No Poetry. Just Waxing Philosophical

I once met a Holocaust survivor who used his tattooed prisoner number from Auschwitz as his bank account pin.

Today, in London, I met a woman who turned a traumatic car accident and the damage it did to her face into inspiration for her holistic skin and wellness clinic in the city.

I was reminded again that nothing in life is ever wasted. My life is steeped in gratitude for all that I have experienced and all who have been my unintended teachers.

ps...In case you haven't noticed, I'm taking a slight break from the blog. I needed to sort my self out in the real world before I could dive back into this virtual life :) See you guys in January. I promise I'll have some literary goodies for you!

smooches!

"So is your judgment shown..."

Do Not!
BY Stevie Smith

Do not despair of man, and do not scold him,
Who are you that you should so lightly hold him?
Are you not also a man, and in your heart
Are there not warlike thoughts and fear and smart?
Are you not also afraid and in fear cruel,
Do you not think of yourself as usual,
Faint for ambition, desire to be loved,
Prick at a virtuous thought by beauty moved?
You love your wife, you hold your children dear,
Then say not that Man is vile, but say they are.
But they are not. So is your judgment shown
Presumptuous, false, quite vain, merely your own
Sadness for failed ambition set outside,
Made a philosophy of, prinked, beautified
In noble dress and into the world sent out
To run with the ill it most pretends to rout.
Oh know your own heart, that heart's not wholly evil,
And from the particular judge the general,
If judge you must, but with compassion see life,
Or else, of yourself despairing, flee strife.

Stevie Smith, “Do Not!” from New Selected Poems. Copyright © 1972 by Stevie Smith.

Deaths of Flowers

This poem reminds me of autumn...the death of all things flowering and green. The bleak promise that spring will come again soon. It's hard to believe, when everything is frost and barrenness, that spring will come again, but it will. It always does :)

Thanks to Alan for sharing this poem. Beautiful!

Deaths of Flowers
BY Edith Joy Scovell.

I would if I could choose
Age and die outwards as a tulip does;
Not as this iris drawing in, in-coiling
Its complex strange taut inflorescence, willing
Itself a bud again - though all achieved is
No more than a clenched sadness,

The tears of gum not flowing.
I would choose the tulips reckless way of going;
Whose petals answer light, altering by fractions
From closed to wide, from one through many perfections,
Til wreched, flamboyant, strayed beyond recall,
Like flakes of fire they piecemeal fall.

From TED: A Love Poem in Emoticons

A Story of Mixed Emoticons
BY Rives

About the Artist (via TED)
Flat pages can't contain Rives' storytelling, even when paper is his medium. The pop-up books he creates for children unfold with surprise: The Christmas Pop-Up Present expands to reveal moving parts, hidden areas and miniature booklets inside. On stage, his poems burst in many directions, too, exposing multiple layers and unexpected treats: childhood memories, grown-up humor, notions of love and lust, of what is lost forever and of what's still out there waiting to unfold.
On his Bravo special, Ironic Iconic America, he and costar Bar Rafaeli tour the United States looking for wonderfulness, on "A Roller Coaster Ride Through the Eye-Popping Panorama of American Pop Culture."
"This was great. He spoke like I imagine a good prophet would. Epic win!"
- Joshua Mullen on TED.com

Not Really A Writer...Just Play One on TV

14 days into National Novel Writing Month, and I've totally hit a wall. Blah!!!!!!!!

Everything I write is crap. Honestly..It is really not good...but, instead of quitting (which I really really really want to do), I've decided to take a step back and put together an outline of my novel. I'm not sure if it's a violation of the NaNoWriMo rules or anything, but I simply can't write another word without figuring out where the heck this novel is going.


Anyone else having similar issues? I found a bunch websites with tips on how to outline chapters and plan out character bios. Hope this helps...:)

One

Two

Three

Happy noveling, my sweets!

Speckled Poets Rock!!

Hello good people

Hope you don't mind if I get all touchy feely for just a bit!!

I have to talk about the awesome community of poets I got to hang out with last night. I was asked to read a few of my pieces and some poems written by other artists at the Speckled Bird Cafe's Monthly Poetry Night and it was an absolute treat! I got to hang out with some truly talented poets, soak up the creative energy and bask in the good vibrations.

Honestly, it was one of the most fun nights I've had in a while. Thanks to the entire Speckled Bird crew for being gracious enough to let me share my work. We artists are pretty "sensitive about our ish," :) but the crowd was great. I discovered some new poets, who I'm sure will be fast favorites, and even read a few of my new to the world pieces...thankfully, no one boo-ed...whew!!

:)

Check out one of the new poems I read below. It shows how much of a hopeless romantic I really am. Ha!! Also, if you're interested in finding out what other hopping events are happening at this Cafe, find them on Facebook or Wordpress!! You won't be disappointed. I promise!!

Love Riot
BY Susan Baba

He only loves me loudly
If there were a mountain,
he would shout his love a million times from its highest peak
If there were a water tower,
He would deface it in my name
With my face
Adorn it anew with words of adoration

But in this city of concrete and glass, there is neither mountain nor water tower in sight
So he settled for the subway station
Taps the man sitting beside him sheepishly and points
“that’s my woman”
With the sincerity and gentleness of a man overwhelmed by his good fortune

Sometimes, if I am lucky,
Only if I am lucky
My eyes will catch him first,
His pursed lips prepared to shout “I love you” at full force
And my kiss will intercede
Capture his words like a willing prisoner
Breathe deep his elation
His giddy innocence

I always play shy and surprised when I don’t catch him in time
I nuzzle into him and shield my sly giggles from the disapproving faces of our fellow passengers

I love you
I love you
I love you
He whispers into my ear
Lifts my face to look into it
And although I already know,
It’s always nice to hear
those words
again

How To Be Alone

Alone is what I need to be for the next 30 day so that I can work on this freaking novel for NaNoWriMo...but alas...I've already booked myself with events and such clear through mid-December. lol.

I love this poem about being along anyway. It reminds me that I probably need to schedule some alone time and to create more quite in my life. It would probably help to clear my head...

Thanks to my bud Brad for sending this to me!

enjoy!!

