‘Well, write poetry, for God’s sake, it’s the only thing that matters.’
I’ve been writing poetry as a practice for over a year now. It seemed to be a natural progression to attend poetry readings. My first was in November and then I attended two this past weekend as part of a local poetry festival. I haven’t been very successful thus far.
As I’ve aged, I’ve become increasingly ADD. Sitting and listening for long stretches of time is torturous. When I was teaching middle school, I always kept in mind those students like me, varying activities & interspersing periods of moving around in the classroom. In the adult world, most of the time there are not those opportunities.
Luckily at the end of both readings I attended this weekend, the poets were very animated, funny and irreverent, and provided material I could relate to.
Here is a glimpse into an ADD brain during a poetry reading……
TAMALES
The speaker’s words begin to melt together
the chair feels increasingly uncomfortable
my lower back aches
I sit up straight, change position
Then as I close my sleepy eyes
I feel the secret portal of my brain woosh shut
allowing no more in
Come on, you can do this, I say to myself
Too late.
Words, sentences, phrases rain down on me
shedding like water off a duck’s back
forming rivulets, then puddles at my feet, then rivers
that flow into the vast ocean of uncomprehended language
I nudge my friend in the seat to my left
I’m done, I say
She says, one more speaker then we get tamales
I sigh and wait for the tamales.
When I watch them on TV
After my dear cat Emmy Lou passed away about 12 years ago, I’ve had a huge kitty void in my life. Unfortunately, my dog combination including an Australian Cattle Dog has
not been ideal for another cat. Cattle Dogs are known cat chasers/ killers. Other than that, he’s a peach. So imagine my surprise when the Siamese mix cat that appeared in the barn about a year ago showed up on the porch begging for food. We plied her with food; dry food with wet food and a little cream in a bowl. We knew she was the one who killed the destruct-o mole in the vegetable garden & was keeping the mice in check around the chicken pen. We named her “Luna” as she only showed up at night.
About 2 months later, a little brown tabby moved in under the house and could be seen along the perimeter of the yard. She was so elusive, I named her “Phantom.” Then one day after eating the leavings from Luna she too showed up on the porch begging. Now we make sure both cats get a meal. These animals were probably dumped by their owners an all too common occurrence in this rural area. We enjoy their nightly visits from our kitchen window and are considered part of the family. They have inspired both a poem and some artwork.
By Alanna Pass 