Return Of Me, and The Poetry Prompt

Yeah, I'm back! I have DSL and can surf the 'Net again to my heart's content. Hooray for me!

Now, just to confound my brother, Anonstrodamus, there will be no Corgi pictures today... but -

Here is the poem from last week's poetry prompt on Poetic Asides.

"For today's prompt, I want you to write a bad poem. Take bad in any direction you want, but for me, I'm going to try to just write a horrible poem. (This where the hecklers can shout out, "Why try when it comes natural?") Anyway, let's get bad!"

Robert Lee Brewer, Poetic Asides

No Bad Poems
by Constance Brewer

What have you done? Naughty! Bad
poem. Go to your file folder.
No, don't try the puppy dog eyes.
Maybe if you hadn't jumped
on the editors and left uninspired
four-letter words all over their
pristine publication, I'd be in a better
mood.

How come every time the muse
rings the bell, you degenerate
into an alliteration frenzy? It's not
attractive. And why, oh why,
can't you leave traditional
forms alone? Must you gnaw
a sonnet until it's skeletal verse,
worry a villanelle to stuttered repetition,
barf a ballad onto the kitchen floor
in an unappetizing mess of country
song pickled in Scotch?

I ought to drop the choke chain over
your muscled neck and drag you on a walk
around the public block. But other people never
notice bad Bad Poem. They only see sprightly
verse, wagging tale, and the silkiness
of your long, black typography.

The Unbearable Agony of Dial Up Connections

Yes, I've been Missing In Action, but there was a good reason. I lost my DSL connection, and it took them a week to figure out it wasn't my modem or interior phone lines. So my ISP contacted Qwest to get them to check the exterior lines. And something is wrong. And Qwest is mighty reluctant to fix it, because it involves effort or something. About this time it was 9 days without any Internet, and I was Not Happy. So my ISP gave me a dial up connection while they slug it out with the evil phone empire.


I may come out of this rather twitchy. If not from the antique dial up sound, as it scratches and whines its way to some pathetic connection speed, to the fact that I have to load Gmail in basic HTML, and can't download music, do research, let alone watch Hulu. Who knew so much of the interesting parts of my life were tied to a fast connection?


I've also discovered my 17 inch laptop is great for doing artwork and watching movies on, not so great when tethered to a phone cord and propped up on my knees. It's like having a perpetual 7 pound paperweight. Don't even get me started on the trip to the library last weekend to use their Internet. From the plastic wrapped keyboards to the coughing, hacking drunk next to me, my inner Monk was severely traumatized.


I'm up to Day 12 with no DSL. I keep telling myself there are people in third world countries without any Internet... until I get contacted by a friend who's presently living in one of those third world countries, and has a better connection than I did. Even with DSL. Is there such a thing as a third world state?


On the bright side, I've mopped my Corgi footprinted kitchen floor three times, and carded and spun a whole bunch of wool, including a Leicester/Alpaca/Corgi blend I plan on making into a pair of winter mittens. And I could always check my personal email from work, so I guess I'll have to stop muttering about the IT staff. I even got a bunch of books from my TBR pile read, and wrote one essay on personal mysticism and The Cloud of Unknowing, so it hasn't been all bad. Suffice to say, though, if I want to be cut off from the Internet, I prefer to do it on my own terms. Which means knowing I can plug back in and not be able to knit 12 rows on my socks while I wait for the little blue "You are connected to the rest of the world at pathetically laughable speeds" emblem to appear in my tray.It's shaped like a turtle. Lying on its back. Comatose. Or at least catching some really intense Zs.

Open House/Booksigning for Poet Pat Frolander

All are invited to an open house and book signing honoring award-winning Sundance poet Patricia Frolander on Monday, October 26 at the Community Room of the Crook County Library in Sundance, Wyoming. The event, which will run from 4 p.m. until 7 p.m., is hosted by Bearlodge Writers and friends of the poet, and will debut Frolander's new chapbook, Grassland Genealogy (Finishing Line Press, July, 2009).

Frolander, who promises to entertain those attending the event with poetry about raising children, weathering ranch life, and life in general, is celebrating more than a new book. She was recently notified that her poem, "Father, when You call," was named the 2009 winner of the 17th Annual National Senior Poets Laureate Competition. Sponsored by Amy Kitchener's Angels Without Wings Foundation, the competition draws entries from all over the United States. Picked as best from more than 700 entries for this year, "Father, when You call" brings its author both prestigious recognition and a cash award.

Frolander has also recently been notified that U. S. Poet Laureate Ted Kooser (2004-2006) selected her poem, "Denial," for use in his weekly column, American Life in Poetry. Kooser's column is supported by the Poetry Foundation and Frolander's piece will be used in the June, 2010 publication.

This poet, who admits to digging deep when she pens her lines, is definitely on a roll. Determined to keep the momentum going, she's submitting more—-already has a new manuscript making the rounds—-and is also on the schedule for a reading and workshop (with fellow Sundance poet Jeanne Rogers) at the Campbell County Library in Gillette, and other upcoming events. Her work has appeared in a number of anthologies, newspapers, and magazines, and she often speaks to the joys and problems of Wyoming ranch life when she shares her lines at gatherings throughout the region. One recent event was an old-fashioned parlor reading in Glendo, Wyoming, with fellow poets Katie Smith and Jeanne Rogers.

Grassland Genealogy will be available for purchase at the signing. You may also pick up a copy from the author or from your favorite local bookstore, or order it from Backpocket Books, 364 Farrall Road, Sundance, WY 82729 (307-283-2665) for $14 plus shipping and handling. It is also available from the publisher, Finishing Line Press, at http://www.finishinglinepress.com/NewReleasesandForthcomingTitles.htm.

