National Poetry Reading Month Concludes

The Advocate alerted me to this special occasion and so, since it affects me, I must blog about it. For readers in love with the written word, it must be noted tomorrow wraps up Canada's National Poetry Month. It's true, The League of Canadian Poets claimed April for their word-tinkering, coffee-drenched verse and I am compelled to honour their efforts.

Tonight, I will give you a spot of poetry to mull over, or perhaps even lust over. While I was completing the undergrad degree, I was invited to participate in an Erotic Poetry Night hosted by the campus wellness centre. Needless to say, the event was dominated by queer women. I wrote the tamest verse of the night, but, given my prudishness, I'd say this piece is a little racy.

Enjoy:

Efflorescence

Published Nov. 22, 2007

My fingers trail her collar;

They recognise this place

Long before my eyes recall --

Her love is

A shadow in my blood

A palpitation in my soul

With one mouth

We pull each other’s

Poetry out

Our tongues tracing slow circles

Across our secrets,

All those untold stories...

The swivel of her hips

Is so intentional tonight,

She is perfection with her skirt around her waist.

She is mine with her tights around her ankles.

Holding her is

Incandescent --

She annihilates my room.

© Miz Moffatt

***

How saucy. Know what else is saucy? Voting. How? Well, because I decree it. The Advocate has 24-hours left to garner all the votes possible in her bid to win The Best Travel Job Ever. She has campaigned herself into a half-crazed state and her efforts are blinding in their success. In her last update, she alerted followers of her astounding rise to 18th place. But, to hold on to a space in the top 25, she needs you to keep sending your votes in. Don't let the girl down, now -- make sure to push those votes before the deadline tomorrow.

A Spot of Poetry on a Saturday Morning

Last night, I cracked open my copy of 20th-Century Poetry & Poetics (Fourth Edition) to take in a bit of the golden verse for a change. I've been rather neglectful when it comes to my own creative endeavours and I'm thinking it's about time I re-focused my efforts. 

I've had this indescribable silence building in me over the past number of years when it comes to writing. Granted, my blogging has never suffered and my paper journals are always there for me during the tougher times. But my actual creative efforts have faltered. Maybe it was an undergrad burn out -- while writing essays, I used to get so anxious and irritable when I sat down at my keyboard (this experience would then affect my ACTUAL writing as well).

In addition, I've generally forsaken reading over the past year. I've heard the expression "great writers are avid readers" and I can understand the truth to that statement. If you are constantly discovering new ways to tell stories, then your stories will most likely be richer as a result. You need to immerse yourself in what you're drawn to and all those other inspirational sentiments.

I have been neglectful, indeed.

Anyhow, I'm getting all ramble-y. The three conclusions after turning to my poetry collection were:

1. I need to just write, write, write.... even if it turns out to be pure drivel.
2. I wanted to share a gorgeous piece of verse by one of my favorite poets.
3. .... I wanted to share a little bit about a poetry class I took during my second year... and yes, there's a gorgeous girl involved....

I'll save the pretty poetess for either later tonight or tomorrow. For now, I give you "Recuerdo" by Edna St. Vincent Millay. Hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

Recuerdo

We were very tired, we were very merry -

We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.

It was bare and bright, and smelled like a stable -

But we looked into a fire, we leaned across a table,

We lay on a hill-top underneath the moon;

And the whistles kept blowing, and dawn came soon.

We were very tired, we were very merry -

We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry;

And you ate an apple, and I ate a pear,

From a dozen of each we had bought somewhere;

And the sky when wan, and the wind came cold,

And the sun rose dripping, a bucketful of gold.

We were very tired, we were very merry,

We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.

We hailed, "Good-morrow, mother!" to a shawl-covered head,

And bought a morning paper, which neither of us read;

And she wept, "God bless you!" for the apples and pears,

And we gave her all our money but our subway fares.

Apologies and A Poem! With Lilies!

So.

I've discovered my blogging skills are... lacking. Significantly.

I have a tendency to start projects and then lose sight of them. But, I refuse to let this blog fall by the wayside. Queer it is, and queer it shall be!

I felt this evening calls for a spot of poetry. Yes, I am indeed a poet -- and a published one at that. Granted, I've only been published in a small, alternative campus magazine, but hey -- that publication got me my first group of fans. *Bashful*

So, for your reading ~pleasure,~ here's a verse or two for all the ladies who love ladies out there. *Slips on a chic beret and some shades*

Efflorescence

*Published 2007

The setting sun ignites the room

Red walls make my skin glow

Ripe as cherries

Still full of youth and sweetness

I can feel her footsteps on the stairs

Sliding over rough carpet to our door

With a single lily in her hand

For my hair

The silence of the house

Lifts her eyebrow

Tempts my blushing hands

To the buttons of her shirt

We sleep one hundred years and wake

To find the lily has become a field

For thousands of others like us

*Dizzy swoon* I need to hit the ol' paper and pen again.... or, better yet, I need to hit these keys more often. Eh? Eh.