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
One for you...
ReplyDeleteIf shadows be the picture's excellence
And make it seem more lively to the sense;
If stars in the bright day are lost from sight
And seem most glorious in the mask of Night;
Why should you think, rare creature, that you lack
Perfection, cause your eyes and hair are black;
Or that your heavenly beauty, which exceeds
The new-sprung lilies in their maidenheads,
The damask colour of your cheeks and lips
Should suffer by their darkness an eclipse?
Rich diamonds shine brightest being set
And compassèd within a field of jet;
Nor were it fit that nature should have made
So bright a sun to shine without some shade—
It seems that Nature, when she first did fancy
Your rare composure, studied necromancy:
That when to you this gift she did impart
She usèd altogether the black art,
By which infusèd powers from magic book
You do command, like spirits, with a look.
She drew those magic circles in your eyes,
And made your hair the chains with which she ties
Rebelling hearts. Those blue veins, which appear
Winding meanders about either sphere,
Mysterious figures are; and when you list,
Your voice commandeth as the exorcist.
O, if in magic you have power so far,
Vouchsafe to make me your familiar.
Nor hath dame Nature her black art revealed
To outward parts alone, some lie concealed.
For as by heads of springs men often know
The nature of the streams which run below,
So your black hair and eyes do give direction
To think the rest to be of like complexion;
That rest where all rest lies that blesseth man,
That Indian mine, that straight of Magelan,
That world-dividing gulph, where he who ventures
With swelling sails and ravisht senses, enters
To a new world of bliss. Pardon I pray,
If my rude Muse presumeth to display
Secrets unknown, or hath her bounds o'erpast
In praising sweetness which I ne'er did taste.
Starved men do know there's meat, and blind men may,
Though hid from light, presume there is a day.
The rover, in the mark his arrow strikes
Sometimes as well as he that shoots at pricks;
And if that I might aim my shaft aright,
The black mark I would hit and not the white.
-- John Donne
My fave line is -
ReplyDelete"With swelling sails and ravisht senses, enters
To a new world of bliss." Beautiful!!
Thanks so so much for sharing!!
I would have favored "trembling mast", which would have been more Donne's style. But he wrote it, not me...
ReplyDeleteI am glad of this fellowship with other poets and artists....i'm certain it will add more color to your work.
ReplyDelete