Please join us October 26, 2009, at the Crook County Library meeting room from 4:00 p.m. to 7:00 p.m. to celebrate poet Patricia Frolander and her new chapbook, Grassland Genealogy. (We'll be serving some fabulous refreshments, too!)

Aftermath

Mother Nature came out early, swinging. After our lovely week of fall weather, the temperature plummeted, winds howled, and we got wet, heavy snow dropped on us.



I failed to get pictures the morning of the aftermath, but the trees were bent double under the icy snow.

The poor trees didn't know what to do, so they cracked under the pressure.

Many of the broken limbs were good sized, one limb was about 20 inches around.


















The smaller ones were mostly whippy enough to recover.

But the bigger limbs just shattered. It sounded like gunshots going off all night.


















Getting to work consisted of playing dodge'em with all the tree branches in the roads and hanging over the roads and leaning into the roads.























All my cottonless cottonwoods took heavy damage.























Even the crabapples lost some branches. The lilacs aren't big enough to take much damage, luckily.

The Russian Olives? You can't kill them, not even intentionally. Probably why Wyoming has decided they are a noxious weed. All I know is there isn't a branch missing off any of my olive trees. Tough enough, for sure.

Friday Poetry Linkage

Some of the poetry links in my Google Reader. Peruse for some inspiration or cool submission ideas. If you know of other places I need to be checking out in my copious free time, please let me know in comments.


Every Day Poets

Harriet

How a Poem Happens

NewPages Blog

Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer

Poetry Hut Blog

Poets.org

Poets & Writers

Samizdat Blog

Writing the Life Poetic


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Kreativ Blogger Award

Carla, over at Carla Nayland Historical Fiction bludgeoned me with this colorful award. As with all bling, it comes with strings, namely some play along questions. So here they are, in no particularly coherent order . . .





List 7 of your favourite things.

• paper - forms:art papers with all their wondrous weights and textures, books, and Post-it® notes – savior of the absentminded.

• dogs - The only beings that worship me as their god. Please don't tell them I'm not omnipotent.

• the Internet - Instant gratification for the terminally curious. I want to bake the inventor of Google Earth a cake for allowing me to see what's parked in my British friend's driveway. (Hi Oonah!)

• Wool and wooly things - From alpaca fleece to Rambouillet roving to yak yarn and everything in between.

• National Forests and Parks - Legal trespassing on spectacular scenery, and source of inspiration for poetic and theological treatises.

• Poetry - Saving my sanity stanza by stanza, line by line, rhyme by rhyme.

• Mythology, sociology, theology, and physics – The cause of inner dichotomy since the dawn of time.

List 7 of your favourite activities.

• hiking/walking meditations - AKA wandering aimlessly/purposefully through vast uncharted (by me) areas of wilderness in a never ending quest for inspiration/spiritual enlightenment, and a nagging obsession with Man vs. Wild – note to self, bring plenty of power bars, since eating bugs/snakes/yak eyeballs is out of the question.
  

• Spinning/knitting/dyeing wool - OR 101 things to do with a sheep fleece. What? Everyone doesn't like making their clothes from the animal up? Yes, I have a loom too. Don't come whining to me for a loincloth when the zombie apocalypse hits. Plan ahead.

• Printmaking/drawing/graphic design – See zombie apocalypse. Your only news and cartoons will come from me. Reduced to bare essentials and printed with the finest ink and papers harvested from the undead.

• Reading/writing poetry and other fiction – I want to create an earworm so insidious schoolchildren 200 years from now will be belting out my verses instead of "The Midnight Ride Of Paul Revere" or "Casey At The Bat". A really annoying rap song would be quicker, but I do have standards.

• Mad Scientist – otherwise known as cooking. I almost never make a recipe the same way twice. Usually because I've lost the recipe, or forgot to write it down while creating a new dish. ADHD Rule of Cooking: If it has more than 7 ingredients, it probably didn't need those extra ones anyhow. Better off leaving them out, no one will miss them.

• Philosophical Discourse. Name the topic. AKA Will argue for coffee, with coffee, over coffee, about coffee.

• Home Repair – It's my house - if I want my living room to be burnt orange, I can do that. What's not to like?

List 7 things no-one knows about you.

• I once spent 4 months in the jungles of Honduras learning: The velocity of a fist size beetle determines how badly the windshield will get broken. If you accidentally kill a chicken, villagers will take the equivalent of $2.50 in compensation. Plus the dead chicken. Toenails do grow back from jungle rot. Eventually.

• I can sing the Canadian National Anthem in both English and French. Yes, we had a minor league hockey team in my hometown, why do you ask??

• If I had to do it over again, I'd be a physicist of some sort. Astro or quantum. Oh, and I'd pay more attention in math class.

• I took a train trip from Siena, Italy to Amsterdam by myself one weekend just to go to the Vincent Van Gogh museum. I also went to the Rijksmuseum and Stedelijk Museum, back to UNISI just in time to take an art history test. Van Gogh wasn't on it…

• My eldest child and I have the exact same birthmark, in the exact same place.

• There is rap music on my iPod.

• I originally wanted to fly UH-60 Black Hawks in the Army. Instead of going up, in the air, they thought I'd be happier blowing things up, in the air. Go figure.

Pass the award on to 7 others.

• Since, as Anonymous always reminds me, I don't have seven friends, the award is up for grabs. Just follow the loose-goose rules and let the rest of us know you played, so we can go read all about YOU.