Madonna and I are shocked

A few weeks ago I wrote, "The Madonna" and since then I have been astounded by the response I have received about it. People love it.

Mom tells me it is the best poem I have written and she is sure she heard gasps when Peg read it at the last poetry reading. Peg then read it at her poetry class that Jim Harms is teaching (I am so jealous! I want to take that class!) Apparently they loved it too.

I am pleased beyond belief! but a little confused. When I wrote "The Madonna" I didn't think it was that great and I even wrote a revision of it. However, before I could do anything about putting out the revision I became to get feedback for the first one. Since everyone loved it the way it was I didn't dare bring out the new one. I went back and read the revision and realized the first was far superior to the second and nearly burned it.

I just feel a little stunned. Mom even asked me if I was sure I was the one who wrote? I'll take that as a complement because anything else would be....uncivilized.

Silk scarves and cigerette smoke

I had a blast last night. Peg had my two sisters and I over to her apartement to dye silk scarves anyway we wanted. We arrived and found the cutest little apartement with books and celtic themed things thrown all over. It was the home of a creative mind.

One thing amazes me about artists and writers in general. Poeple believe they can take writers and artists in a lump and label us, but when you take a closer look you find that we are nothing alike at all. Poetry and Art, like religion pulls us together and drives us apart. But we still feel more connection with each other because there is unity under the banner. So much fun, really.

We stenciled our scarves and allowed them to dry and then added color. I went with light blue, dark blue and white; virgin colors. I decided to write a poem about it quickly and than revise later. Here is the unrevised version.

The Madonna

he painted me as the virgin
my hands beneath my breasts
above my belly abundant with salvation
my eyes were full of mercy and rimmed by blackest kohl,
my lips were rimmed with love and parted for breath,
my feet was beautiful white soaked in cool water;
he painted me in white and blue and crowned
me with my own hair, coral black and oiled smooth
he made me more human than goddess
and so made me myself
in the image of God.


Let me know what you think?

All your poetry are belong to us

Redemption.

How's that for a poem subject. but what kind of redemption is it? Spiritual? Emotional? Physical? Depending on the genre the poem could literally be about anything.

in my case I have to either come up with a poem or find a poem that suits my needs well enough. I haven't been able to come up with anything for over two weeks. I can't find a poem and I can't write a poem. That sucks majorly.

And anything, I want to take Jim Harms poetry class like Peg is and I can't because i go to WVU-P and not WVU. There is no way I can do the other thing either. It just plain sucks to be sometimes. And so here I am mourning and whining to the mechanical ears of my computer. I need to crawl into bed and sleep because I have a big annoying day at the bookstore tomorrow.

I feel like a captive.