How to be Alone
Poem BY Tanya Davis
Video BY Andrea Dorfman

Society is afraid of alone, though
Like lonely hearts are wasting away in basements
Like people must have problems
If, after a while nobody is dating them
But lonely is a freedom that breathes easy and weightless
And lonely is healing, if you make it

"The First Love of My Life Never Saw Me Naked"

Private Parts
BY Sarah Kay

"I made up for them
by handing over
all the private parts of me
there was no secret I didn't tell him
there was no moment I didn't share

we didn't grow up, we grew in
like ivy
wrapping
molding eachother like perfect yings and yangs

we kissed with mouths open
breathing his exhale into my inhale,
we could have survived under water
or outerspace
living only off the breath we traded
we spelled love
G-I-V-E"

Best. Quote. Ever! :)

"There are few things, apparently, more helpful to a writer than having once been a weird little kid."

-Katherine Paterson

:)

Got this from the "Advice for Writers" Twitter account. If you're on Twitter and want some daily nuggets of awesome, follow him!!

Surviving Tyler Perry's "For Colored Girls"

So, For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow is Enuf holds a sacred place in my heart. I first read the book in high school. I'm not sure why my tiny all-white high school had it and I'm certain I was the first one to check it out in over 20 years, but when I read Ntozake Shange's words...man!!

It was like I was transported to another place...another home where there was pain and sorrow, but where the women who were hurting chose to overcome. The book was tragic and hopeful at the same time and, as the angst-ridden teen that I was, I felt a sisterhood with the characters that has lived on to the present day. I must admit (because I never have before) that I stole the book from the library (teeheehee). Not exactly stole, I guess. I just never returned it to the library. I reported it as lost and kept the book in my secret box of things. Please forgive me:) I'm sure I paid some sort of re-stocking fee...

Anyway...

So, no, I was not excited to see that Tyler Perry was adapting it for screen. Though I did enjoy Why Did I get Married 1 and 2, Perry's best known works (Madea 1, 2, and 3) were worst than horrible. The thought of him getting his blacksploitation hands on Shange's work seemed somehow sacrilegious. When the announcement of the film happened months ago, I steeled myself and decided that I would never set foot in that theatre.

Now, fast forward to today. It's been in theatres for weeks and it's the only thing my friends want to talk about. The reviews are mostly positive and Tyler Perry is working the media rounds like a pro. ::Sigh:: I have to admit, my interest has been piqued.

If you're like me, you're gonna need a bit of extra coaxing to get through this film. Check out Bassey Ikpi's hilarious "For Colored Girls" survival guide below.

I think I'm gonna see it this Saturday. Jesus take the wheel.

:)

For Colored Girls Who Need Motivation When the Oprah Endorsement Ain't Enough
BY Bassey Ikpi
via Huffington Post

1. Watch every single Tyler Perry movie before this one. All of them, from Diary of A Mad Black Woman to Madea Saves Christmas. This way, you'll be familiar with all of Perry's work and there will be no surprises. And then remember that For Colored Girls will be better than any of those movies. It has to be.

2. Don't read Ntozake Shange's play before you see the movie. This is not her play. This is something else. Something different. You know how Starbursts have real fruit juice in them but it isn't fruit? Think of For Colored Girls as Starbursts and FCGWHCSWRiE as fruit. This makes sense, trust me.

3. Go with friends. Go with as many friends as you can round up. Sit in the same row. Hold hands. Say a quick prayer and just lean on the person next to you when the melodrama ain't enough.

4. Remember that it could be worse. He could have cast himself as Lady in Wig. Madea could have been in this movie. She is not. This is good news.

5. Though I'm still hesitant, I do know that Tyler Perry is a marketing genius. If this is successful, maybe -- just maybe -- more movies that tell our stories in better ways can be made. Maybe, if this is successful, Tyler Perry will understand the need for black women to tell their own stories and start putting his billions of dollars into producing and assisting female directors creating meaningful, smart projects. If this is successful, this is a real possibility.

Or he will make For Colored Girls II: Still Colored and Sad.

Tonight, Let's Get Drunk on Poetry

Straight cranberry juice on the rocks is usually my preferred Saturday night libation, but tonight, maybe I'll get "drunk" on poetry, instead :)

Hope you had a fab weekend!!

Be Drunk
BY Charles Baudelaire

You have to be always drunk. That's all there is to it—it's the only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually drunk.
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But on what? Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be drunk.

And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace or the green grass of a ditch, in the mournful solitude of your room, you wake again, drunkenness already diminishing or gone, ask the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock, everything that is flying, everything that is groaning, everything that is rolling, everything that is singing, everything that is speaking. . .ask what time it is and wind, wave, star, bird, clock will answer you: "It is time to be drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish."

On Children

BY Kahlil Gibran

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let our bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Ever Hear of 2nd-Person Narrative?

...Neither had I before I read a short story written in that literary form. I mean...I'm sure that some teacher or someone in my life mentioned it at some time...maybe...?

2nd-person narrative is essentially when the author refers to one of the characters as "you", giving the reader the sense that he or she is a actually "in" the story.

Here's some more info about this form from the all-knowing Wiki.

Perhaps the most prominent example of this mode in contemporary literature is Jay McInerney's Bright Lights, Big City. In this novel, the second-person point of view is intended to create an intense sense of intimacy between the narrator and the reader, causing the reader to feel implicit in and powerless against a plot that leads him, blindly, through his (the reader’s and the narrator’s) own destruction and redemption:

"You are not the kind of guy who would be at a place like this at this time of the morning. But here you are, and you cannot say the terrain is entirely unfamiliar, although the details are fuzzy. You are at a nightclub talking to a girl with a shaved head. The club is either Heartbreak or the Lizard Lounge. All might become clear if you could just slip into the bathroom and do a little more Bolivian Marching Powder. Then again, it might not. A small voice inside you insists that this epidemic lack of clarity is a result of too much of that already."

It's a pretty refreshing style. It's not very popular (probably because it's difficult to do in a compelling way), but it might be cool to explore in my own writing. It changes the reader from spectator to character, in a slightly unnerving way. You open a book, expecting to see someone else's life unfolding on the pages, but instead, that person is you... Love it!

I'm actually thinking about changing my novel to make it all 2nd person!

Thoughts?

Feeling a Bit Nostalgic Tonight

This song came on my ipod tonight and all I could do was ::sigh::

Oh memories...

Whenever I hear it, it takes me all the way back to him.

Hope you enjoy it.

