I have some difficulties with this noxious tendency to want to sort and order and organize everything from sock drawers to blogs.. and I think I'm just slowly coming to terms with the fact that this blog, quite simply, is purpose-less. Agenda-free. Completely without motive. And that's mostly okay with me.
Well, not really. Because I cannot leave well enough alone, I am going to give this blog an objective, however small: Daily Blogging. That's right, I will be posting once a day, every day, until.. well, until I don't.
And now for news: I was accepted into the Hollins University MFA program, and will be attending in the fall. (!!!) I get a rush when I think about being back in the Blue Ridge.. I just can't get enough of the mountains. I was also recently awarded a Baltimore City Artist Fund Grant for poetry which makes me a ....
Yes, that's right. I'm a WINNER! Who says there's no money in poetry?
And now, for a little gimmick that may become standby for bad days when trying to blog through fatigue: the Poem of the Day. Today it is a poem by Mr. Cummings, one whose volta has always left me a little conflicted: misogynistic or gracious, I can never decide. Certainly not what one would call Local Color, that's for cussing sure.
it may not always be so; and i say
that if your lips, which i have loved, should touch
another's, and your dear strong fingers clutch
his heart, as mine in time not far away;
if on another's face your sweet hair lay
in such silence as i know, or such
great writhing words as, uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;
if this should be, i say if this should be--
you of my heart, send me a little word;
that i may go unto him, and take his hands,
saying, Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face, and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands.
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