(I'll see if I can find you a naughty cake!)
for us all to turn up and gatecrash your haven of peace and beauty? nah - didn't think so.Thank you all, my dear poets. I apologize for not being around much lately. I have this stupid pinched nerve in my neck, which isn't really serious but I've made a great effort not to type or be at the computer much of late as I know that's what aggravated it in the first place. And it's seriously screwing with my poetry because I hate writing anything by hand.
But I love you all, and if one can be thankful on one's birthday, I am for your friendship and inspiration. I'm a better poet because of what I've learned from writing with youse guys.
eagleyez gave me a properly funny/sappy card and tonight he and my son are taking me out to this great place--sorta nouveau southern cuisine with a lovely patio where you can watch the world go by as you dine. And it's warm and sunny and beautiful here today. What more could a poet chick want?
Boo, I will never be as old as you. Ever!
for us all to turn up and gatecrash your haven of peace and beauty? nah - didn't think so.
have a wonderful evening with your lovelies.
Actually that would be a blast. I shall raise my diet coke and toast you all, instead. Hmmm, maybe I'll have a margarita for that. Or sangria--they have great homemade sangria at that place.
x 12
Threads spin from her maiden tongue, sinewy
slick with the shine of enzymes, breaking
down daily bread. These threads, aid not to masticate
but conjugate the silken sounds, rolled
from the curve of her smile, to the tip of her pen
Palate cleansers three bean mambo
the triolet, on sestina salad beds. Her lyrics float,
a pantheon of bubbles building homage to jazz
Bird in flight, this angel needs no wings to soar,
just pen and pad. Shara McPoet, Eleanora Day,
Ms. Brown to you, or SuperBad
Happy Birthday Poet Chick
Grits and fried green tomatoes...you are certainly in the south!No booze, just some diet coke
but fried green tomatoes
on goat cheese grits, big eyes
and I couldn't finish sweet
nana pudding. The southland
in me and me in it while Duke
and Prez and Miles of jazz
roll on my blood pulse
four four four four.
Annie!Sassy!!!!!!
