some howls are confrontational. Much like barking domestic dogs, wolves may simply begin howling because a nearby wolf has already begun"  via here~

You decide how you want to portray our prompt Wolf.  You can share legend, fairytale or fictional werewolves. We want to walk in the forest and hear the whispers of the wild, in your poems.


Let me share a bit about the Wolf Totem, just for fun.   The wolf is a teacher and a pathfinder, may he or she lead you to the whispers of the wild.    I look forward to your poems~


Did you think of this song?









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Monday, October 15, 2012

Blog of the Week~Kim Nelson

Kids, this week we are very happy to feature Kim Nelson Writes as our Blog of the Week. Kim is on staff at Poets United, tirelessly bringing us the Classic Poetry series every Saturday, with little fanfare and complete reliability. Kim, it's about time we said Thank You! We Appreciate You! and We Love You! Thanks for all of those wonderful poets you remind us about each Saturday. And for just being you.


Sunday, October 14, 2012

Poetry Pantry - #119


The Poetry Pantry
2nd Chance Poems or 1st time shares
 
Hi Poets - How are you all doing this week? Hope you all have found poetic inspiration since we met here last Sunday.  It wasn't as easy for me to find inspiration in nature last week as it was the week before. We are really in the grips of Autumn now where I live.  A lot of the colorful beauty has been replaced by brown leaves and bare trees.  However, I was able to write anyway; and I hope you were also. I will be anxious to read what you share . 

Even if you wrote your poem for another site originally, consider also including a link back to Poetry Pantry to spread the word and the joy of poetry and help others to discover our site. I have been heartened by the number of people who really have gotten into the habit of visiting a large number of fellow poets.  Please try to visit as many other poets as you can.  Admittedly if I have visited people who have not returned visits  or who never visit other people's poetry, I may not find my way to their blog.

If you see someone's name you don't recognize, stop in and say "Welcome."  And if you are a person new to this site, the best way to be known is to visit others' sites.  If you are someone who links on the second day, the best thing for you to do is visit others' sites as well; and hopefully they will then return your visit. And don't forget to leave a comment here at this site after you link.  Even if just to say hi to your poet friends.

And now...here is the procedure:  Each Sunday we start a new post with a New Mr. Linky for you. This is so that you can post a link to a poem in your blog. The link will close Monday at 8:00 p.m. (CDT), but you can still visit the links of those who have posted them.


There 3 simple rules:

1. Link only 1 poem per week.  If you link more than one, anything after #1 will be removed.

2. Please visit several other poems linked here when you link to yours. Please
don't just link and run, waiting for others to visit you. 

3. Leave a comment after you have posted
your link.  I find that people who leave comments tend to be more participatory.  They wish to be part of the community.  A little of this goes a long way.  It feels good for all.

Saturday, October 13, 2012

Classic Poetry ~ "Vivien's Song " by Alfred, Lord Tennyson


 Alfred, Lord Tennyson, 1809 - 1892



Alfred, Lord Tennyson is considered the greatest poet of Victorian England. He wrote poetry as a child, penning a six-thousand-line epic poem when he was twelve. He was published by age 17. At Cambridge University, which he left before receiving his degree, his early success and moods both intimidated and impressed others. This was, in all likelihood, the time of onset for what many believe was bipolar disorder, the serious mental illness which presented itself in many members of  his family.

Despite a 10-year period during which he did not write, Alfred produced numerous collections before being named Britain's Poet Laureate when he was only 41, succeeding William Wordsworth. A dedicated craftsman who meticulously honored form, diction, rhyme scheme and meter,  he wrote poetry spanning the emotional spectrum,  from uplifting buoyancy to deep despair. In Vivien's Song, he examines unfaithfulness and its effects on relationship, a topic that is lively and pertinent still.

Vivien's Song

‘IN Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours,

Faith and unfaith can ne’er be equal powers:

Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all.


  ‘It is the little rift within the lute,

That by and by will make the music mute,
        
And ever widening slowly silence all.


  ‘The little rift within the lover’s lute

Or little pitted speck in garnered fruit,

That rotting inward slowly moulders all.


