As we approach the Holiday Season I am reminded of how quickly the time is flying and how many experiences I have had in this one year. I think about all the wins and losses for myself and for my friends.
Only 7 more Mellow Dramatic Mondays to go this year. I hope you can make it out soon
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it's beautiful to picture the anodic dance club as like, the new hot spot for the young people of martinaise to hang out and all bond with each other and have all their different worldviews mingle and create new things... but lbr chances are half of those people are going to end up just not really liking anodic music. like, thanks for keeping the pale hole contained or whatever but this music blows
I'm going to be the featured performer at April's online Grassroots Open Mic. (Sunday, April 14, 6 pm Central Time.) It's free and open to anyone, and as previously mentioned, it's online, so you can watch and/or participate from anywhere in the world. More info available on their website.
Q: As a poet, which performance place do you like to recite your poems?
In the beginning ...
… it really came down to which location had the best acoustics, since more often than not you’re trying to perform while a dozen different background noises do their best to drown you out. Book shops (the photos on the left were taken at Schuler's Books) were better than cafes and their espresso machines that would make the most horrific noises every time someone ordered a coffee. The Milan train station, on the other hand, while having fabulous acoustics was a hopeless cause since the audience clearly didn’t come here to listen to a lisping American read poetry in English. They were more concerned about getting to their trains and I was simply one more obstacle in their way.
I would say that the most interesting place I’ve preformed, so far, is at the sacred temple, Garni, dating back to pre-Christian Armenia.
I don’t actually have a whole lot of photos of myself performing; partly because we didn’t have camera phones back in the 1980s and early 90s but mainly because the friend of mine who did bring his camera wherever he went has since passed on and I had other things on my mind besides asking, “I know you’re actively dying but could you get your hospice nurse to look around your office and see if you have any photos of me?” Whatever photos he did take have long since vanished from this earth.
… and yes, in the last photo this is what Alcohol Bloat looks like. It would be several years after this photo was taken in the Muskegon public library (again, great acoustics) before I started Recovery and AA.
What makes a poem a poem?
Perhaps it's the rhyme—but poems don't have to.
Is it the figurative language, synchronizing sound and sincerity, tying together thought and tone—
as anyother form of writing also does.
It's surely the structure—
But free verse forms its own foundation,
and focusing on verse, it must be
the verse—
but prose poetry presently perpetuates popularly
And songs have verses too
and on that note—
What separates a poem from a song?
The presence of a melody
Must be where sound shapes itself, surely, but
isn't a piece
that is only rhythm
still music?
And does poetry not measure up, does it not meet the meter, it does!
So what is the difference
between poem and prose
song and sound
sound and silence?
Maybe there is none
Maybe it's all just the same
Conglomeration
of human souls
peeking out of the heart
and into the air.
Ok So This Month Is Not For The Saved & Sanctified.
This Is For My GROWN & SEXY Open Minded Folk
Who Wanna Come & Have A Good Time
We Were Revolutionary Last Month & So It’s Only Fair That We Get A LIL Ratchet
You See The Schedule Above
No Work Tomorrow So Rest Up & Meet Me On The B Side Tomorrow Night
Remember It’s Still Summer So The BSIDESOS Code Is Still Working
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Hark, Adventurers! @poetryorchard is excited to welcome the newly re-branded Adventurer's Writing Guild for a workshop celebrating the work of poets in community! Please join us for the first of four workshop held in collaboration between Poetry Orchard and the Adventurer's Writing Guild.
These workshops are especially open to those who have not attended a writing workshop before!
Growing up, Studio Ghibli films were my greatest comfort and inspiration. If you are pondering how to appreciate small moments and romanticize life, it is my belief that Ghibli holds the answers! - Blossom 🍒
(I'm not telling you what this one's called because I think it's more effective if I leave it till the end to reveal what it's about)
Death omen.
That’s what they call me.
A grim reaper among birds.
I don’t complain.
My beak is my scythe,
My ink-feathered wings a sweeping cloak,
And I wear them with pride.
Their straw-headed man
Standing like a crucifix amongst the corn
Is a better symbol of death than I —
The image of Christ,
Still and silent as a corpse,
Staring blankly over his domain,
Made to scare me!
And yet I stand here
Atop his sagging sacking head
And I laugh, because
It’ll take more than this
Overgrown rag doll,
Only able to stand
Because of the broom-handle up his arse,
To keep me away from my treasure.
A murder.
That’s what they call us.
As if we don’t have
The highest respect for the dead.
My murder and I
Chant our bothersome cry
And they tell us to get lost.
Oh, if only they knew.
Today our song is a eulogy,
A lament for our fallen friend.
Don’t blame us
If our voices aren’t like yours.
They can be like yours, if you like.
We are echoes as well as shadows
And if you scream into the void
You never know —
The void might scream back.
We may not be larks
Or nightingales —
We may be thieves and scavengers, and
You may call us
Harbingers of death, but
You will never see a more dignified Death
Than the crow.
and some days I’m too scared to answer it,
it’s been too long since I’ve welcomed them in
and I’m not sure what they might have to say
what thoughts might come barreling in
and if I’ll be able to hold it all,
until I find myself sitting to write
a poem about poetry tapping
on my brain, somehow they find a way in.
some days, poetry knocks on my door
and I’m not home to hear it at all
too busy elsewhere, too distracted by work,
too much running away or “living my life”
or just barely managing the day to day
to remember what poetry’s voice sounds like.
a friend whose call I just keep missing
after half hearted attempts to grab coffee
to catch up or just send some text back—
why is it so hard to stay in touch?
when poetry knocks at my door
and I’m buried under my covers
music blasting deep in hibernation mode
I’m in no mood for house guests
let alone one who shakes me to my bones
but sometimes poetry sits patiently by my side,
strokes my hair as I cry into theirs
poetry holds me even when I try to hide.
I remember the days
when poetry used to walk right in
and make themselves at home
at my dining table or even in bed
how we’d go at it for hours on end
and how easy it all had been
sometimes I worry it might never feel
the same way it used to be.
so tonight,
when poetry knocked on my door
not once but twice,
I listened through the door and peeked through the hole
knowing they weren’t going anywhere
so I opened the door, said: sorry for the mess,
it’s been a while, how have you been?
Martha Cinader speaks with Glenis Redmond and Anna Castro Spratt, the first Poet Laureate and Teen Poet Laureate of Greenville, SC and they also share some poetry. We also speak with Meg Reid, Executive Director of Hub City Publishing in Spartanburg, SC a
“I didn’t say I was right about things. I said I write about things.” –Oscar Peñaranda
Glenis Redmond & Anna Castro Spratt, Poet laureates, Meg Reid, Hub City Publishing
L&BH Podcast S2 Episode 5 – Poet Laureates and Publishing in the South
Martha Cinader speaks with Glenis Redmond and Anna Castro Spratt, the first Poet Laureate and Teen Poet Laureate of Greenville, SC about how it happened…