Chasing Strange
BY Lizz Wright

It´s just three digits
but I´m far from home
Fallen, nobody cares
I twist three keys and I´m all alone
There´s a party upstairs
It´s not the first time I´ve been lied to
I knew nothing about you

I am chasing a strange
And I will rearrange
To be a part with every change that you make

Breaking shadows every time that I run
Under a love I can´t share
The liquid daughters and the liquid son disappear in thin air
Every single breath, every single sight
Is all the earth
And it needs to be...

Dear November, Besides Thanksgiving, You Suck!

So, I'm not a fan of cold weather. Yes, I love to trot around in my cute boots and sweaters, but it's not worth freezing my fingers off...especially on days like today, when the cold pairs with icky rain, for a wet and messy afternoon.

They say it might snow this weekend. Bleh. Bleh. BLEH! I want to just cuddle up under blanket with a good book and a cup of hot chocolate. But, alas, I have over-booked myself once again. Tonight I have errands, band practice, writing, and blah blah blah. Ah November...

Check out an excerpt from Linda Pastan's poem The Months and let the Turkey-Day countdown begin!



November
by Linda Pastan

These anonymous
leaves, their wet
bodies pressed
against the window

or falling past—
I count them
in my sleep,
absolving gravity,

absolving even death
who knows as I do
the imperatives
of the season.

Ok...Let's Try This Again - NaNoWriMo

Last year, I made a sad and sorry attempt at participating in National Novel Writing Month, but I failed terribly...pretty much tuckered out before I left the gate. This year, I'm gonna take this challenge seriously and hopefully complete something by the end of the month. Apparently, that means writing about 8,000 words/ week. EEEK!! Wish me luck!!

Anyone else interested in taking on this ridiculous challenge? Sign up at www.nanowrimo.org

Here's some info from the most recent newsletter, with tips on how to survive the first two weeks.

Ready...

Set.....

GO!!!!!

October 31: Kiss the dog, unplug your cable box, and email your family and friends to let them know that you’re about to enter the zone. The NaNoWriMo zone.


November 1: Watch the first video pep talk on NaNoWriMo.org, and then write your first 1,667 words. You can also update your word count in the box in the top right-hand corner of the website (or, of course, in your Author Profile).

November 3: Discover that what you’re writing so far wasn’t necessarily what you were planning to write. Realize that is okay—great, even—and keep writing in anticipation of what will come next.

November 4: Receive the first guest pep talk from Mercedes Lackey.

November 5: Go into the first weekend of November having written 8,335 words. If you’re not there yet, don’t worry! That’s what weekends are for. Aim for 11,669 words by Sunday night and you’ll be golden.

November 8: Get ready for one super-inspirational week! You’ll be receiving three pep talks: one from me and two from guest pep talk authors. The pep talks will continue at this pace throughout the month, and will include words of wisdom from more of your favorite published authors. (If you miss a pep talk email, don’t worry! They’ll be posted on the Pep Talks page throughout the month.)

November 11: Admit that you’ve grown attached to your characters and miss them when you’re not writing.

Happy Birthday to Freddy!

15 minutes left of Fred's birthday. (1hr 15mins, if you're on Central Time)

Wowzers!! Over the past two decades, he's been almost like a brother to me...ok...he's been exactly like a brother to me:) It seems like only yesterday, he was the short little squirt I was picking on in the back seat, during our family road trips. Now he's taller than me, practically a full grown man of 22, and rocks in every way imaginable. Love this guy!

If you haven't done so already, wish my "baby" bro Happy Birthday!! Don't know him? No worries. Send him warm thoughts and wishes. They'll get to him. I promise:)

In honor of the 22nd anniversary of his relationship with this life, check out this Anis Mojgani poem. It has become a mutual favorite of ours!!

Here I Am

"Will I be something?
Am I something? And the answer comes
Already am,
Always was,
and I still have time to be."
- Anis Mojgan

Cincy Public Library Rocks!

“If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need!”
- Marcus Tullius Cicero

Anyone who knows me knows I'm a total and complete bibliophile. I devour books...not read...devour :) Since I've moved closer to downtown, Cincinnati's Main Library has become my stomping ground. So, I was overjoyed to learn that they were recently named a Star Library by Library Journal’s Index of Public Library Service (LJ’s Index). Library Journal is a publication that rates libraries based on the different services they offer.

I've included some details below, but all of the mumbo jumbo just means that my Cincy Libray rocks!! If you love the library as much as I do, you might want to consider donating to their annual fund.

America’s Star Libraries for 2010 were selected after rating 7,407 public libraries. Star library status was awarded to just 258 libraries. The October 2010 ratings are based on Institute of Museum and Library Services public library data for 2008. Scores are determined by rating four per capita service output statistics: library visits, circulation, program attendance, and public library computer use.

7th in Hennen Ranking
Earlier this year, the Library ranked 7th among libraries serving populations of 500,000 or more in Hennen’s American Public Library Ratings, Cincinnati’s highest rating ever. Hennen’s top ranked public libraries are considered the best in the nation.

10th in Collection Size
The American Library Association also ranked Cincinnati’s public library in the top 10 for collection size, 1 of only 3 public libraries to make the top 10. Ranking 10th with a collection of 9.2 million items, our Library is in the prestigious company of the Library of Congress, Harvard University, and New York Public Library.
10th in Circulation

It’s important to note that with this recognition Cincinnati’s library has earned the distinction of being the only library in the country to be ranked in the top 10 on all library ratings: Hennen, Star, busiest, and largest collection.

More info

Convenience Store

Love this Buddy Wakefield poem!! Always gives me chills.

"...She doesn't need me or any other man but she doesn't know that either, and I'm just hopin' like crazy she doesn't think I'm the one because the only time I'll ever see North Dakota again is in a Van Morrison song late (LATE) at night, I promise.

Y'all, I feel like she's 37 years old wearing 51 (badly), dying inside (like certain kinds of dances around fires) to speak through you, a forest, if you weren't so taken with sparks.

But she was never given those words.
She has not been told she can definitely change the world.
She knows some folks do
but not in convenience stores
and NOT with lottery tickets..."

Thank God for Babies

A good friend gave birth to her first baby yesterday and I'm so happy for her!! I got to hold the beautiful girl only hours after she was born and it was as if the gloomy cloud that has been following me this week suddenly lifted. Seriously, it's been a crazy week, but holding this little girl completely melted my cold and stubborn heart.

