why does this
choosing your own death
demand you take more
with you
you are no pharaoh
and there is no sun god
I know of
that still craves
the blood
of those innocents
to appease
with these lives
leaving work
buying food
picking up dry cleaning
standing in line
do you sacrifice them
to a hungry god
or just
your ego
one bullet
is all you need
to do this right
let me show you
yes. I know. I know.
guns do not kill people
people kill people.
so give us rocks
instead of bullets.
Have to thank Rhonda over at Help Me Rhonda for this award–one I am ever so eager to share with all of you, list my 5 favorite books of all time, and then nominate 5 other people whom I want to perter know more about what their favorite books are, and why. Rhonda knows I normally do not “do” awards, but hey–I am loving this one, so I am going to break my own rules and accept it.
Speaking of rules, there are a few to be observed here, too:
The Rules:
1. Nominate other blogs, as many as you want but 5-10 is always a good suggestion. Don’t forget to let your recipients know.
2. Post the Booker Award picture.
3. Share your top 5 books of all time
So–the top 5 books of all time for me (and this is a tough one, because I have been reading a book a day since….since the age of 5) are:
1. Holy the Firm by Annie Dillard (where is the ability to underline when you need it?). Never mind about that! This book is a long prose poem; magical and lyrical. It describes the writer’s time in Puget Sound, and I kid you not, I borrowed this book from someone in the early 80s and I would not return it until I had my own copy. Read it folks. Well, everyone except the blogging friend to whom I am sending a copy this week. You–and you know who you are–this book will soon wing its way over to you 🙂
2. The House of the Spirits by Isabel Allende. This book raised my consciousness to politics in South America when I was all of 16–and I love it for so many other reasons. This is magically lyrical throughout, even when describing some of the most brutal realities.
3. Watership Down by Richard Adams.
4. The Earth’s Children series by Jean Auel, which was already eloquently described by Rhonda on her blog. I love it for the same reasons.
5. The Thornbirds by Colleen McCullough. For the same reasons as Rhonda, minus the Catholic shock and guilt.
I could go on and on, but will stop with five.
Okay, hmmm? Who do I want to know more about favorite reading lists? Oh, oh, I know! Goody! Here we go:
Jeremy Nathan Marks–really want your list.
Noel — Please? I know you hate the awards process, but just a comment here telling us what they are will do!
Celestine — would love to know what your top 5 books are.
David — What are your favs, my northern friend?
Leo — What books keep you awake at night?
that number
climbs closer to 50
& all the selves
I carry inside
nest each other
like Russian dolls–
the women I was
holds those women
I might have been
& greets the one
I am still becoming
so many layers
in one being
on the surface
simple
until I start opening
Are you guys following David yet? You should be, if you are not. This was a GREAT read.
Muses are fickle
They seduce with wild abandon
Then leave in the middle of the night
Take flight
Leaving nothing but scent and stain
So you pick up your favorite writing tool
Whisper a prayer
Hope for a benediction
When inspiration doesn’t flow
You force yourself to spread the words
Sordidly
But a forced poem is like an arranged marriage
Awkward
Unknown
Artificial
As for love it may grow over time
Didn’t carry you to the altar though
Better to wait for that floozy
Who runs around inspiring the neighbors
Leaving you to wear horns
Knowing that she’ll return
With a poetically transmitted disease
And an encouraging word
Amen
David Trudel © 2012
last night
I read a book
where
what comes out of faucets
was not predictable
& thought
for just a moment
about how here
water
flows from these pipes
automatic as breath
& as casual–
a given
these pipes
are never dry
unless frozen
such a simple thing
taken for granted
but today
while I wrote a poem
about water
in a parking lot
a pipe burst
& we were without tap water
for four hours
no big deal
for those
who carry water inside
daily
to use it
& don’t get me started
on the sulking that happens
when we lose power
for 20 minutes
let alone days.
your hair was long
when we met, hippy hair
my mother called it
carbon-dating herself
or estimating age
in tree rings; polished
brown chestnut, curling slightly
to tease your neck
where it met your shoulders
I braided it for you once,
a French braid, laughing
& then loosed it
with my fingers, saying
I would not walk
holding hands
with a man
whose hair
was prettier than mine
prophetic, you looked
with that beard;
old testament,
but not shouting warnings
or sacrificing sons;
just murmuring seduction
masked as wisdom
through the unexpected redness
of your lips, the sensuality
of your mouth
a year later,
you shaved it, all of it–
hair, beard, mustache
& I saw for the first time
how your chin pushed forward
your stubbornness,
& the sharp angles of your jaw–
why, I asked,
my fingertips tracing circles
on the new nakedness of your scalp,
cupping the curve of your cheek
in my palm
you would not say it
at first
it was the crazy guy,
the one you always bought breakfast for
the mornings you walked
to the diner
who figured it out
repentance, he called it.
penance, you said.
***my offering for Dverse poetry prompt today, where we are describing character. Could think of nothing but the ex who shaved his head for this one 🙂 Come join us–the fun starts at 3.
water is always more
than itself. here
where the eye of the mind
opens, if you allow it visions,
this eye will speak symbols
in meaning
that requires no translation
as bones know
this language
the head rejects
water, here
is force, fate,
unstoppable movement;
we will not name
it death, because
just as I know
dream language
I also know
nothing dies
really. matter returns
to earth
as we change substance–
we move
we cycle
as water cycles
in three states
we shift, too
Susan Daniels Poetry 