  ‘It is not worth the keeping: let it go:
        
But shall it? answer, darling, answer, no.

And trust me not at all or all in all’.


Friday, October 12, 2012

I Wish I'd Written This


Driving North

by Dimitris Tsaloumas (1921 - )

Against the level sun and the screech of brakes
through porous sheets of blindness I gripped
the wheel and stopped above the great plain
till I saw him kindle the reefs of cloud
over the western ridge. Then, wire-strung,
set in the rim of the embankment down
the tumbling hill, I saw the dragon's teeth
flash past against the fired sky.
Fence-posts, I thought: in dreamy lands
the reading of signs is unprofitable.
Yet in the nursery the monster sleeps.
He sighs and heaves oozing a greenness past
this green, where magic sword and holy spear
glint still unread in the flight of birds,
in the prophetic guts of oxen.

                                              Children,
please don't retreat behind this sunset
yet. I carry the pterodactyl in the van,
the flying spider, bats big as babies.
Tyrannosaurus himself wanders about
bigger than old whales grazing across
the frozen seas, than tanks on the doorstep
of Nicaragua. Saw him through misty glass
this morning stalking the towns in the hills
when shivering just out of frosty night
I prayed until the sun who flickered in the woods
crept up the flanking conifers and hit the top
with a crash of cymbals.

                                         Night is falling
forever now over the roads in the North
of New South Wales. The blue-bright waters
of an undying day are seeping through
into perplexing memory. Scouting beams
sculpt shapes ahead from shifting shadows,
furbish up idols out of secret time
that rush surprised along the edge of light
back into populous darkness. This trip
is endless, the compass irrelevant. My riches
are now fetched by maps beyond the truth
of geography and the attraction of the poles.

(from the book Falcon Drinking)


Multi-award winning Greek-Australian poet Dimitris Tsaloumas has lived in Melbourne for 70 years. He received a BA from the University of Melbourne and then worked as a teacher of English and modern languages. He retired from teaching in 1982. 

As a very young man he took part in the Resistance during the German and Italian occupation of Greece.

 Although he left Greece in 1951 for political reasons, he has been able to spend much time there in later life.

 The author of numerous poetry collections, he writes in Greek and English and is highly regarded in both countries. When I knew him he was something of a mentor, in an informal capacity, to younger poets including me.


While Tsaloumas’s poetry is formally highly structured rather than experimental, his themes range from the classical to the contemporary.

In Tsaloumas' work Hellenic traditions are reflected in highly structured and formal poetry ranging from the elegiac to the sardonic. While regarded as the paradigmatic voice of the poet in exile, more precisely of the Greek diaspora, Tsaloumas perceives himself rather as an Australian-Greek writer. He reflects a classical poetic tradition, presenting a medley of voices, a cast of commentators on modern society. His work transcends the personal and the political and is quite distinct from accounts of migrant experiences which catalogue the minutiae of the struggle for survival.

His books are available on Amazon and you can read a large number of his poems here.

The poem I've chosen for you is from one of his earlier books. I like it because I'm well acquainted with the landscape described. In fact I live in the north of New South Wales. In Australia, travelling north implies Queensland (which involves travelling through NSW). When I still lived in Melbourne, I made that long car trip several times. This ancient country, especially at night, does feel both vast and primitive, as the poem suggests — thrilling and somewhat scary.  Perhaps it is natural that it took the fresh perspective of a migrant to see this so clearly and express it so well.



Poems and photos used in ‘I Wish I’d Written This’ remain the property of the copyright holders (usually their authors).

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

Wonder??? Wednesday #4 Wax


I thought today, we would be enlightened, with the word Wax.  I am thinking of candles, beeswax ones that smell amazing.  I love the mood candles set.  How they illuminate any occasion and make it seem special.   There is a new art form, which I am sure some of you have heard off.  It is called Encaustic.  Actually it is not new, it is old, around four thousand years,  maybe more.  Its humble beginnings are linked back to ancient Greece.  The pigmented wax was used to seal their ships, so they would be watertight.   Encaustic means to burn, but in this regards it is to paint with melted wax.  It can be simple, such as beeswax melted and painted onto a collage or special blends of wax n' resin, in a wide range of colors. The art has a luminous quality and the lovely scent of honey.

