Poetry, and Why You Should Love it

So many people have the wrong idea about poetry. It is not for the faint of heart. If, when you think of poems, you imagine flowers and sweetness and love, you are only getting a very tiny part of the experience. Poems can certainly make you feel all mushy, and lovely and beautiful, that's true. They can also tear your heart out of your chest and leave it to wither on the floor, or leave you with an ache so deep it lingers for days.

Though I love words in every form, there is something very special about poetry. There is an exquisite sense of timing and structure. The weight of each word is immense. A poem is like a tiny piece of a life left exposed and vulnerable.


Or it's just plain fun with a gum-chewing sort of cadence. Whatever.

Don't think you have time for poetry? Oh, come on. No matter what's happening to you right now, there's a poem for it.

Too busy watching TV? There's a poem about that.

Lose your head? There's a poem about that too.

House on fire?

Trying to get rid of the kids? Or rats? Or both?

Tormented by a demon bird. You know there's a poem about that (read brilliantly by Christopher Walken)

And of course there are love poems. Too many to count. But there are also poems about that other side of love.

Falling in love with the wrong person. (read here by John Hurt)

Trying to get your girlfriend to put out.

Whatever your situation, there's a poem for it.

My dad got me hooked on poetry when I was very young, and now I'm trying to do the same with my kids. Shel Silverstein and Roald Dahl have been a wonderful help there. When I was a kid, the school library had a book called "Scary Poems for Rotten Kids". Now that was my kind of poetry. I've scoured second hand book shops everywhere looking for a copy. So far no luck.

I've mentioned before our new favourite app, If Poems, which has my youngest listening to Helena Bonham Carter recite on a daily basis. Bill Nighy reads as well. And you can hear Tom Hiddleston read the above linked poem "To His Coy Mistress" (I can hear the fan girls from here...)

I also have the pleasure of knowing a few extremely talented poets.

Linda Simoni Wastila

Mark Kersetter

Angel Zapata (especially if you like it dark and twisted)

Visit them and get your habit kick started.

Gatsby it is

F. Scott Fitzgerald has some fans. The votes are in, and Gatsby gets it by a mile. Thanks to everyone who voted in the poll, you're opinions were invaluable, and also thanks for suggestions for other books to add to my list.

I started reading The Great Gatsby a couple of days ago, and so far I am really enjoying it. I'll talk about it more once I finish it.

Speaking of reading books and talking about them, I'm reading two more that I look forward to telling you about. Soundtrack to the End of the World by Anthony Rapino has been my late night read. You already know how I feel about Anthony and his twisted tales. And I just grabbed a kindle edition of Gathering Darkness by Chris Allinotte, a fine writer and fellow Canadian. I'm looking forward to delving into this collection of his stories. His book is also available in paperback.

I'm going to apologize in advance for not being around. It's that time of year. The kids are finishing up at school, there's the elementary leaving ceremony, my oldest has her high school graduation, and then there's the European tour with the show choir. My schedule is pretty much packed for the next month. It's hectic, but I'm very excited about it all.

I think that's it for the housekeeping. I'm off. It's a beautiful day, the sun is shining, and there's painting to be done. How glamorous my life is.

Burdened with Glorious Purpose

I don't often talk about my kids here. This is not a mommy blog, by any stretch. If you want parenting advice, I'll leave that up to the so-called experts, the ones who can tell you how to feed and dress and nurture your children. Believe me, this is the last place you want to come for that kind of advice.

But allow me a few moments to get philosophical, or as much as it gets when one is quoting super villains.

I've never given much thought to this whole Mom gig. I don't relate to those things you see on facebook about how wonderful mothers are, how selfless and sacrificing and amazing. I don't 'like' and share with 20 of my friends because I'm a mom and I'm made of awesome.

I have my kids, and they have me. It's that simple.

So why am I talking about this now?

In two weeks my oldest child will graduate from high school and be unleashed upon the world. She is the guinea pig child, the one who suffered through my mistakes, and taught me what I needed to know. She has gone from a sweet and terrible little girl to a beautiful, charming, and frustrating young woman. Those years snuck past and I'm left in awe of the person she's become.

This mile stone has me thinking about my three, my little army of minions, and my role in their lives. While I'm sure organic, gluten-free diets and brain stimulating toys are great, I haven't focused on those kinds of things. The way I see it, I have two responsibilities as a mother, and everything else is icing.

