Now Playing: “How Deep is Your Love,” Bee Gees. Because I heard a track of their isolated vocals last night on YouTube and could not stop listening to it. They rule.
Dear Reader,
Yesterday morning, this poem stopped in to say hello in response to something Word Raccoon read:
Someone talked about her
Marketing plan for
Her poetry book
On Substack.
My poetry giggled
And said
That’s like hiring
Lightning for
All
Your lighting needs.
Good luck, Babe.
Let’s dive in, shall we? First of all, maybe this needs to be a bit more particular to be universal?
How about this:
Emily gushed about her
marketing plan for her
newest chapbook,
Endless Breadsticks
and Breakups
at the Olive Garden.
A poem giggled and said
That’s like hiring
lightning for
all your
lighting needs.
Good luck and pass that
pasta.
Okay, I do not like what I have done here. At all. Who’s Emily? And why are you taking your love to the Olive Garden? You are asking to be broken up with over terrible tiramisu.
That salad, though…WR is currently imagining picking pepperoncini peppers out with her tail and munching on them. (I just violated my “do not use munch” rule. I must not be entirely well yet. No reason why I don’t like the word. I just don’t.)
I think this version of the poem got a little too particular. Let’s see if we can calm it down. IDK…I think I need someone to write that chapbook for me, though, set at the Olive Garden. (My god, how long has it been since I’ve been to one??)
This version?
On Insta, someone bragging about her
marketing plan for her
poetry chapbook.
One of my poems overheard and giggled,
That’s like hiring
lightning for
all your
lighting needs.
That’s it. It’s just a notebook poem. Am I completely happy with it?
Nope.
Am I happy enough for the moment?
Yup.
Actually, if I had to choose, I like the first best just now.
Some time I might pull it out and stretch it like taffy and see what I can make of it. But it’s almost sunset, and for some reason, I’m craving breadsticks. (#NotReally)
P.S. It took me forever, but I put together a micro-chapbook for a competition that ends today. Naturally, I forgot about it until I saw it on my calendar. I had been debating whether or not to enter it, but then I ran across a cozy little “envelope” of poems on my laptop. (Why don’t we call them envelopes instead of folders? Folders sound ugly and corporate. Envelopes sound intimate and full of so much more potential.)
At any rate, I sent the poems out, though I did have to walk one up and down the porch as I tried to set its bones. (The collection is called Still in the Bones. Do we like the title? Do we get the ambiguity? Do we want to?)
As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts.
dremadrudge.com 