Guys, my blog has been sucking. Don’t worry, this week there will be book reviews and bookgasms and bookishness. I’m finally getting used to my schedule of taking classes and teaching classes and grocery shopping.
LET THERE BE BOOKS!
This week is going to be a drive through my small town.
This is one of my favorite places on my drive home. It’s where the farms are mixed with a bit of wire.
I read this poem this week and it’s what reminded me that I can find something beautiful in something ugly.
Valentine for Ernest Mann – Naomi Shihab Nye
You can’t order a poem like you order a taco.
Walk up to the counter, say, “I’ll take two”
and expect it to be handed back to you
on a shiny plate.
Still, I like your spirit.
Anyone who says, “Here’s my address,
write me a poem,” deserves something in reply.
So I’ll tell you a secret instead:
poems hide. In the bottoms of our shoes,
they are sleeping. They are the shadows
drifting across our ceilings the moment
before we wake up. What we have to do
is live in a way that lets us find them.
Once I knew a man who gave his wife
two skunks for a valentine.
He couldn’t understand why she was crying.
“I thought they had such beautiful eyes.”
And he was serious. He was a serious man
who lived in a serious way. Nothing was ugly
just because the world said so. He really
liked those skunks. So, he re-invented them
as valentines and they became beautiful.
At least, to him. And the poems that had been hiding
in the eyes of skunks for centuries
crawled out and curled up at his feet.
Maybe if we re-invent whatever our lives give us
we find poems. Check your garage, the odd sock
in your drawer, the person you almost like, but not quite.
And let me know.
Ignore the claw marks. That would be my kitten, Fromage. She not only likes cheese, but curtains, blankets, decorative chairs, etc.
They should be on that new Animal Planet show dedicated to cuteness.
This is good for the harvest. This is good for the harvest. This is good for the harvest.
I went to get the next book in The Wildwood Chronicles because it’s written for 24-year-olds and fifth graders. I happened upon this chalk door, (like a gate into the secret garden). Don’t worry, I didn’t break the seal of childhood by selecting a chunk of chalk and scribbling a 24-year-old heart onto the door. I really wanted to though, maybe next time.
PS. This is The Country Bookshop in Southern Pines. Their motto is “Bringing the World to Southern Pines.”
Political voice in small town America.
Somehow, I managed to mix Lewis and Edgar in one Creative Writing Club flyer.