Taking a Look At...
First off, if you visited in the past few days, you may have noticed the background (or lack thereof). Fortunately, I fixed that, and went the extra kilometer by changing up my header, profile (which you really ought to read), and, best of all, IE setup. Basically, my blog no longer scares IE browsers away with its atrocious appearance.
Now, to get my ego out of the way before featuring other people- I have been recently featured at Monsters and Critics twice: Low and High: What *is* Art, Anyhow? and 4 Poems by Neil Hester. Anthony Zanetti also has two features there: Blogs versus Print: Is there a prejudice? and 4 Poems by Anthony Zanetti. Finally, Whinza Ndoro is also featured with 2 Poems by Whinza Kingslee Ndoro. Note that I am promoting my friends; however, this is not without just cause. They are all very capable writers that are well worth the read, unlike many poets who are promoted/published by friends and editors.
Now, onto bloggity stuff. By far the coolest blog to have come along in a while is The Shameless Lions Writing Circle. Right now I'm on the Friends List, but I do hope that I will someday be able to adopt a lion; they're cute! Er, vicious! Either way, I want one. I'll feed it and groom it an... *ahem* In regard to the lions, Jess has a post concerning them (and hers, aptly dubbed Johnny Cash).
I realize this is a lot to digest in one go; therefore, I will refrain from hitting you with other interesting articles and bring them forth at a later time. That said, let's end with a poem:
Days In The Turkestan Desert
Our Russian prop plane has a busted right-
side engine. We’ve been waiting two
days for the motor to come. Aliki and I hike
a few hours. “Some tea?” Nomad Turks are cooking stew
and skewing lamb. A feast. We join. It’s cold.
One fellow asks me to wrestle. We talk Chinese.
Neither of us are good at it. I fold
my wallet in my shirt, seize
his leg. We roll. Everyone is laughing. When
I’m licked, Aliki and I thank everyone again
for good food and we wander to a small
abandoned mosque. It’s a stone eyeball. We climb
inside. Goathorns in the sand, God in the wind through all
the small broken windows. Peace dazes time.
By Willis Barnstone
I'm still in sonnet mode. The sonnet really is a beautiful (and accessible) form. Jess told me I need to write a villanelle; I've written two, actually, but they're bad, and therefore relatively useless beyond some experience with the form. Anyhow, sorry for the absence of words; take care 'til next,