… make him the cutest that I’ve ever seen. You know, or something.
So again, sleep claimed me before I could post last night. I didn’t even get to type up my poem before I conked out.
Yesterday, I had my annual physical. I appreciated my doctor’s clever set up to keep everyone distanced and safe. What I didn’t love was that I had three vaccines! Pneumonia, Shingles, and a Tetanus booster! Today, I feel achy all over, lethargic, and incapable of sustained focus. I know it will pass, but I feel beaten up, and I’m not happy about it. So I’m going to post last night’s poem now, in case I can’t stay awake long enough to write one tonight.
Today is poem-in-your-pocket day. And I spent the day in my apartment, of course, so I didn’t get to have my usual fun of roaming the halls at work giving out poems to all and sundry. This is the second year in a row of not getting to play the poetry fairy. It’s a small and entirely insignificant thing to lose to Covid, but it pains me all the same.
The source text yesterday was still Lucille Clifton’s “1994.” I’m telling you, that poem really speaks to me.
Blind Relentless Faith The thing I know is, there are no cobbler's elves, the secret helpers, the ones whose mission is to set your life right. We laugh at fairytales, tell others, tell ourselves that we know they are stories. But you, and I, and all of us also know we are undercover believers, dreamers. How else to explain our faith -- blind, relentless, dangerous -- in miracles, in magic, in whatever it takes to lay glitter over what just is, to shade the evidence of reality, the drumbeat, the lure of a brighter something, warmth instead of cold, possibility as a shield against dread, and the simple, mortal truth of the body.
National Poetry Month 2021: the Golden Shovel
As I’ve done for the last forever, I’ve chosen a poetic form, and I’m going to try to write a poem in that form every day for the month of April. I don’t always succeed, but I always give it my best shot. The “Golden Shovel” was created by Terrance Hayes in tribute to Gwendolyn Brooks. I learned about it from my friend Sonia (aka Red Emma). I’ll be using Lucille Clifton’s poems as my starting point this month. Here are the rules:
- Take a line (or lines) from a poem you admire.
- Use each word in the line (or lines) as the end word for each line in your poem.
- Keep the end words in order.
- Give credit to the poet who originally wrote the line (or lines).
- The new poem does not have to be about the same subject as the poem that offers the end words.
If you pull a line with six words, your poem would be six lines long. If you pull a stanza with 24 words, your poem would be 24 lines long. And so on.
Should be interesting!