I should be writin' but I cain't I should be happy but I ain't Words on the run Ideas won't come I got the writer's block blues. You say I'm lazy, don't you try it Just start composing, I don't by it Stuck in the drudge Don't be my judge It's just the writer's block blues. Twitter says follow and I do Facebook says like me; please like me too TV's a siren I'm really tryin' to cure my writer's block blues.
I love poetry. Some of it causes me to respond with a gasp or a chuckle or a ‘wow.’ Poetry cherishes the word as the novel cherishes the sentence. Well written phrases in prose can demand one’s attention for a few seconds, or longer, but the reader of a novel only gives brief admiration to the craft before she moves on in search of the story.
Poetry demands one to linger with the word; re-read it; even say it aloud. Poetry wants to be experienced and invokes not only meaning but memory and visceral response.
I started thinking about this more as I searched for a poem I like by Gerard Manley Hopkins (I haven’t found it, yet); and also as I read a wonderful poem by Joe E. Weil in an anthology called Working Words (edited by M.L. Leibler).
The National Public Radio program, Tell Me More recently celebrated National Poetry Month by asking its listeners to submit poetry via Twitter (140 characters or less). The tweet poems were curated by Washington, DC based poet, Holly Bass. I submitted several “poetweets” it was fun and I still like them, so here they are:
Oaks waken from their slumber and burst full upon nature’s scene. Ejaculates aided by spring zephyrs that wreak havoc in its human hosts.
Popcorn kettle style so salty sweet your lips sting. Film noir gem-great gams/gumshoes/gangsters; perfect date night.
“No” to bookFace and to mySpace; tweeting gives my heart a race. First it’s pat & then pitter how I love this thing called Twitter.