“When anybody asks, 'What are you writing about now?' if I try to reply, the book-in-the-works sounds so idiotic to me that I think, 'Why am I trying to write that puerile junk?' So now I give up; if I could talk about it, I wouldn't have to write it."
- Madeleine L'Engle, A Circle of Quiet


Some Random Stuff and A Change of Pace

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

Thanks everyone for your nice comments and for not being angry about my little deception. You're all just too sweet.

On a completely different note...

This morning was frantic, crazy, weird. I woke up at 6:55 after the Geek called me as usual, and I stumbled my way down the stairs in a half-zombie-like state. About 2 minutes into my morning ritual, I was shocked into wakefulness by the sudden realization that I had forgotten to tell the Geek that I was going to work early today and I had an appointment at 7:15! Aaaaahhhh!!!

So, no shower, hair in a ponytail with my "bangs" hanging loose (more of a knot really since it's not long enough for a ponytail), clothes wrinkled, and head clouded with my typical morning snottiness (I'm allergic to's weird), I arrived at work at 7:22. What a morning. Blechhh. I'm thinking of taking a shower as soon as I'm done posting. I can't stand going even a day without a shower. Guess I'm a little obsessive that way. Blond Girl assures me that I've never smelled bad a day in my life, but I felt a little stinky today.

I just found out that this month is National Poetry Month! My apologies to whosever blog I read this at. I can't remember who it was now, but she posted a Shel Silverstein poem on her blog which delighted me because I adore Shel Silverstein even though I've barely read anything of his since I was a kid. (If that blogger was you, let me know!)

As a kid, I was completely obsessed with poems. I had a children's encyclopedia set with everything you might think a kid would want to know. Do you think I even touched most of them? Nosireebob, but the poetry volume was so well used that the letters were worn off the cover. I had a large book of mother goose poems that I read until I was about 12 or 13 I think. That one pretty much just disintegrated despite the duct tape holding the binding together. Crazy, sure, but I loved the rythym of the words and was fascinated by the rhymes.

As a teenager, my focus turned more toward music. That's not to say I didn't still love poetry, but I didn't know much about grown up poetry and the nursery rhymes weren't entertaining me much anymore.

Since then, I occasionally will seek out a book of poems from the library or spend some time in the poetry section of Borders, but I've only bought one book of poetry that I can think of, and it's now packed away in a box with most of our other books. I still love poetry, but it seems indulgent somehow, whereas a novel seems slightly less so. I don't know why. Actually I rarely will buy a novel either. I usually borrow them from the library or I'll buy one of those little classics from Barnes and Noble for $4.95. Guess I'm just cheap.

Anyway, with it being National Poetry Month and with me feeling a bit overwhelmed lately, I've decided to post poems. Yup, poems. Not my own. I can't remember the last time I wrote a poem of my own. I'm going to post poems I like that other people have written. If I have time, I'll post a little random something from my brain about that particular poem, but some days I might just post the poem itself. I may still post something else if the mood strikes me and I feel like I have something to say, but for the most part April will be about the poetry.

Today, I'll start off the month (just a few days late) with one off my favorites by Shel Silverstein, Where the Sidewalk Ends.

Where the Sidewalk Ends

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

Shel Silverstein


At 4/05/2006 9:37 PM, Blogger Blond Girl wrote:

hmm.. Maybe if I can find it, I'll post my "Passion Suite" in honor of easter and national poetry month.

As for Shel, my favorite was Sarah Cynthia Syliva Stout Would Not Take the Garbage Out. Man, I loved that poem. I still have snippets of it wondering through my brain..."She'd bake the hams and candy the yams:...
tee hee


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