Stuff and the Return of Poetry Friday
Hi all.
Yet another book review up for a book I loved a whole lot.
I feel better, I realize, when I write these reviews. Here's to hoping the increase in output will inspire me to get back to the creative stuff. I suppose in many ways I am attempting to retrain my brain to think like it needs to in order for balance to return to my life. My best friend, published multiple-award-winning poet that she is, has been in a writing slump for over two years. Today she sent me an email with the following: I have lately been feeling the need to write. I don't know why. It keeps sneaking up on me...I keep ignoring it because what's the point?
My response? What's the point?
WHAT'S THE POINT?
YOUR SANITY IS THE POINT.
I love that I can be so blunt with her, but my brief words are the truth as I am feeling it right now.
You absolutely must visit this site and laugh. You need to: This class makes me lose faith in humanity.
Last Sunday's LOCI was the best so far this season. Unfortunately, it was a Wheeler/Nichols episode. Perhaps they can exchange writers with the Goren/Eames ones?
On this day in 1964, the Civil Rights Act of 1964 was approved after surviving an 83-day filibuster in the United States Senate. In honor of this, my poetry Friday selection is a little Langston Hughes:
Dream Deferred
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
On a side note, I once wrote a response poem to this one that *gasp* RHYMED. I was thirteen and angling for a spot in a coveted creative writing program. I got in, sorry verse notwithstanding.
Yet another book review up for a book I loved a whole lot.
I feel better, I realize, when I write these reviews. Here's to hoping the increase in output will inspire me to get back to the creative stuff. I suppose in many ways I am attempting to retrain my brain to think like it needs to in order for balance to return to my life. My best friend, published multiple-award-winning poet that she is, has been in a writing slump for over two years. Today she sent me an email with the following: I have lately been feeling the need to write. I don't know why. It keeps sneaking up on me...I keep ignoring it because what's the point?
My response? What's the point?
WHAT'S THE POINT?
YOUR SANITY IS THE POINT.
I love that I can be so blunt with her, but my brief words are the truth as I am feeling it right now.
You absolutely must visit this site and laugh. You need to: This class makes me lose faith in humanity.
Last Sunday's LOCI was the best so far this season. Unfortunately, it was a Wheeler/Nichols episode. Perhaps they can exchange writers with the Goren/Eames ones?
On this day in 1964, the Civil Rights Act of 1964 was approved after surviving an 83-day filibuster in the United States Senate. In honor of this, my poetry Friday selection is a little Langston Hughes:
Dream Deferred
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
On a side note, I once wrote a response poem to this one that *gasp* RHYMED. I was thirteen and angling for a spot in a coveted creative writing program. I got in, sorry verse notwithstanding.