Dear Reader,
Today’s poems written: “A Class in Common,” “Cat in Irises,” “Xylem and Phloem,” and “Untitled.” They were all odd little poems, not strange for my work, I know.
The first is me struggling with the title of the collection The Gospel According to Shrug, because if you know me, you know I probably care about everything too damn much.
The second watches a cat in, yes, the neighbor’s irises, who had made it further on his travels than I had in my poem at that point. (The title sounds like the title of a painting.)
In the third, xylem and phloem contrast language vs. plot. I want to dig into that one more, but I don’t want to polish the thought out of it.
The untitled one considers how something you think is just everyday about yourself might be the thing someone loves about you most.
Anyway.
Word Raccoon insisted we write today, after all we had:
– Painted the knobs on the desk after all
– Put things back in the desk
– Papered the inside of the secretary (which turned out to have a removable shelf! Who knew? Also, pretty! And I’m working on staging it.)
– Found new homes for thrift shop storage purchases (I blame YouTube shorts for the idea to put the glass trays in drawers for jewelry, makeup, etc. and Martha Stewart for the, yes, baskets! WR grabbed the red one and stuffed it with all of her favorite snacks immediately.)
– Washed two loads of laundry
– Emptied dishwasher
– Read (a book with musical language and great use of detail, but too many?)
– Other misc. work (as ever, but nobody wants to hear about that, LOL.)
– Rearranged so much
For the first time in a week, I submitted some poetry tonight.
I also received the best rejection. Not only did they tell me what they admired about every poem, but what they wished had been in them as well. Very helpful. WR wrote to thank them though usually you don’t reply to rejections.
At least I don’t think you do?
I typically don’t, unless they offer a personalized response, because I know so many journals are inundated with messages and submissions.
I’m thinking about ideas in poetry vs. imagery. Oh, how I love ideas. No matter where I am, it’s like I’m lying on my back staring at the sky the way I was in New Jersey as a child when I first remember intentionally thinking, back then about the clouds and wind.
Wouldn’t it be fun if you could schedule an idea appointment with someone, not like some big think-tank kinda thing, but where you stare at the clouds and just let the thoughts roll, a little drunk on life, a little drunk on conversation?
Macro and micro lenses, they are both absolutely fascinating and dang, isn’t life beautiful?
I know this is more listicle than post, but maybe that’s just right for now.
P.S. Recorded “Sonshine” today, newly out in the Bards Against Hunger anthology. CW: death. It’s the story of a face painter (Word Raccoon loves getting her face painted) who told us the story of her dog and a opossum and, well, mayhem ensued. And parallels, obviously.
Must stop doing so many household projects but unfortunately WR views this as censorship. And she sees the projects as poem portals, so…I want to write ornate, flowery garlands right now but instead my brain is refusing service to all but the most basic activities. WR and I have been up since 4 a.m. just because! (Not just because. She wanted to finish the desk because she was so excited she couldn’t rest.)
A tiny pleasure to you today and always,
Drema
dremadrudge.com 