posted by Reen |link| ...talkety...0 comments
...
You look now like
The miner who,
In a well-loved episode
Of "The Brady Bunch,"
Locks the kids
In a ghost-town jail
Or maybe you're
an extra from "The
Beverly Hillbillies,"
Cousin Lou or Uncle
Jim Bob, escaped
To visit the family
In gosh-almighty
Hollywood, or
Maybe you've only
Grown young,
Impossibly so, 16
Or 17, smiling
To beat all hell
With your summer
Job smile, while
Your friends are
Working as cashiers
Or at the back lot
Of the Ford
Dealership, you
Needed the limelight
And now you're
Dancing in overalls
For sweaty tourists
In a Hershey Park
production called
The Sarsaparilla Revue.
posted by Reen |link| ...talkety...0 comments
posted by Reen |link| ...talkety...0 comments
Whereas, Reen herself only has a dial-up connection, and
Whereas, enough is enough:
Be it announced that the email address reenhead@reenhead.com and all variations on same are hereby marked for destruction, said destruction to take place no later than this Saturday at noon, and that
Whereas, people may still like to get in touch with Reen:
Be it announced that her new email address shall be reenhead-AT-gmail-DOT-com.
Signed, sealed, and delivered, July 1, Year o' Our Lord 2004.
posted by Reen |link| ...talkety...0 comments
posted by Reen |link| ...talkety...0 comments
This poem cannot
be read aloud; that
would ruin it, the
question whether
you will pronounce
the "r" or not; and
if you do, then
banjos will appear
in your hearer's mind
and, aside your head
like wee angels, they
will twang and your
hearer will imagine
you with a three-foot
beard and just two teeth
and a claim to stake
and a washboard
to play your golden,
lonely music on.
posted by Reen |link| ...talkety...0 comments
(a)the ecosystem of the Tribbles' home planet
(b)that time you got sent home from school for wearing a midriff-baring shirt
(c)why recruitment videos for the Japanese Navy involve song-and-dance numbers, but recruitment videos for our Navy don't
(d)how Martha Stewart might decorate the insides of a whale
(e)Carthage
Most popular answer will become the subject of an actual poem. You could write one too.
posted by Reen |link| ...talkety...0 comments
posted by Reen |link| ...talkety...0 comments
posted by Reen |link| ...talkety...0 comments
This week has been the week of debilitating panic attacks. They started yesterday. I don't understand them. I only get them when there's nothing to panic about. If I got them while being yelled at, or trapped in a box, or threatened by marauding elephants, well, you know, okay. But I get them when I'm just sitting around.
I heard a comedian once describe panic attacks this way: "It's like an orgasm, but instead of coming, you die!" That's perfect.
I've decided to drive them away with chocolate. Hell, it works for Harry Potter.
On the good side, I have some poems burbling away in my head again, and some good ideas for managing poetical things. I think I'm going to try to send out two submissions a week. Trying to send out a lump of them at the beginning of each month is just too hectic. I think I can reasonably print out and proofread two submissions a week, and then waft them off in business envelopes toward their new homes. I also think I'm going to try to write one or two sections of "Mandamus" a week (it's going to have 95 sections total) rather than trying to sit down and write it all at once. I was supposed to do that last week, and nope. I just played video games.
I'm also seriously thinking about a ghost poem chapbook, mostly because I have a great idea for a cover. It cracks me up. It involves dressing Mark up in a sheet, though. He may not go for that. But anyway, I want to dress Mark and maybe some other people up in classic two-eyeholes in a sheet ghost-fashion, and then photograph them hanging out in the UVA Cemetery (which is a pretty creepy place, actually) doing non-ghostie things. Like talking on cellphones. Or playing soccer. Or doing semaphore code. Square-dancing. Whatever. Oh, it maketh me to laugh.
posted by Reen |link| ...talkety...0 comments
Seriously. Bad mood day. Maybe my hormones are akimbo, maybe my stars are awry. It all adds up to ugghgghghghghghghghhhh.
I read at Pete's Big Salmon's end o' season open mike last night. My legs were shaking so badly that I seriously thought, "Here's where I dramatically end my reading by collapsing! Fun!" No more reading in high heels. It already makes me nervous enough without the possibility of all of my limbs folding in on each other as though I were a giant pillbug.
But I got to hear other people do the reading thing, including Jen Knox's husband, who has fancy fancy pants and is not afraid of plane crashes and I heard Ada and Shafer's awesome pirate poems, which have inspired me to work on my bowling poem for Shanna's Bowlmore Writemore, and which may expand into a series of ghost story poems. (If you are confused about the link between ghosts and bowling, well, just you wait).
I was totally addicted to ghost stories as a kid. I read them voraciously, and hence spent most nights shaking uncontrollably from fear. I think I had this idea that if I were able to read and mentally digest every single ghost story in the world, I would no longer be afraid, because forewarned is forearmed or something. All I succeeded in doing was making myself ever more neurotic. Of course, I'm not scared of ghosts anymore. I've graduated to fear of serial killers, burglars, and bad sushi.
Anyway, if you're planning on having a Halloween party or something, I've got tons of ghost stories. Maybe I'll have a Halloween ghost chapbook! Oo-oo-ooo. Really, I've got a million of these things.
posted by Reen |link| ...talkety...0 comments
posted by Reen |link| ...talkety...0 comments
posted by Reen |link| ...talkety...0 comments