Here is a video showing this art form:





I would like you to think about wax.  We use candles to celebrate birthdays, for romance, and when the power goes out.  Pen a poem that illuminates wax and shines the light,  on a memorable occasion you loved!








Monday, October 8, 2012

Poem of the Week ~ the Tired Monk



Kids, from the early days of Poets United, we have all loved and enjoyed Old Ollie's Tired Monk poems at Humbucker Poems. Ollie's unique, monk-like and loving view of the world fills our hearts with gladness. This one says it all, as only Ollie can say it. 


monk's work

temple dog shivers
her sacred forest duty...done
she waits
wonders at the tired monk's delay


he's thinking on monk's work
daily duties:
unbreaking hearts                        
   turning songs to prayers



Wonderful, no? Thanks, Ollie, for your wisdom, your compassionate heart, and for the unique glimpses of your world that you share with us. Keep 'em coming! 


Sunday, October 7, 2012

Poetry Pantry - #118


The Poetry Pantry
2nd Chance Poems or 1st time shares
 
Hi Poets - How are you all doing this week? Hope you all have found poetic inspiration since we met here last Sunday.  As I said last Sunday, Autumn is often a reflective season.  For me many of my writings this last week continued to be seasonally inspired.  I will be anxious to read what you share and see what gave you pause to write about this past week. 

Even if you wrote your poem for another site originally, consider also including a link back to Poetry Pantry to spread the word and the joy of poetry and help others to discover our site. I have been heartened by the number of people who really have gotten into the habit of visiting a large number of fellow poets.  Please try to visit as many other poets as you can. 

If you see someone's name you don't recognize, stop in and say "Welcome."  And if you are a person new to this site, the best way to be known is to visit others' sites.  And don't forget to leave a comment here at this site after you link. 

And now...here is the procedure:  Each Sunday we start a new post with a New Mr. Linky for you. This is so that you can post a link to a poem in your blog. The link will close Monday at 8:00 p.m. (CDT), but you can still visit the links of those who have posted them.


There 3 simple rules:

1. Link only 1 poem per week.  If you link more than one, anything after #1 will be removed.

2. Please visit several other poems linked here when you link to yours. Please
don't just link and run, waiting for others to visit you. 

3. Leave a comment after you have posted
your link.  I find that people who leave comments tend to be more participatory.  They wish to be part of the community.  A little of this goes a long way.  It feels good for all.

Friday, October 5, 2012

I Wish I'd Written This


This Octopus Includes Children

By Robert Chrysler (1967-2012)

Astounding, whose flight has silence. Devour her logic's hour.

'Do you like it?' A shining, loneliness. The icy of photograph. Thyroid glances vanished. Elongated. Either end (an eye before trailing from the mountain), blonde has always been brief time. Jewelled thrones distracted, transcends mere bone. Numbers the world, all tenuous, as in a sky's deepest heart to a dualism spiral.

No, into a trace of the afternoon, her secret. The more sex to save a phenomenal world on what is and turn inside out on her twenty years to completely predict post-modern hips.

Watery nothings lives only for androgyny, relative to raised skirts, the ship's window.



When I met Toronto poet Rob Chrysler online at MySpace about six years ago, I encountered one of the most original minds I'd ever come across. He was brilliant, funny, outrageous, very well read, and a formidable intellect. I also found him kind, sensitive, generous and full of integrity. 

'Robert Chrysler,' he said of himself, 'is an inspired subway-ranter from Toronto, Canada. He enjoys challenging capitalist property relations, trying to figure out what the post-structuralists are going on about, and dreams of someday living in a tree.'

I learned that he lived in a hostel for the homeless, rode a battered old bicycle, and was well acquainted with booze and drugs. How this came about I don't know, but he was absolutely unapologetic about it and spoke as if his way of life was a political statement. He certainly had the soul of a revolutionary — which I say with the greatest respect.

It was impossible not to respect Rob. His wide circle of friends on and offline also loved him. Impossible not to do that, too. We're shocked and sad that he has suddenly died. We don't yet know how. A huge amount of life force has left the world.

