kestrell: (Default)
Ever since I was a little girl,
I waited for Halloween,
the one day I could wear my witch hat.
I would make it from rough black paper and Elmer's glue
and those terrible scissors they give little kids
that work as well as Ron Weasely's wand.
As I got older, other women told me,
You can't wear that witch hat
We're not allowed to wear
a hat like that
And, anyway,
No one really believes in witches or,
if they do, they're some sort of crazy lady.
I wondered, what would Shirley Jackson say to that?
and I bought a better witch hat.
It was higher, and pointier, with velvet flowers and black lace
and a veil that fluttered around my face
and even a few black feathers,
which would occasionally make a break for it
and fly off with a rakish breeze.

The first time I went to Salem
I saw so many witch hats!
Worn by college girls, and little girls, and even some men (the ones with style).
But the best were the women,
the ones with hair gone grey.
Their witch hats were the best
the most magnificent--
as if they had been saving up all their lives
for this
one
perfect
witch
hat
The one that declared
that they no longer cared
about what they were and weren't supposed to wear.
Maybe one day I will
be old enough
and bold enough
to wear a witch hat
one like that
covered with orange feathers.
kestrell: (Default)
Last night I had the first of three online poetry writing classes being offered through the Boston Public Library.

Perhaps it's all the technology-related blogging and documentation I have been writing lately, but I've felt the need to start writing poetry again.

Remember when you used to write poetry and songs just for fun, without thinking of it as something that required a lot of preparation and effort and, most of all, seriousness, just to begin? Or maybe you used to draw, or sing out loud, or play guitar, or whatever, just for fun? There's a phrase: "just for fun." For pleasure. For enjoyment. "Enjoyment" is what you get when you mix entertainment and joy.

And then, one day, you don't remember when, the invisible adult critic showed up, staring at you, judging, and the joy went out.

Okay, maybe that's just me, but I want to get back to the place before the invisible critic, and just write.

Then, while browsing the BPL's website a couple of nights ago, I found an online class titled "Just Writing," so I registered (it's a Zoom class).

IT WAS AMAZING! I didn't think I would be able to write anything, but we had free writing exercises and off I went.

I promise not to share my poetry with you, but I wanted to share just this first poem I wrote (don't worry, it's short).

The word we were given was "miss" and everyone else wrote about what they are missing during the pandemic, but that never even occurred to me. What hit me immediately was things I miss about being sighted, which I never allow myself to talk about, so sharing this with strangers was really jumping into the deep end.

I miss feeling brave.
I miss walking with nowhere to go.
I miss sunlight, the changing ocean, birds wings.
Most of all, I miss your face.

Words do, literally, have very different meanings for different people, and that's one of the main things that poetry plays with, so poets are word tricksters. I've been reading poetry by Albert Goldbarth and Billy Collins, because they *definitely* go for being word tricksters.

So this is me, encouraging you to find an online class in something you love doing and rediscover enjoyment.
kestrell: (Default)
by Katherine Philips, who was a sort of lesbian bluestocking (lesbian bluestocking erotica--the world needs more of that subgenre)

Friendship's Mystery: To My Dearest Lucasia
https://enl3501g1.wordpress.com/friendships-mystery-to-my-dearest-lucasia-annotated/

I note that , as in the case of
Piers Gaveston by Michael Drayton
https://sourcebooks.fordham.edu/pwh/drayton1.asp

those Elizabethans did seem fond of references to playing prince and subject, with lots of references to bondage thrown in.
But this poem also reminds me of
John Donne's "Air and Angels"
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44091/air-and-angels-56d2230aa341c

fnot only in its reference to angels, but in that Philips seems to intentionally countering Donne's statement that men's love is always of a higher plane that that of *lip curl* women.
See, Johnny: you aren't the only one who can come up with sexy angel poetry, so there!

February 2024

S M T W T F S
    123
456789 10
11121314151617
18192021222324
2526272829  

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Jul. 18th, 2025 07:26 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios