Tagged "Poetry Friday"
Ever been trapped in an elevator?
Until poet Ali Blythe thought about it, that is.
This Poetry Friday, delve into the poetic mystery that is the elevator with Ali Blythe and his lyrical "Button" (from Twoism).
It's true. You've run as fast as you could, but time is always quicker, and the ninth month has finally caught up to you and commanded you to get back to work.
So, this Poetry Friday, we bid a fond adieu to August and look into the belly of the beast that is September.
And what better way to look forward than to look back? At least, that's the sense we get from Stewart Coles' haunting, enigmatic, elegiac "What September Swallows" (from Questions in Bed).
Friday, August 31, 2018. The last day of the month, and while it is not technically the last day of summer, it certainly feels like the end of something.
And we hate endings. Particularly the endings of very warm seasons.
So today, this last Poetry Friday of August, feel free to pour yourself a glass of your favourite beverage, head on outside, and say goodbye to the month with George Sipos' "August" (from Anything but the Moon).
At 3:00 a.m. you pee, let the cat in,
and realize you've left
the water running in the garden.
Is it worse to have forgotten,
or to know that this late in the summer
it matters little either way?
On hot afternoons years ago
you threw a ball against
the back of the house for hours at a time
till your father yelled to stop or the bricks would come loose and
the wall collapse.
It didn't of course (though
who knows whether the house
still stands) but the point was
that anything, however unlikely,
was thinkable then — the ball
going thunk against brick,
coming back to you.
Above the rows of yellowed pea-vines
droplets rise from the sprinkler,
you plant a garden, then lose interest.
Night after night
scratches at the screen.
you let her in.
Don't ask us why — you probably wouldn't like the answer anyway — but this Poetry Friday, we're fascinated by the lyric poems of subterranean lurkers. We honestly didn't think we'd unearth any, but what do you know? Goose Lane publishes a vast amount of really interesting work.
Granted, today's poem is not exactly a poem of the CHUDs (Cannibalistic Humanoid Underground Dwellers, look it up), but rather an ode to their unique perspective on life and society. Still, though... mole people!
So today, this Poetry Friday, dim the lights and entertain yourself with Peter Norman's weird and wonderful "The Mole Men of Zug Break Into Song" (from the gun that starts the race).