Entries Tagged 'reading' ↓

My dog ran out
to chase a motorcycle
speeding through
the neighborhood.
Never expected
to catch it
with her puppy head
and a short yelp
that left her
breathing slow
looking scared.
On the back porch
we wrapped her
in black plastic
we had bought
for grass clippings,
but I didn’t cry
until I carried the bag
to the curb for the dead
animal pickup
and felt her inside
the three ply trash sack
furry and cold and stiff.
I had touched death before
on my waxy grandma
but death took a puppy
to touch me.

Normally, I offer comments and analysis on the poetry I put here. Not today.

This poem is part of the What I Learned from Animals group writing project hosted by Robert Hruzek and HighCallingBlogs.com. Go to those sites to read some happier stuff.

That’s what Mike Dellosso’s doing these days. His new book The Hunted is about to come out from Realms, but you can already read the first chapter online at his site. In fact, Mike is so on top of the social media thing that he deserves a bulleted list of items to just to set everyone straight.

• The Hunted on Amazon.com
• Mike’s cool site website
• Mike’s cool blog wide-eyed fiction
• And BEST OF ALL the first chapter of The Hunted.

  A few weeks ago, Mike and I had a great conversation about writing, writing suspense, writing Christian suspense, and of course dealing with cancer. He’s a great guy. I really hope you’ll give this one a listen. It’s a lot more fun than the, um, rather self indulgent Whitman recitation I did earlier.

  And I think the sound editing is better, but I’m still new at this.

  If you don’t have time to sit at your computer and listen to this whole 20 minute interview (carefully edited, so all of the boring parts are GONE GONE GONE), no problem. You can download it itunes easily on my new blogomatic podcast page.

  Blogomatic = My new friend.

  Mike Dellosso = A super cool suspense writer

  Your Next Step = Listen to the podcast

  

  

The Brooklyn Bridge in New York was 125 years old this past weekend. The New York Times has some good celebration pictures of the celebration.

Since I couldn’t go hang out in New York, I’m celebrating with this super exciting educational reading of Walt Whitman’s masterpiece, “Crossing Brooklyn Ferry.” I know, I know. I’m a real wild man.

Whitman is writing during the period of Romanticism. Technically, I suppose you’d say he’s a light romantic. He fits in with other transcendentalist writers like Emerson and Thoreau. (But not Poe. His gothic stuff made him a dark romantic.)

Whether you like the light or dark, Romanticism emphasizes feelings and impressions over fact and science and form. Whitman is especially interesting to me because he’s a good bridge between romanticism and realism. He maintains the ruthless optimism of the light romantics Emerson and Thoreau, but his experiences as a nurse during the civil war give his writing a hard, visceral edge. He celebrates himself and the crowds of Manhattan and he acknowledges how beautiful people are even with all of their faults.

In one sense, Crossing Brooklyn Ferry is about just that—riding across the river to Manhattan on the Brooklyn Ferry before the Brooklyn Bridge was completed. But it’s also about shared experiences and the personality of humanity, about what those shared experiences mean for the people who remember us, and ultimately about crossing the gap between the writer and the reader.

Something about this poem makes me think of blogging. Someday all of this turn-of-the-21^st-century online flurry will be staring into the faces of people in the future—speaking to them. This blog maybe. Many podcasts. The bests one anyway—the ones with the most truth and beauty will endure. And who knows but that we writers will be looking back at our future readers?

It’s a silly Romantic notion, I know.

But I always feel romantic when I read Whitman.

A few weeks ago I posted one of those whiny, doubtful things. I just wanted to say, “God cut through the crap already.” Shortly after that, he gave me a poem that seems to have been a response to that post. There are two versions of the poem, and I’ll post the short one first.

As usual, you can click on the evoca recording to hear me read it. (I’m having more and more fun with these audio productions in audacity…) If you are really a glutton for punishment, you can subscribe to my podcast! (It’s really just me at my kitchen table late at night.)

Looking for Intimacy

I want your R-rated prayers.
You think I can’t handle it?
Polite words leave me cold–
Congested and snot-filled.
I won’t use tissue. I’ll snort
You down, roll you into a ball
Of yellow phlegm with my tongue,
Hock up a church and spit it out.

Wasn’t that a happy little response from God? Happy Friday, everyone!

