--I am always on the lookout for inspirations for future poetry writing and this morning, I came across this blog post with this poem:
DUSK by Lisa Russ Spaar
Blue, I love your lapis palace,
your stair of melancholy that burns,
but does not consume my heart.
I love the heaven-shot and glinting stares
of all your tall and far-flung windows,
your shadowed sills, your roofless picnic of stars.
I climb your fabled tense of once
and upon a time, your fractured prayer:
that restless hinge: your voice, thick with thorns.
Molly Spencer, the writer of the larger blog post, gives this writing suggestion: What color (or colors) could you write a direct-address poem to? Something to try, perhaps.
--I thought about all the colors I love: blue and purple and green. I thought about jewels and peacock feathers. But I did not write a poem to a color.
--I read these lines written by Luisa Igloria in this blog post/poem:
The sales clerk said, helpfully: Sometimes
the size is different depending on the maker.
--I thought of factory workers and the Triangle Shirtwaist fire. I thought of all the ways that workers rebel, the daily resistance, and how it can end in a blaze. Or maybe it just ends in shirts of slightly different sizes. I had a vision of factory workers cutting slightly off the pattern, but of course, that process must be mechanized.
--Maybe the machines rebel against the mechanized work, the relentless quest for conformity, the soul-stripping nature of their existence.
--I think of my good friend and her co-existence of a new machine. She lies awake at night watching it watch her. I asked if it was noisy, and she said no. It's just a new presence in the bedroom.
--I think of this machine, and factory machines, and all the tiny machines we keep in our pockets. How in thrall we are to them! Yesterday I walked up the stairs with a colleague who could walk up the stairs and text at the same time. However I was halfway down the hallway before I realized that I had left her behind. We may be able to text and walk, but few people can text and walk at a quick pace.
--When my parents taught me about resisting peer pressure, we all assumed that I'd be pressured to smoke or take drugs. Lately, everyone's been telling me how I need to join this century and get a smartphone. But I already find it hard to be present with humans when I'm surrounded by other machines. Why would I want to add a little despot of a machine to the menagerie?
--I think of machines and how much music has been mechanized. I think of how many elements of modern music annoy me: the drum beat that never changes, the people who sing at full-throated warble, the people who don't sing but mutter, the sinister/thuggish undertones and overtones. Some days I just want to avoid the gym altogether.
--But then I wouldn't overhear nuggets like this one: "It should be against the rules to bring baked goods to the gym."
Best Essay Collections of 2017 by Women Authors
1 month ago