Thank God for babies. Despite all of our brokenness as humans, each new child gives us an opportunity to turn it all around. It's as if, with each infant He brings into this world, God is winking at us and saying, "all is not lost. There is still hope."

I was just so inspired that I had to express it in some way...check out this new poem - hot off the presses :)

Baby Sasha Saves the World
BY Susan Baba

Just when you think he has tired of us
our ceaseless complaining
our needless lies

our insatiable appetite for all that shines
the anger we throw around so carelessly
the half-baked love we offer up with similar ease

just when you think he has tired of it all
wrung his hands of all our failures
and left us to bring about our own demise

he opens a woman's womb again
thrusts a crying and desperate newborn
into the world's waiting hands
reminds us that all is not quite lost yet
there is still hope.

And All they Know of Hate...

"And all they know of hate was that it couldn't beat the love out of me."

::sigh:: This poem...wow!

Andrea doesn't mention Don't Ask, Don't Tell. She doesn’t have to...this poem is about everything that is so much bigger than that.

Ashes
BY Andrea Gibson

"When they bring their children to my funeral
to scream faggot at my dust
tell them I was born into their casket."

Introduction to Poetry

We all need a refresher course every now and then :) enjoy!

BY Billy Collins

I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem’s room
and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author’s name on the shore.

But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.

Billy Collins, “Introduction to Poetry” from The Apple that Astonished Paris. Copyright 1988, 1996 by Billy Collins.

Girls and Boys. Who Should Make the 1st Move?

I wrote this a while back and finally decided to share. It's a piece about pursuit. The delicate dance between men and women. The pre-dating purgatory of I-like-you-but-I'm-still not-sure-you-like-me. Ugh! Stuck in one of those places right now. Maybe I'll have some good news for you in a few weeks :)

It's stressful and crazy on both sides, I'm sure, but I always think it's worst for the women. Culture commands that we be dainty ladies, waiting for "him" to step forward. And so, we pine...we sit patiently and hope he gets a clue before we wither into nothing!

My guy buds always ask, "Well, why don't you ask him out?" Um...what? Cuz that's not how it's done, son. Call me old fashioned. Maybe I'm setting back the struggle by a million years, but I will never make the first move again. Been there. Done that. That story never ends well.

If he's too chicken to tell you he's interested, that sort of foolish cowardice will, undoubtedly, enter your relationship and force you into the loony bin. As I said, been there. Done that. I'll encourage him, for sure, but the first move is up to him. I didn't make the rules, friends. I obey them to the letter :)

Anyway...the poem. It's a short and sweet piece. Let me know what you think.

I Will do the Rest
BY Susan Baba

If you would only outstretch your hand
Uncross your arms and reach for me
No florishes
No prose
No need to even step forward
If you would simply outstretch your hand
show that you have that same longing
that I too have hid for so long
I will do the rest

Get Mad about Something That Matters!!

I normally don't like to dedicate my blog to ranting because I'm really committed to the cause of spreading poetry and creative expression and I don't like negativity on my page...but some things just rub me so wrong that I have to speak up.

Ok. So, Kohls, one of the largest department store chains in the country, just came out with a "ghetto fab wig" and the Internets is all a-twitter about it. Heck! Twitter has been all a Twitter about it. As a proud natural, I guess I should be more upset about wig, but...eh ::shoulder shrug:: I agree. It is way tasteless and more than a little racially insensitive, but for real...Aren't there bigger things to be get upset about, good people?

Every natural hair, black entertainment, and urban site on the web is freaking out and I can't help but be disappointed in my people. I'm not going to lie. If this were a couple of years ago, I would have been raging too. "How dare Kohl's insult my beautiful, nappy locks??

But, nowadays, I try to reserve my rage for the things that make God angry. I want the things the breaks God's heart to break mine too. Jesus is probably rolling his eyes at this ghetto-fab afro fiasco. But -
the unemployment rate,
the fact that 1/50 children are homeless in America,
that more than 10 percent of all black males ages 25-29 are in prison in the US,
that kids are killing themselves daily because they think their lives have no value,
that kids are killing other kids in schools,
that kids are having kids themselves,

I'm sure that straight breaks his heart. Let's get mad about those things, instead.

Sesame Street's "I LOVE my hair" is the new jump off

Oh, Sesame Street, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways!

I found this video of the brown, afro-rocking Muppet sharing her love for her hair on the StyleList and I was immediately in love too. Like most little brown girls, I had major self-esteem issues growing up, that stemmed, in part, from my hatred of my hair. It never did what it was supposed to when I wanted it to and pretty much served as another reminder of how different I was from all of the blond, straight-haired, beautiful creatures I went to school with.

Eventually, I learned this little thing called self-love, realized that my worth resided in much more than my looks, cut off all of my hair and decided to start afresh. But, accepting and embracing my individuality has certainly been a process.

If this awesome song can save just one little brown girl for self-loathing and white-girl hair envy, that would make me oh-so happy:)

This pretty much made my whole week. Hope it brings a bit of sunshine to yours too!



"Don't need a trip to the beauty shop. 'Cause I love what I got on top. It's curly and it's brown and it's right up there! You know what I love? That's right, my hair! I really love my hair!"

On Marrying the Man of Every Woman’s Dreams

So, here it is - my first cheating-man poem.

Comments please!!

On Marrying the Man of Every Woman’s Dreams
BY Susan Baba

At first, you will think that you are important too.
Out of the many, he has chosen only you.
He will praise your beauty,
your soft hands,
your mermaid eyes.
He will call you the moon and stars
and you will believe him.
He will make you feel confident and poised
as he lightly holds your elbow,
to steer you through the crowds.
You will sit on park benches, restaurant booths, church pews
side by side.
You will both point to young and silly things
walking by, all short skirts and flirtatious longing
who think they have only their bodies to offer the world
But he -
he will praise your mind
your heart
your ability to always dress appropriately for the occasion
and he will seem to look inside of you and love you all the more.

Soon you will see that he is more important.
As your star peaks and begins its descent,
his will still be rocketing onward.
You will still be by his side.
He will still lead you by elbow through the crowd
of his adoring business associates and political allies
but he will not offer to get you a drink
or introduce you to his friends.
He will not even look at you

He will begin to work later now,
joke about the life of a “big man,”
promise to make up for missed engagements,
forgotten anniversaries.
But he will not.