…and Children, Television, Recreation, Relatives, Food, Pets, Automobiles, Bugs, and Bibles

You see, Robert Hruzek is hosting a group writing project where people write about a mash-up of 18 fun topics. I added bugs and Bibles to his list just for good measure and polished up a poem for his group. He says it’s the first ever poetry entry. Yea, me!

First, the poem itself. You can hear me read it on the Evoca recording, but you’ll have to skip ahead to 1:20 remaining because I get long winded in my intro. (Be sure to check out my sweet musical intro/outro. Royalty free audio is fun!)

Welcoming Summer

Two love bugs mate on my leg
Until I draw them off with this
#2 pencil. The pair crawls past
my thumb as I write—then up
to the pink eraser which must taste
funny to tongue buds on their feet.
They fly away, black-legged snow-
flakes. We think of Christmas specials
where painted children catch snow
on tongues to welcome winter.
“Open wide, kids,” I say. “There’s
never snow in South Texas.”
My son plays along and we run
up and down the blacktop lot—
heat rising in waves around us—
we must look a pair of Baptist Johns,
prophesying protein in the desert.
A voice of two calling between
parked cars: “Prepare the way
for summer bugs. Make straight
your tongues for them.” Push that
play too far and bugs become God.
All mankind finds salvation in bugs.
And why not? God can raise up
children from rocks and bugs—
even cars with bug-splattered bumpers.

Second, here’s how the poem fits the mash-up rules.

A few weeks ago, we drove (automobiles) to a family reunion (relatives) where my children and I found ourselves surrounded by bugs on our little vacation (recreation) to decorate the graveyard at the Hebron Baptist Church. In fact, the bugs were so thick, we talked about how it was like a blizzard of black snowflakes with legs. My son loved this because he keeps bugs as pets (which means he puts them in bug cages over-night and holds a daily funeral for the ones who don’t make it). You can see from the picture above what so many bugs do to a white car (automobile—again). The snowstorm made me think of the peanuts gang catching snow on their tongues (like food) in the television Christmas special. At that point, my mind took off, and I started writing this poem.

I have to ask, though. Who uses the word automobile anymore, Bob?

Also, Gordon, you asked about W. P. and decoration. I provide a long answer in the audio file above. And you can see W. P.’s grave there on the right. He is my kid’s great-great-great-great granddad. Or maybe just great-great-great, I can never remember.

One last thing about poetry. Bob’s project “What I Learned From…” suggests that I’ll have answers for you here. But poetry isn’t very good at providing answers in the traditional sense. Nevertheless, I hope you’ve found some things to think about in my mash-up of mashed-up of bibles, bugs on my windshield, the subsequent discussions that followed us that weekend, and Writing, Children, Television, Recreation, Relatives, Food, Pets, Automobiles.

Here’s something for poetry Friday. Hat tip to Steve McCoy one of our authors at TheHighCalling.org for pointing me to Billy Collins on YouTube. (Here’s a link to Steve’s articles at THC.org.)

Yesterday after we had our new pastor over for an old-fashioned pot roast lunch, complete with my wife’s to-die-for homemade chocolate pie, I found myself weeping while I did the dishes.

The pie really was that good, but it didn’t make me weep. And the pastor wasn’t picking on me. Or at least, he didn’t make me cry.

Stephen Eley, Ken Scholes, and Edward Bear did that.

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It’s time for another blog tour experience.

I presented on blog tours last week, and I’ve been working hard with L.L. on her presentation at Mt. Hermon (which Becky will hopefully have small role in as well) . Now, it’s time to set aside the numbers and research and fancy quotes from famous people, and get to work on a real tour.

This month, CSFF is featuring Chris Walley’s The Shadow and Night from Tyndale. (You may remember them as the little press that exploded in the 1990s with a series called Left Behind.) You can read more about Chris Walley on his site and his blog. Frankly, I’m excited about this one. So without further ado, here’s page one. Review to follow.

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Here’s a little poem since I haven’t posted one in awhile. Comments to follow.

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L. L. Barkat tagged me for an interesting meme that reminds me of the Oulipo group (especially N+7 poems). Yes, their site is in French. No, I don’t speak French, and you don’t have to either to appreciate the 1-2-3 meme.

Here’s what I had to do.

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