This isn’t a real post. This is just a thing.
So I’ll get more cartoons scanned when I get home and do a real post then, but I was just thinking about this, and god forbid I have a thought without babbling to the internet about it.
I’ve had poems in my head all day, and yay for that. Do you guys ever just get drunk on words? I mean, you just read a poem aloud or think it aloud and the meaning doesn’t even really matter because the flow and beat and tastiness of the language is so delightful? And then, even better, words DO mean things, and poems are like a delightful puzzle that’s never quite solved, but first and foremost, WORDS.
Like this one:
The Windhover
I caught this morning morning's minion, king- dom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing, As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding Stirred for a bird,—the achieve of; the mastery of the thing! Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier! No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear, Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.
– See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20311#sthash.xduxR14h.dpuf
So, ok, it’s totally about the Jesus, in whom I do not even a leetle bit believe, but the language. I want to roll around in those lines and pour them over me and sop them up like gravy and DEVOUR them. I defy you to read that aloud and not have a teensy little wordgasm.
I’ll post some more over the next few days because poems are like potato chips and I can’t stop at one.
And yes, I do realize that I take an awful lot of liberties with the English language in my writing here, but I defy your judgey faces because this is a blog-like-thing and playing games with language is part of the allowances made for a creative endeavour. My former students will confirm that, when it comes to formal writing, I am a picky, picky jerk who throws a fit about things like starting sentences with ‘and’.
Neurotic Owl 