You will try to ignore your senses,
but you will begin to feel small.
He will spend weekends away now.
He will know his children’s voices
from many phone conversations
But will always look on with astonishment
at how quickly they have grown.

You will wonder about his request that you never call him first,
about his sudden out of town trips
that seem to become more frequent,
but, you will not complain.
He will placate you with the reassurance that this is all done for your good.
It is what he must do to keep you wearing couture and driving luxury cars

Your eyes will scan the tennis bracelet on your wrist,
the vast expanse of home the two of you built together.
You will never tell him that you would give it all up
for the way things were.
You will want to,
but you will
not
say
a thing.

Think Only Nigerian Men Cheat?

I've been thinking a lot about cheating lately. Not considering cheating, but contemplating the "why" of it. Why do people cheat? Specifically, why does the person cheated on make the decision to stay?

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie tried to address this question in "Imitation," one of many stories in her beautiful collection of short stories The Thing Around Your Neck. "Imitation" follows a middle aged Nigerian woman named Nkem who learns that her husband has a girlfriend in Nigeria. She lives in the US, for the children’s sake, while her husband is a prominent businessman abroad. Nkem grew up with nothing, so she was at first honored to now be able to afford a new life for her children. But, when she hears about her husband's apparent infidelity, she contemplates her next move and has to decide whether she will stay in the US, and live a comfortable but lonely life, or return to Nigeria and fight for what is hers.

Sadly, the story’s plot was not unfamiliar to me. In my small Cincinnati Nigerian community, it was common place to hear about this man or that man running the town with some other woman. No one batted an eye or seemed to act surprised when the "man" turned out to be their own husband. No one ever spoke of confronting him or keying the heck out of his car or, better yet, filing for divorce. The women would always just shake their head and say, "Thought he was different, but it seems that all Nigerian men are the same."

It took me a while to realize that extramarital affairs are not exclusive to Nigerian men. Politicians, celebs, and everyday people are ignoring their wedding vows on the regular. The most surprising thing, though, is that despite decades of women’s empowerment, the women usually take back their cheating spouses. I would like to think that I would go all Elizabeth Edwards on my man and blow his whole spot up or embrace my inner Candi Stanton and proclaim "I don't mind if he's getting some loving from you, as long as he takes care of home," but I would likely be more like Freida Khalo. I imagine that I would retreat within myself and mourn quietly. Finding out that my husband had been unfaithful would probably crush everything that I am.

Anyway, the topic of women who stay is a very fascinating one to me, so I decided to write a poem about it. "On Marrying the Man of Every Woman’s Dreams" is about a woman who has found neither the courage to confront nor the strength to leave.

Let me know what you think.

Dhani the Poet?

I am not one to crush on fictitious, mythical creatures like unicorns, magicians and professional athletes. I prefer to shower my unspoken adoration on everyday souls like the cute boy on my floor or the quite man that waits at the bus stop with me every morning.

Recently, though, I took a temporary liking to one of our very own Cincinnati Bengals. I saw him in the flesh at last week's TedXCincy Conference and was pretty impressed by this Renaissance Man. Dhani Jones brings the fury on the field, always rocks a bowtie and also has a poetic side. ::swoon:: Corny, I know!! Though this weekend's abysmally game has caused my crush to wane a bit, I wanted to share his poem anyway. It's amazing what you can find on the Google:)

He's no Daddy Shakes, but it's an interesting piece.

enjoy!

The Punch
BY Dhani Jones

I begin with a journey a magnificent tourney around the globe to stop and see the sights ...
An inviting aroma of new things to discover a world to uncover never turning off the lights ...
It’s a challenge I tell you, to step
I beg you, into the ring I go, for the first not the last but the beginning it is for forty some odd days I will live ...
It’s the first some might say the last others might insist ...
It’s just that time ...
It’s that movement that caught you that spirit that bought you for me to unwind ...
Time and time again I just bob and weave, bob and weave and use what was given a chance to prove what was inside ...
Here’s a man
Here’s a man with the thoughts of a man that I am
Here’s a man living in a heartbeat of time trying to escape the breath and design
Up elbow, right elbow, left elbow, right kick ...
Down elbow, left kick, right punch, left hit ...
A plethora of ideas of power it takes, to control and direct to the right space it must not break ...
It must not disgrace, it must not let down for the eyes are watching me from all around ...
I’ve heard my name spoken not once not twice but the third time around ...
I heard my name ringing in my head when I looked around ...
I realized it was me repeating it time and time again ...
I realize it was me who was getting punched not them ...
On to the bell with great strides I took and put forth all the effort and with pride I was not shook ...
It was my time to use all that I was taught and leverage my voice and my mind for the ultimate thought ...
I must conquer ...
I must live ...
I must set forth to understand and give ...
Of myself and those around me ...
And if one punch I must take, I will take and not break but he who gives shall receive and with ease I decree that this moment ...
I will stand and deliver, bend not fold, yet tell the stories untold ...
I will finish what I started and finish I did ...

Not Hallows Eve, But Close

Though this poem has nothing to do with Halloween, it reminds me so much of hauntings - of a wanton and wandering woman who have forgotten where she is going and where she is from...I have been her kind before.

Her Kind
BY Anne Sexton

I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.


I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.


I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.

Be Your Own Muse

Hello good people! Today, I realized that I have been a boring, boring, slacker writer for the past few weeks. Actually, I realized it about 2 years ago on a flight to New York when a wise woman sitting next to me schooled me on the fact of life and again six months ago, when I bought, started, and subsequently put down the Artists Way.

I didn't remember either of these, of course, and chose to point the finger elsewhere. I have blamed the past few months of creative famine, first on the absence of one ex, then work, then the emergence and sudden exit of another ex... but it was actually all me. I was looking for inspiration everywhere but within...

I've decided to be my own muse from now on. No more dating poets and musicians and academics to help me tap into my creative side. No longer settling for being someone else's muse. I will inspire my own darn self :) In fact, I think it will be my motto for the rest of 2010....#BeYourOwnMuse

anyway...

I found this totally kick butt list of ways to be your own inspiration online. It kind of rocks :) Reading it made me feel like I did when i took the picture above - liberated!!

enjoy!!

