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Tuesday, January 27, 2004 |
I've added Bookslut to Resources and moved Wood s Lot (one of my very favorite blogs) into Culture Blogs.
This daily (well, nearly daily) sonnet business is using almost as much time as having a television did when I had one. Tomorrow's will be the 18th sonnet, and, since I'm headed for North Carolina and my family on Thursday, it will be the last sonnet this month unless the creek rises. I may not restart in February. There's too much else I want to do here.
10:34:04 PM 
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This is more like what I was trying to do last night. Not sure if it's good that these things are getting more independent. Uppity, even.
Too Late Now
He should have paid attention to the path,
And now he's sorry that he ran away
Because they made him do his stupid math—
The woods were so much smaller yesterday.
He stops beside what shouldn't be a creek,
Then starts to climb a tree, hoping to find
Something he knows, and something starts to speak,
A voice that's old and neither cruel nor kind—
Don't you remember what to call these trees?
What color are those flowers? Don't you know?
What news is carried on the dying breeze
That draws you to that place you shouldn't go?
How sweet to watch each finger turn to claw—
Forget the last familiar face you saw.
10:11:50 PM
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Last weekend Chris Murray at tex files promised a poem for a correct guess at the name of the flower Persephone was picking when she was kidnapped. Well, I cheated, since I knew the story (it was a Narcissus), but she's written two fine poems, one for me and one for Steve Vincent, who also gave the correct answer. Both are accompanied by audblog recordings. Thanks, Chris!
4:21:26 PM
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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
2006 Michael Snider.
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