As a poet he was essentially a surrealist, working mostly in prose poetry. Surrealism is one of those things I just can't do. I once answered a call for submissions to The Starfish Journal, which he edited. I submitted pieces which I thought were the closest I had to what was required. He rejected them, pointing out with perfect accuracy what kind of poem each piece actually was, none of which was surrealism. I so wanted to be included, but I knew that what he said was right; in fact had known it all along. He, for his part, liked my work and had wanted to include me, but just couldn't. It was one of the warmest rejections I ever had. He was a 'no bullshit' kind of person, and it was that too.

So yes, I would have liked to have written the piece I've chosen for you. I find it quite beautiful — which I wouldn't say about all his stuff; it could be very confronting. But it was always wondrous.

He was mostly an online writer. His chapbook, Every Exit Impossible to Imagine With Wings (Trainwreck Press, 2008), seems to be out of print. The poem I've quoted appears on the poetry magazine blog, Balloon, along with two others. There are more here.

And there are two amazing interviews here and here, which also give you a sense of this unique person, this astonishing poet. 



Poems and photos used in ‘I Wish I’d Written This’ remain the property of the copyright holders (usually their authors).

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

Wonder??? Wednesday #3 Wonderful

Today, I'm going to introduce an author to you, that has changed many lives.  Some of you will be familiar with her voice, her outlook on life and her daring soul.  This writer has broken the mold, in terms of what works and what doesn't.  She was told, she wasn't going to make it. And she did!
I am talking about Self-Help.Motivational.Creative Being:  SARK !!!    Sark stands for Susan Ariel Rainbow Kennedy.  You can see why she shortened it ;D  How does one begin to describe this wonderful, vibrant and a bit wacky woman!   I'll begin with my encounter: 



Sark came into my life, I'd say not long after my Dad died. After college, I would usually head home, start supper,  then go to work at the theater. I commuted to college n' still lived at home. One day I decided to go to the mall for a bit. I went in a card shop and found SARK on a card.  I was touched by her words and loved the bright, vibrant colors. The next week, I received a SARK card in the mail, from a friend. She suggested, maybe I should read one of her books.  So, I went and found a book, but couldn't afford it. So, once a week I would frequent a book store and open her books up at random, and read her words.  She is a person who inspires you to dream, dare and do.  I started a journal with colored pencils, but felt this was her style.  I needed to find my own.  In this book:  "Living Juicy, Daily Morsels For Your Creative Soul"  She invites you to jump for joy on the inside.  She is a survivor of sibling incest and through counseling found a way to heal.  This book has a serendipity feel, to it.  I usually open the pages at random and see what speaks to me. I do this 3 times.  Here let me share SARK with you!  (was going to color all the o's till I saw how many)!


 Sometimes she is rather playful n' fun other times more on a serious note!
 Wow, right!  This is only a tip of the beautiful iridescent work of  SARK.
Here I will share some of her words blended together at random:



"Consider your dreams and talents, your savings accounts. Begin spending some. "

"Take yourself for an adventure, roaming walk. Bring no money and smile at everyone you meet."

"  Learn to celebrate your SELF! You are outrageously wonder.full and delightfully imperfect, and deserve to be celebrated!"  

"Gift your.self  well and wisely enjoy you"

Leaf through a book...in a tree

Nature stands waiting to be enJOYed.

Believe in everything until you find out otherwise.

Send telepathic hugs
lie down or sit quietly. Picture a person who is not nearby that you would like to hug.  Gather light into your heart and build a mental tube towards the person. Visualize the hug, both given and received and send it through the tube.   ;D did it work?!

Give to others 
we are all stars and angels

What one small thing can you do know to make "your life more succulent?"

Me, I'm going to go bounce on the trampoline!  

Write a poem, while standing on your head, go hug a tree, and tie a red ribbon on your finger or toe to get the  'living juicy' vibe.   Maybe dance at night looking at the stars, ride a creative bicycle full of joy and cast your dream, like a kite into the sky.  Begin whatever calls to you-follow that voice.