How to Be Your Own Best Muse:
101 Ways to Delight and Inspire Yourself

BY Molly J. Anderson-Childers

1. Blow bubbles in your backyard.

2. Lie back in the grass and watch the clouds roll past.

3. Roll down a hill, then do it again and again until you’re dizzy.

4. Draw silly pictures and print hopscotch grids and poems on the sidewalk with chalk all over your neighborhood.

5. Write a spontaneous haiku — just jot down the first seventeen syllables that pop into your mind.

6. Take a walk.

7. Make friends with someone new.

8. Call someone interesting and invite them out for coffee.

9. Go fly a kite.

10. Find a park or playground and play outside. How long has it been since you were on a slide? It’s fun, even if you feel a little silly and awkward at first.

11. Learn a new joke and tell it to three people, then write it down as part of a scene in a story.

12. Dance in the rain.

13. Go barefoot in the grass.

14. Try to go a whole day without talking. Instead, write down what you want to say.

15. Wander through your favorite gallery until inspiration finds you. When you see an interesting painting or sculpture, write a poem or story about it.

16. Go book-surfing at a library or bookstore. Write a question in your writer’s notebook. Hold the question in your mind, walking through the stacks, and then open a book at random. The first phrase your eye alights on is the answer. (I can spend hours doing this.)

17. Take a long nap.

18. Where are you when inspiration finds you? If you get your best ideas while driving, try taking a long scenic drive. Take along a mini-recorder, or call yourself and leave a voicemail if you get an idea along the way.

19. When all else fails, try a long, hot shower. It seems like I’m always in the shower when the Muses come calling. They have a funny sense of humor, and I’m sure it amuses them to see me scrambling to dry off and get to a notebook. Not being able to write an idea down because I have shampoo in my eyes is sure to spawn inspiration.

I am a writer! Eat my Verbal dust!

Even I have to fight to surpress my inner literary elitist from time to time. It's not that I'm the most amazing poet ever or that I truly think I am. It's just that I sometimes get caught up in my own wit and literary magnitude...shouting, “I am a writer! Eat my Verbal dust!”

haha!

Enjoy Taylor Mali's hilarious poem about poets.

:)

I Could Be a Poet
BY Taylor Mali

I think I could be a poet because I like to wear a lot of black.
And I can think of incongruous images like a Marxist with a trust fund.
A Porsche pulling a U-Haul, a lobsterman in Birkenstocks sipping a cappuccino,
with his pinkie pointing toward the sky.
I have studied the poets who sing song out their lines
for no other reason than that’s how it’s done,
in love with the sound of their own voices,

Welcome, October. It's been a long time, my friend

Fall always comes too abruptly. One day, my shoulders are soaking up the sun and I'm complaining about the oppressive heat of the afternoons...and the next, I'm bundled up in coat and scarf and boots.

I can scarcely recall how to dress for this weather. I was so engrossed in summer that I forgot how to "do" fall. But, alas, I must learn again. I'm sure that, as I do year after countless year, I will relish the brisk wind and crunching leaves soon enough, but today...brrrr!

Welcome, October. It's been a long time, my friend :)

The Months: October
BY Linda Pastan

How suddenly
the woods
have turned
again. I feel

like Daphne, standing
with my arms
outstretched
to the season,

overtaken
by color, crowned
with the hammered gold
of leaves.

Slow Dance Music

Loving the rhythm and flow of this poem. It's like eavesdropping on a conversation between friends. It's like taking a glimpse into the mind of a stranger. It is at once intimate and intrusive, arresting and free. Loving it!

Thanks to Not that Anyone Deserves Anything for sharing.

Slow Dance Music
BY Tom C. Hunley

I can't explain the rain's attraction to my head,
though I'm touched by its will to touch me,
and I don't understand how I got here any more
than a lobster understands how it ended up in a tank
next to a Please wait to be seated sign,
but both of us can read the faces of the cruelly beautiful
women pointing at us.

I always feel eyes on me so
I apologize to insects after I kill them
and to the salmon on my plate, caught being
nostalgic for home. Everything makes sense if
you squint just right, and at least once a day
I realize that whatever I've been saying
isn't the point at all.

Like yesterday, I heard myself
say "Nostalgia" comes from Greek roots meaning
"painful return," which is why your childhood
home is paved over, a bump in the commuter
path of your old classmates, the ones who have
never gone anywhere.

And so instead of leaning
in for a kiss, I give my beautiful wife the umpire's
signal for "safe." And when I say "I love you"
she becomes red-faced, hits me with the back
of her fists, and calls the cops,
because those words no longer mean what they once did.

My First Visit to Nigeria

The most clear memory I have of my first visit to Nigeria was of the village. My family is from a small village in Kogi State and it's most common for everyone, even our city-slicker relations, to make the exodus back home every Christmas. This was another one of those years. I was about 12 years old and wanted so badly to go to the village well to help fetch water for the family. Of course I was the American cousin, so they begged me to stay put and avoid over-exertion, but my on-going nagging eventually wore down their defences:)

They allowed me to walk with my aunt to the well, which was about a 15 minute walk away. I carried a jug on my head like all of the other girls and boys and made the successful trip to the well and back. I was smiling from ear to ear, as I entered my grandfather's compound. I called everyone within earshot to see how strong I was. As I got closer to our family's water tank, I tripped and spilled all of the water on myself and on the floor. I instantly started crying. I'm certain that I was inconsolable for hours and ended up crying myself to sleep that afternoon. Man!! I still remember the embarrassment that lasted for days after that...

I can laugh at it today, but I was mortified. lol. Events like this are practically life-shattering when you're 12.

Anyways. I have many fantastic and happy memories, but that's one that for sure sticks with me. Happy 50th Birthday, Nigeria. Although we are far apart, you are still my home.

In honor of this big-deal birthday for the motherland, check out Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's poem Visiting Nigeria. If you've ever visited a homeland that felt both foreign and familiar, you'll love this poem. The popular author of books Purple Hibiscus, Half of a Yellow Sun, and, most recently, The Thing around Your Neck really captures it all in this lovely piece.



