Posted by: shorelineclusterpoets | January 31, 2010

Meeting reminder: Feb. 2

Greetings all,

This is a reminder that we will meet Tuesday, Feb. 2 in the Madison Library. Please let me know if you plan to attend.  I hope to see all of you especially those who’ve not been for a while. Please bring something to read and share. I want to hear all your voices.  That said, if you don’t have something new you want to share, please take a look at the suggested theme Thursday pages from the last two weeks (the ones with the sets of random words and ideas).  And if you have nothing else, storm out a few haiku.

See you there.

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Responses

  1. I’ll be there! I missed you guys last time!

    -Margi

  2. Sorry–won’t make it this time. Fingers crossed for next time!

  3. As of now, I don’t think I’ll be able to attend tomorrow’s meeting.

  4. I will not be able to attend this time, but want to mention a poet website I have recently enjoyed:
    Talormali.com

    He will be at the Sunken Garden Poetry Festival this August in Farmington CT. Check it out,

    Here is a sample poem:

    I Could Be a Poet
    by Taylor Mali (www.taylormali.com)

    I think I could be a poet because I like to wear a lot of black.
    And I can think of incongruous images like a Marxist with a trust fund.
    A Porsche pulling a U-Haul, a lobsterman in Birkenstocks sipping a cappuccino,
    with his pinkie pointing toward the sky.
    I have studied the poets who sing song out their lines
    for no other reason than that’s how it’s done,
    in love with the sound of their own voices,
    ending each line going up,
    every single line going up,
    as they read, and read, and . . . read?
    See, declarative sentences that in prose would go down,
    in poetry seem to go up
    as if it adds some hidden meaning:
    I know what I’m talking about and you should too.

    And I am not afraid to get pissed off!
    I am not afraid to use that ONE requisite swear word
    to let you know I am FUCKING serious, man!
    I’m not afraid to

    SHOUT! WITH INTENSITY! AND LONG, DRAMATIC . . .

    PAUSES

    FRAUGHT WITH ANGST!

    And still you can hear the lines going up.
    And the words, the vocabulary words—
    Glaconian, distemic, irrepscenteelia—
    Thrown in to remind you
    “I am a writer! Eat my Verbal dust!”

    And then the end
    Spoken softly, hauntingly tender,
    Though not devoid of irony,
    Ending abruptly as if there is more . . .


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