Back Again with a Newly Revised Poem And News About Dewey Lynn Adventures
- joybragi84
- 5 hours ago
- 2 min read
Yes, I am back to blogging, but this may be the last blog until Thanksgiving or Christmas break. I have over 120 students in six classes this semester. Three of those classes are online Comp I classes, and another two are seated Comp I and Comp II, so I spend most of my week days and weekends grading. Yep! Just grading!
Anyhow, I am working on proofreading and editing Dewey Lynn Gets Arrested for the FOURTH time. Apparently, I am not getting better at proofing my own work. So far, I have found two writing skills errors, typos more than grammatical issues, repeated words, etc. However, if all that I have is two typos in this version, I can live with that.
I have started on the next Dewey Lynn story tentatively titled Mo Stanley Is Dead?. I am on page 10 of the first chapter. I will let you see it when I get done with it.
Dewey Lynn Gets Arrested is already available at Lulu.com as is Aunt Charlotte's Crib. Uncle Boog and the Dogfight is available at Lulu and on Amazon. Sales were of Uncle Boog...were pretty good, but they have dropped off some, well, quite a bit actually. If you would like to have signed copies of any of the books, email me at mbt1966@yahoo.com and I will order the book--or books--sign them and get them to you at my cost.
Okay, today's poem is an ironical mimicry of John Donne's Song: Go and catch a falling star, which questions whether such a thing exists as an honest woman. My song ostensibly questions whether there is any poetry to be found in the 21st Century, and the answer is "Yes!" because you are reading it. As always, ENJOY!
A 21st Century Song
(How Poetry Is Donne)
Find and fetch a marching line,
Hang a rimester worth a hoot,
Dance upon a chapbook’s spine,
And tell me if it feels a foot.
Train pendulums to alter time,
And nonrecurring words to rhyme
And still
Fulfill
The current poet’s yearly spiel.
If you care to hear odd things,
Commotions crudely borne,
Listen as that poet sings
Like murders of crows in the corn.
Then, if you mimic it, please repeat
The unformed lyrics but be sweet.
What ear
Can hear
After gleaning verse so queer?
If you sense a meter, send it back
If it excites you with a beat.
Its sire is some silly hack
Who’ll sell his poet’s soul to eat.
The true poet, whose verse is pure,
Writes only in a pulse obscure
And swears
Her ears
Are naturally attuned to Jazz.
I have no idea when I will be back with more writings. Please feel free to take this time to catch up with the revised poems from Atheists and Empty Spaces.
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