Also check out the pics from my last visit to Nigeria. Hoping to go back in the next few months. We'll see...:)

Visiting Nigeria
BY Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

At first we goggled the
sprawling savannas; flat, vast expanses bearing
heads of grain, yellowish-brown in the scorching sun,
that nodded – swayed in the evenings – to the
magical drums of the northern winds

Then – south-bound - the joyous tears
of wise and wrinkled ancestors
trickled, and then poured down
to herald the resurrection of the yams

Then the lush wealth of green
surrounded us and we saw
on the stern-faced gods
carefully carved of living wood
a smile of benevolence

Then the brown, bare earth
turned red
with earthworm paths, with spicy dew
and our creased feet
like charred, parched brown paper
soaked the richness of re-birth

Then the Niger, still and silent
- housing its mermaids, its watery gods -
bore our canoe, zig-zag lines etched in its weather-beat body
in spiritual and dominant acquiescence

And at last
while the spirits roamed the hills
their piercing singing in the wind
(that our guards said were horny, mating crickets)
carrying the folklore of the wise tortoise
and feathers slipped off of humming birds,
our souls danced

FYI....

On Saying "I Love You" too Soon

Hello kiddies - I was talking to a friend the other day who was criticizing her brother for saying "I love you" to his girlfriend "too soon." I've been thinking a lot about that...when is it too soon to know that you feel love? Should a person who's been married forever tell a newlywed couple that they haven't known love because time has not validated it? I personally don't think so. I think love can be felt from the first instance. It grows, for sure, but it is still a true thing, even in those early days.

Anyway...here's the first love poem I've written in a while. There's something about the changing seasons that makes me all sentimental:)

Enjoy!


On Saying "I Love You" too Soon
BY Susan Baba

love is not this static, definite thing
it may start small and dim
it will be tested
it may splinter
and grow torrid or weak
and though it may take time to become what it must
it is still -
from the hearts first flutter,
to the last desperate utterance
it is still -
whether new or ancient
it is still -
a true and beautiful thing

love isn't always magic

This poem popped up on my ipod the other day and I cried. I'm over it now, but I can't tease out the exact word or thought or emotion that set off the waterworks. All I know is that this poem touched my heart in some way...maybe I need you...

Maybe I Need You
BY Andrea Gibson

"But I know now it doesn't matter how well I say grace
if I am sitting at a table where I am offering no bread to eat
So this is my wheat field
you can have every acre love
this is my garden song
this is my fist fight
with that bitter frost
tonight I begged another stage light to become that back alley street lamp that we danced beneath
the night your warm mouth fell on my timid cheek
as i sang "maybe i need you"
off key
but in tune
"maybe i need you" the way that big moon needs that open sea
maybe i didn't even know i was here til i saw you holding me
give me one room to come home to
give me the palm of your hand
every strand of my hair is a kite string
and I have been blue in the face with your sky
crying a flood over iowa so you mother will wake to venice
lover I smashed my glass slipper to build a stained glass window for every wall inside my chest
now my heart is a pressed flower and a tattered bible
it is the one verse you can trust
so I'm putting all of my words in the collection plate
I am setting the table with bread and grace
my knees are bent
like the corner of a page
I am saving your place"

More Andrea

Happy National Punctuation Day!

Guess there's a day for everything now. lol.

Check out the official recipe for Punctuation Meat Loaf. I'm not a big red meat fan, but you gotta give these peeps an A for effort :) Note that you need a "punctuation mark-shaped tin." Man!! I would be so much cooler if I had one of these, but alas...I do not. ::sigh::

:)

2 pounds of ground chuck
1 cup water
1 or 2 eggs
1 box of Stove Top dressing: any flavor
Topping: 1/2 cup ketchup and 1/2 cup
brown sugar.
Take an ice cream scoop and scoop the ground beef mixture into punctuation
mark-shaped tins. Mix 1/2 cup ketchup together with 1/2 cup brown sugar for
topping. Top each filled tin with the topping mixture.
Bake at 350 degrees for 1/2 hour. A fist-size period makes one serving.

Natalie Merchant sings old poems to life | Video on TED.com

I'm a huge fan of folk music and have a very special place in my heart for Natalie Merchant. Anyone remember her 90's hits - Kind & Generous and Thank You? Yeah. Epic:)

She's working on a new project to revive old poems in the form of music and was recently featured at February's TED conference. Her soft and smooth voice, combined with these beautiful words is such a memorable combination. Here's the video of her performance and a brief description of her project below.

enjoy!

About (via ted.com)
Natalie Merchant sings from her new album, Leave Your Sleep. Lyrics from near-forgotten 19th-century poetry pair with her unmistakable voice for a performance that brought the TED audience to its feet.

ps...There's going to be a TED event in my very own Cincinnati. I can't wait. If you're a fan of the TED Conferences and the subsequent online talks, you do not want to miss this. I'm taking the day off of work to attend:) If you can sneak out of work on October 7th, you should come. More info here.

What the heck is flash fiction anyway!??

After finding out about NPR's Three Minute Fiction Contest, I decided to find out more about this crazy short writing style.

Also known as "sudden fiction, microfiction, micro-story, postcard fiction, prosetry and short short story", flash fiction is a literary style marked by its brevity. Flash fiction is typically anywhere from 300-1,000 words and has been gaining steam since it was established in the early 90's.

I'm nearly always tardy to the party, so I'm not surprised that I'm just getting hip to this. I think I'll enter the contest, though. I'll also be sure to post my entry here, for some peer review.

As you all work on your entries, here are a few tips from PFI Magazine's site on how to write totally kick butt fiction. The post is a few years old, but the tips are still very relevant. Check out their site for the full post.

The Essentials of Micro-Fiction
BB Camille Renshaw

Micro Fiction, by nature, is defiant. It defies length, boundaries, and expectations. But tight, provocative fiction requires analysis and editing. Taking an idea and distilling it into a “micro”- cosm of its original self is challenging. So what are the essentials of Micro Fiction?

1.Length and form obviously matter. The average micro fiction will be less than 400 words, with some exceptions that reach as much as 750 words. The form is strictly prose. If the novel writer is the carpenter who structures a whole house, and a short story writer is the decorator of one of its rooms, then the micro fiction writer is the mailman who looks into the box before dropping in the household’s letters. Readers discover something brief and intimate in a very short space.

2.Be willing to edit and re-edit

3.[Use] Soul-stirring Language

4.[Use] Imagery

5. Make it tight. Use a minimum of words

6. Play against expectations

More

Power of the Pen!

