Thursday Chatter, April 2

Hiya, Flames,

I challenge you today to go out and find some interesting poetry and share it with us all.
Recite to us something we may never have heard.

So many people talk of poetry as though it is this foreign or alien thing that they could never fathom, but poetry is all around us. You can find it in:
A rapper’s dis
A singer’s bliss
A commercial for a Hershey’s Kiss

Bad rhymes aside – poetry does not have to come from the long silent pen of a lord. Nor from an overly flowery mind obsessed with birds. Poetry can be fun.

Consider the modern world around you and identify some poetry today. Then come back here and share it with us.

This chatter brought to you by National Poetry Month and APAD pushers extraordinaire.


Don’t forget to work on your art for this week’s mini contest.

Participate in APAD – your soul will thank you.

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About t.s.wright

Writer, reader, casual photographer, nature-lover, dog mom. I grew up in a tree, inside a book, whispering possible futures into discarded seed pods that curled up and exploded each summer. One day, they cut down my tree and I was forced to go to school while waiting for the replacement trees to grow strong enough to hold me. But while we waited, I grew too heavy and awkward to climb, so I had to get a job. I spent my days surrounded by flimsy walls covered in carpet that made boxes and people who forgot to look out windows. I worked really hard. Possibilities were replaced with formulas and exactitude. Eventually I forgot how to climb a tree...and how to smile. Then one day, a dog licked my foot excessively and I remembered smiling. That reminded me of more things that didn't cost money and couldn't be tallied in a spreadsheet - like hugs and love and being happy. So I found myself a Steve who reminded me what home was. Then we filled it and our hearts with dogs. Eventually we planted our own tree, together. Even though I'm happy right here, right now, I remembered that we all need possibilities to dream of, so I've started writing them down.
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3 Responses to Thursday Chatter, April 2

  1. skyllairae says:

    This poem is by Lucy Anderton. It’s called “If It Is True That I Eat Electricity, Then We” and can be found in her collection The Flung You. She was one of my undergrad creative writing teachers and the first poet who showed me that there is more to poetry than imitating Walt Whitman. I never did but that was what my other teacher wanted. She is a powerhouse.

    If It Is True That I Eat Electricity, Then We
    (by Lucy Anderton)

    are already in trouble. The stump
    smoking in the furnace, blood

    puffing up from the broken
    bone. I crept along the bare face

    corridor. At the core
    of the wood. I felt it. In the thump

    of the stoke and pile
    it sat up on its pink haunches.

    I’ve been taken up, taken up
    in the fall of fire–I’ve taken

    on fistfuls of sparks. Stinking
    with reddening blossoms,

    I’ve covered the night road
    with my embarrassed body:

    side-stepped and slung only this
    old hair at the flank of the dark

    bursting beast. Craned the neck
    and polished the collar

    bones–crushed the fair
    fingers and pinched the tender

    stem. There is a place
    we step into–none too soft,

    none too opening. It is there
    that our silence waits. There

    with its circling pace.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. I like that poem šŸ™‚

    Like

  3. Pingback: Weekend Wrap-Up | Brigit's Flame

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