Niteblade Blog Train - August 19
The Niteblade Blog Train is rolling on through, despite my nearly missing it. I'm trying to think of just the right metaphor...but the closest thing I can think of is that the different realities weren't quite synced. Ah, the (broken?) (mind?) (of?). Yes. I remembered quite well three days ago; and two days ago. But yesterday was a mess of round-I-don't-even-know-any-more setting up a security system on some of my dad's sculptures. Limited success==success-for-now!
If you're coming to this in order, you're coming from the 18th, Digital Inkwell. And the future is Chris Lewis Carter. But don't go there yet. That's the future. Strange things happen if you try to experience time out of order....
Niteblade published my tongue-in-rotting-corpse's-cheek poem, "Brain Cookies", back in June 2009 [Issue 8]. It's due to be reprinted soon in the Zombie Survival Crew anthology.
The life of a poem is a funny thing. I've been writing poetry on and off since about 4th grade (and still have some of those lying around. oh my!). Most people probably have as well, and it's just a comparative weighting of the ons and offs. The morse code of poetry-as-virus trying to speak through life (yours, mine, whoever's). No, not making a point, just reaching. ;) The life of a poem....
As it stands, I have about 28 poems (not counting the majority of haiku I've recorded) sitting around, either waiting for me to submit them somewhere, or sitting somewhere, waiting to be accepted or rejected. I have 31 more poems "trunked", essentially poems I once thought were worth of publication but have since changed my mind on; in part due to the endless grind of rejection, and in part due to moving on, getting a better distance from them (in time, and skill). I've had 37 poems actually published, in a variety of journals/zines/whatnot, many of which no longer exist.
There's an easy thousand poems not included in any of those lists, pre-trunked, stillborn, cut off after two good lines, or after hours of struggling to find the right thought that would bring it to life. The life of a poem....
poems are ourselves
trying to channel something
old-yet-new-yet-
Sometimes the words just flow, even if they're bad ones. And sometimes you force them out to make a point-the above lines are a little of both. The point, in this case, was not in the poem, but to have something to make a point about. ;) A nice 5-7-5 senryu (with only 4 in the last, which, well, there's a school at least that says 5-7-5 is not a fixed thing for 'ku done in languages other than Japanese), but in my world (and poems are so often just in our own personal worlds, our own idealized worlds where everyone gets what we'd like them to, responds the same way, ...) the missing beat is the unknown, that "something else".
Poems come from somewhere. They get jotted down, edited, lost, forgotten, found, submitted, rejected, submitted, rejected, .... Shared, somewhere along the way, or not. They attach to a moment, or a person, or a time and place-and sometimes those things they attach to are perfect for them/then/there and irrelevant to more, or sometimes the them-then-there are something else, or you feel a something else in there, and hope that others will also feel that something-else when they receive the poem (with a laundry list of caveats regarding mental spaces, time-and-places).
Okay, so. The train station was here all day, but there were no signs the train was coming. Passengers were arriving early, who'd been on the train...but the train was not there with them. It's a sad thing, but reality can be like that sometimes. Apologies to all the discombobulated!
Now...don't forget. Support small press! Support great writing! Support! And enjoy your trip through today, and into tomorrow's stop, Chris Lewis Carter. And that's the Niteblade Blog Train. =)
If you're coming to this in order, you're coming from the 18th, Digital Inkwell. And the future is Chris Lewis Carter. But don't go there yet. That's the future. Strange things happen if you try to experience time out of order....
Niteblade published my tongue-in-rotting-corpse's-cheek poem, "Brain Cookies", back in June 2009 [Issue 8]. It's due to be reprinted soon in the Zombie Survival Crew anthology.
The life of a poem is a funny thing. I've been writing poetry on and off since about 4th grade (and still have some of those lying around. oh my!). Most people probably have as well, and it's just a comparative weighting of the ons and offs. The morse code of poetry-as-virus trying to speak through life (yours, mine, whoever's). No, not making a point, just reaching. ;) The life of a poem....
As it stands, I have about 28 poems (not counting the majority of haiku I've recorded) sitting around, either waiting for me to submit them somewhere, or sitting somewhere, waiting to be accepted or rejected. I have 31 more poems "trunked", essentially poems I once thought were worth of publication but have since changed my mind on; in part due to the endless grind of rejection, and in part due to moving on, getting a better distance from them (in time, and skill). I've had 37 poems actually published, in a variety of journals/zines/whatnot, many of which no longer exist.
There's an easy thousand poems not included in any of those lists, pre-trunked, stillborn, cut off after two good lines, or after hours of struggling to find the right thought that would bring it to life. The life of a poem....
poems are ourselves
trying to channel something
old-yet-new-yet-
Sometimes the words just flow, even if they're bad ones. And sometimes you force them out to make a point-the above lines are a little of both. The point, in this case, was not in the poem, but to have something to make a point about. ;) A nice 5-7-5 senryu (with only 4 in the last, which, well, there's a school at least that says 5-7-5 is not a fixed thing for 'ku done in languages other than Japanese), but in my world (and poems are so often just in our own personal worlds, our own idealized worlds where everyone gets what we'd like them to, responds the same way, ...) the missing beat is the unknown, that "something else".
Poems come from somewhere. They get jotted down, edited, lost, forgotten, found, submitted, rejected, submitted, rejected, .... Shared, somewhere along the way, or not. They attach to a moment, or a person, or a time and place-and sometimes those things they attach to are perfect for them/then/there and irrelevant to more, or sometimes the them-then-there are something else, or you feel a something else in there, and hope that others will also feel that something-else when they receive the poem (with a laundry list of caveats regarding mental spaces, time-and-places).
Okay, so. The train station was here all day, but there were no signs the train was coming. Passengers were arriving early, who'd been on the train...but the train was not there with them. It's a sad thing, but reality can be like that sometimes. Apologies to all the discombobulated!
Now...don't forget. Support small press! Support great writing! Support! And enjoy your trip through today, and into tomorrow's stop, Chris Lewis Carter. And that's the Niteblade Blog Train. =)