I just wanted to give a random shout out to my peeps at Reading Jr/ Sr High School and the coaches of our Jr. High Power of the Pen team. For some reason, this came to mind today and I was filled with an overwhelming sense of gratitude. As an awkward new kid in Cincinnati in 1997, that team gave me a place to belong and really set the foundation for the writer that I am today.

I just felt the need to say thank you, because I don't think I ever thanked these teachers and coaches properly. If you're in Ohio and know of any budding writers who just need that extra push, encourage them to join at their local Jr. High School!

I was a regional qualifier and, though I didn't move on to state, being part of that team taught me so much. It gave me the confidence to strive for that level of achievement in everything I do. It showed me that I could be excellent, if I only had the courage to try.

::gratitude::

Any other former Pen-ers out there?

NPR Wants your Flash Fiction

I was listening to NPR on my way home yesterday (as all good liberals do), when I heard about this cool fiction-writing contest that they're running. The idea is that you write and submit an original work of fiction that can be read on radio in 3 mins or less.


Sounds pretty darn cool. Maybe this will encourage me to get my butt in gear and start on my book. Check out the details below and official rules after the jump! Bonne chance, my friends :)

How to Do it!!
Your story must begin with the following line:

"Some people swore that the house was haunted."

and end with this line:

"Nothing was ever the same again after that."

Including these lines, your story must be 600 words or less. One entry per person. Your deadline is 11:59 p.m., EDT, on Sept. 26.

Official Rules

Opera in a London pub aims to end elitism and high prices

I'm all about the democratization of art and culture, so of course I was love love loving this article about an opera house opening up in a London pub. Think we should get one of these started in Cincy? Think we could? Check out the article below :)


Kings Head theatre pub in Islington, North London
via the Guardian
BY Vanessa Thorpe

Britain is to get an unconventional new opera house – the first to open in London for 40 years – when the King's Head, the capital's first and most famous fringe venue, turns permanently to musical theatre next month under the guidance of illustrious patrons Jonathan Miller, Joanna Lumley, Alan Parker, Tom Stoppard and leading West End actress Janie Dee. Playwright Mark Ravenhill, author of Shopping and Fucking and Mother Clap's Molly House, will be associate director.

Operas staged in an unvarnished and intimate way will attempt to reach out to audiences who would never normally consider this kind of entertainment. The Little Opera House at the former King's Head will also avoid the high prices and expensive overheads that Miller says he believes are "immoral" in these straitened economic times.

"We are living in a completely unfair society," said the renowned 76-year-old director this weekend. "Many people are very underprivileged in this country, while there are these huge ornamental opera productions being staged. There is something immoral about it."

More

nothing in life is ever wasted

I have always been a big fan of Rumi's poems, but after my trip to Turkey a few weeks ago, I'm more in love with him than before!! Turkey was his stomping ground and the order of Whirling Dervishes, that he began, is still active today in Istanbul.

So, in honor of my renewed adoration for this beautiful man, I'm posting his poem "Guest House." It pretty much sums up my thoughts on life right now.

Life is complicated, good people. I know I don't need to tell you that. I'm sure you've experienced this first hand. Life is ephemeral. Relationships are complex. Shit happens. But, nothing in life is ever wasted. That’s my current life motto :) Crazy days will come, but everything is as it was intended to be. Every day moves us closer to who we are supposed to be.

enjoy!

ps...i'll post more about my trip. so much to share, but not quite yet...;)

Guest House
BY Rumi

This being human is a guest house
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

Guess Who's Back!!

Hello my lovelies

Sorry for seriously slacking on the blog. I could make the excuse of boy drama, work drama, and all around life drama, but suffice it to say that I was otherwise preoccupied.

I have finally emerged from the most un-creative five months of my entire life and am ready to hop back into this poetry game:) Even though the first chills of fall are starting, I feel like a plant, freshly budding. it's spring in my mind!

I'm ready to post more stuff that I have written, highlight great stuff that friends have written, and generally share my love of words with the world.

Thanks for the patience as I get back in the swing of things.

much love
sb

Monday Inspiration: INGRID!

Going to see Ingrid Michaelson tonight!! Live music just makes me feel mmmm mmmm good :-) and she puts on a heck of a show! In just one hour, I can shed my corporate skin and soak up some sweet sweet muzac!!

Mad Girl's Love Song

BY Sylvia Plath

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

Insomniacs are Smarter!

But you don't have to take my word of it (in my best Lamar Burton voice)! According to a recent Psychology Today article, people who deprive their precious minds and bodies of shut eye are the true geniuses among us.

"Net of a large number of social and demographic factors, more intelligent children grow up to be more nocturnal as adults than less intelligent children. Compared to their less intelligent counterparts, more intelligent individuals go do bed later on weeknights" Published on May 9, 2010

Ah-HA!! To all of you who question my 1am emails and late night Facebook posts, read it and weep!

:-)

But there are some serious consequences that come with all that sleep deprivation...like morning crankiness and killer caffeine addiction. Check out Cristin O'keefe Aptowicz' hilarious poem - "Ode to My Morning Cup of Coffee"

"Ode to my morning cup of coffee -
I buy you every morning at the same place
They know me and have the cup ready
before I even approach the counter.
Some days the subway runs slow
and I don't have time to pick you up
We categorize this days as being BAD!
Life without you, coffee, isn't life at all
It's a terrible fog
A slow motion movie about the wind..."

Enjoy, my fellow night owls....I mean...geniuses:-)

Blogger Hates Me

...and somehow deleted my template. Apologies for the stark whiteness of the page for the past few days. We're back up with a new and improved template. Hope you like:-) I was getting a little tired of the old one anyway.

smooches!
sb

Memorial Day Wedding-Ness

There is nothing like a string of bad relationships to cure a hopeless romantic. It happened to me. I was jaded. I had become a bitter, cynical chica...then my beloved wedding season started! Months of helping my friends check out dresses, pick out colors, reminisce about when they first met their beaus culminated in a weekend of back to back wedding-ness around Memorial Day. I couldn't stop with the aaaw-ing:-) All of the white. All of the beauty...the pure, unadulterated smell of sweet love in the air. It was just want I needed.

Love is real, good people. Breathe deep and believe! Check out my stunning friend Kimba below:-)

love is real
it is not just in long distance commercials
or something that you thought you felt back in high school
so i will turn black and white,
become that horoscope you're reading
it predicts
that something good is on its way. -Kathy with a K's Song, as performed by Jason Mraz