Monday, April 25, 2011
I was just awarded the Perfect Poet Award from Promising Poet's Cafe/Jingle Poetry.
I'm excited, I want to nominate everybody but I can only nominate current participants who haven't already been nominated, so...
I nominate Eileen T O'Neill
With Easter and the network being down at work today, I am once again 2 days behind for napowrimo. I hope to catch up tonight.
in the meantime here is a poem I posted recently in a community I created
still stuck in this crisis of identity
not sure if I am the bird of if I am the tree-
if I am the bird, I do not plainly see-
why I must always retreat back to the tree.
If I were a bird, wouldn't I flee?
wouldn't I rise above the headwinds pushing on me?
If I am a bird, I cannot find a home in the sea
and so I retreat back to the tree.
please tell me
because I cannot see
am I the bird or if am I the tree?
for I must be
not brittle and tiny
like a flea
but strong like a cedar knee,
knocking branches that do not agree
heightened, prideful, majesty,
if I am the tree-
how then can it be
the roots are not enough for me-
that this "being akin with the dirt", does not become me?
that I must float a little higher to feel free
so tell me,
am I the bird or am I the tree?
Tickle your toes. . .
Ah, 7. The number in question. During this process of developing my first full-length work of prose, and a memoir to boot, I have considered...
where are my garden gloves to weed out your evils? where are my rubber gloves to scrub off your stupid? where are my surgical gloves to cut ...