…I should probably do some reading.
About
Too Late, Trotsky is part blog, part journal, and completely pointless.Following
…I should probably do some reading.
Just found out that Berkeley cops decided it’d be cool to mess with Poet Laureate Robert Hass.
You don’t mess with poets, man. We’re rabble-rousers and we don’t let things go.
- Ernest Hemingway
And isn’t this the truth. I had no intention of writing at all tonight, and now I’m four hours into (for me) a fairly developed storyline. I haven’t had the attention span for fiction in about two years, but it’s nice every once in a while to just let words pour out of your fingertips.
Day 13: A guilty pleasure.
“Acquainted with the Night.”
Robert Frost.
Day 11: A poem by your favorite writer.
Sonnet 116: “Let me not to the marriage of two minds.”
William Shakespeare.
Not even lying, he actually is my favorite writer.
Day 10: A poem by someone you know.
“Poem for the Man Who Does Not Answer the Phone.”
Melanie Almeder
A note before I post this poem -
Melanie is one of the most wonderful and beautiful people I have ever met, and I am extremely grateful that I had the opportunity to study literature and write poetry with her at Roanoke College and I will always treasure what she taught me in four short years of undergraduate study.
Poem for the Man Who Does Not Answer the Phone
It is a good thing I am not on some land spit
rattle snake bit, praying the rings will rouse you,
who refuse to answer the phone. A woman could lose a foot that way,
or an entire precious ankle bone could go to rattlesnake rot.
Alone on that swamp spit, on that lick of land
the sun scorched to bits,
a woman could lose the whole leg waiting.
It is a good thing Orange Lake, that ancient most
sink hole is not on fire and I am calling to say,
one lake breaks into flame and the moon itself goes red,
the fossils of ferns unfurl from their limestone graves
and burn. Darling, I’d say, get out of that bed
and see the reasons to love: the Cedar knees,
the silvered oak trees, the paths an apple snail traces, sweet ugly possums,
Spanish Moss that needs nothing but the brine of July air.
It’s a good thing you are not answering the phone
and I am calling to tell you I’m bit,
the lake burned
the chickens flew the coop, the cows broke out,
the rooster went pacifist. Get out of bed, I’d say, and hear the entire herd
hoofing away, how the barn lists with their loss.
(Source: tupelopress.org)
Day 9: A poem with your favorite character.
“Ozymandias.”
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Day 8: The poem you can quote best.
“The Second Coming.”
William Butler Yeats.
Day 7: A poem that reminds you of your past.
“The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.”
Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
Parts I-III
Parts VI and V