My first job is to help my kids be happy with the people they are. I want them to be the best they can be, but to be themselves in the process. Magneto said it best: "If you're using half your concentration to look normal, then you're only half paying attention to whatever else you're doing."

But my responsibility doesn't end at our doorstep. It is my job, my purpose, to make sure my children are thoughtful, respectful, contributing members of society, and to know that you only get out of something what you put into it.

I want them to be good people, better than I am, and to make the world a better place for having them in it.

This job is tough and it's scary. Sometimes, you've got to be a super villain to get it done. We can all only hope that I'm doing at least some of it right.

At the same time my oldest graduates, my boy will make the giant step from middle school to junior high, and my youngest will finish the first grade. I still have some time with them, and I want to get it right.

So Loki, hand over that helmet and scepter. I've got a job to do.

How Do I Do That?

I stopped at the gas station a few days ago. I try not to go there very often since the price of gas is hovering just under "First Born". So as I was pumping my life savings into the tank, my wandering eyes fell upon the warnings printed on the pumps. I've never paid much attention to these warnings. I figured they were pretty much common sense.

The first thing that caught my eye, right at the top, was the spelling of vapours. Well, well, thought I, someone is showing off his French. You'll notice that in the third bullet point, vapours is spelled correctly, unless you're from the states.

So I continued to read. Yep, mostly common sense, just as I thought. I can do all these things. Then I did a double take, rubbed my eyes, read again.

I don't know how to follow these instructions. I have no problem keeping my face away from the nozzle and tank openings. That just makes sense. It's the next step that's causing a bit of trouble.

Now I don't know about you, but I find it really hard to keep my face away from eyes and skin. If anyone has figured this out, please let me know. I'm sure there's a trick to it.

Maybe I should leave the gas pumping to the professionals, the ones who know how to remove their eyes and skin from their faces.

Help Me Choose a Classic Read

I'm not just an avid reader, I'm a voracious reader. Like most readers of this sort, I usually have several books going at one time: something old, something new, something borrowed, something scary.

I've been trying to catch up on the classics. You know, the books you pretend you've read when anyone talks about them. There are all sorts of lists - 30 Books to Read Before You Turn 30, 100 Books Everyone Should Read, 40 Books You Should Be Ashamed You Haven't Read - But I have a list of my own. I've narrowed it down to the four I think I should read next, but I'm having a very hard time choosing one. I thought it would be fun to put it out there and get your opinions. Have you read these books, what do you think of them, what books would you add or remove from the list?

Here's a quick run down of my choices:

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy by John la Carré. This one has been in my top five for a while, but it keeps getting bumped. I should have read it back then because now they've made a movie of it. I hate reading a book when it's recently become a movie. I feel like I'm playing catch-up. And then I go to the book store to get the book and it has the movie cover. ugh. This is one of the reasons I love second hand book stores.

Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë. It isn't so much that I want to read this, but more that I feel like I should. Wuthering Heights is referenced everywhere, and talked about so often it seems like an inside joke and I'm on the outside. It's cold out here.

All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Remarque. My seventeen year old read this for her literature class this year, and she loved it. I've been wanting to read it for a while. I can't have my kid showing me up, can I?

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Everyone's read this right? Fitzgerald's crowning achievement. One of the great American novels. Nope, not me. I'm pretty embarrassed about this one, actually, as it's the one book people seem genuinely shocked to learn you haven't read. They probably haven't read it either though, come to think of it. They're playing that pretend game we talked about earlier.

There's a poll in the right sidebar where you can vote for the one you like best. I would love to hear your comments on your favourite classic novel (and I acknowledge that the term 'classic' may be relative) or your thoughts on any of the above.

I appreciate your help in getting me well-read, and not just pretend-read.

The Cask

He lured me with the promise of a rare vintage, and I followed with great jollity through the dank catacombs, kept warm by wine consumed and the thought of more to come.

Just a little further, he said. This way.
He left me suspended in chains, surrounded by brick and mortar and the sound of my own madness. How I laughed as he stacked the brick, laughed as the last light disappeared. Laughed until my sides ached and my throat grew dry.

It is quiet now, and I wait. Surely it is a trick.

I listen for his returning footsteps. My arms ache. The air grows thin.