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Wednesday, November 22, 2006

somethingorother

It's been a long time since I posted a boring FYI. I think it's time for a forthcoming BORING POST. About nothing in particular that NO ONE is sure to enjoy. Because it's filled with just enough cynicism to make the fanciful sick and just enough fancy to make the cynical sick. Hey...sick cynics. That's like...tongue-twister potential.
Most recent happening that is fresh on my mind is my recent battle (recent as of five minutes ago) with the sonnet. As much as it sounds so intellectual and "poet"ish to be saying "I had a battle with the sonnet, it's so difficult to perfect that sort of rhyming verse, I'm doing exercises to stretch my brain and enhance my imagery, oh gosh I'm such a smarty and I even know what a sonnet is..." etc, it's not like that at all. With all the business going on in my life recently, this little irritating sonnet has been much more like a thorn-of-the-flesh than a succulent bit of smartness. I've had it on my agenda for a long time since it first became a school assignment, and I've never had the time to do it, but I've thought about it a lot. Mostly because I used to be good at that sort of stuff and now I'm just as afraid of it as any of my brothers would be. I tried wringing words out of my brain this morning and my mind was a dry pasture of grazing cows. Here's what I came up with, and for the record, I agree with you that it doesn't make sense. Maybe that ruins it for you. Fine then, well, it makes sense, but in a deep way and for a deep purpose that I shall never reveal because I am passionately mysterious and I do it to attract the MEN.

No dimness dim, ever thy fervid eyes
The once-aroused is zealously immortal.
The gently peaking bridge, the breathless surprise,
The panacea archway, the empty portal.
The desert of figuratively, dreadfully forever
Lonesome and wanton, overflowingly teeming
The mutant wind and its confident quiver
Shivers through an orchard of quickly dreaming.
The loveliest jupiter, of them all the most
Resplendent, thirsty, sweets and sours,
A whistling whisper that floats like a ghost
Willingly unwilling, forest of flowers.
All oxymoron to each uneven brim
Thy fervency, no dimness shall dim.

5 comments:

Blogger Kirsten Ryan said...

you're right Flo I can't make out any sense of it but I like you're use of poetic words keep up with it and maybe one day you'll make a really good one.

11/23/2006 10:06 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

*points to above comment*
HAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAAHA.

11/24/2006 7:39 AM  
Blogger Elaina said...

Someday, Florence, someday.
Practice makes perfect, and don't forget to brush your teeth; Jesus wants your mouth to be happy!
By the by, hisashiburi I just looked at your poetry blog. Would you care dreadfully if sometime I posted a few smidges of the bits that made me hyperventilate?

11/27/2006 2:53 PM  
Blogger Florence said...

Thanks for the encouragement, El. I don't intend to struggle at it, because poetry is something that deserves to be smoothly delivered (as opposed to grunted out). Um. I don't know where I was going with that one.

I CERTAINLY WOULD NOT CARE DREADFULLY!!!

11/27/2006 7:45 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

My new blog: http://blazingvenus.blogspot.com/

11/30/2006 3:57 AM  

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