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  • The Cruellest Month

    I'm participating in an online poetry event, called "Dark Poetry for the Cruellest Month," headed by . Today's (okay, yesterday's) prompt, "Has It Begun to Sprout?", asked us to pick a line from T.S. Eliot's The Waste Land and write our own poem around it.

    I decided to do a color sketch in my notebook to interpret "April is the cruellest month," then ran out of time to add any verbiage to it. I have to say, I'm really feeling the line, as my winter was particularly rough, and these bright April days don't seem to match the weariness I'm feeling. The sun makes me feel like I should be out playing, not brooding. Hopefully, the Vitamin D will soon brighten my mood, but not before this event is over, as we're supposed to write about "the dark bits that grow in the heart," according to Magaly. I love it!

    Indeed, Magaly's poem event seems to have come in the nick of time.

    So this piece is simply titled "The Cruellest Month." Magaly's prompts are coming fast and furious, so I don't know that I'll be able to keep up, but I'm going to try!

  • Little Finds

    I just started a new junk journal--the kind filled with sketches, to-do lists, poems, whatever--and so was scrolling through my previous one, which is extremely thick and thus two years old.

    I stumbled upon an untitled poem that I most likely wrote for my friend Liz, who was going through a tough time. Liz is my homie on Etsy--a woman I never met in person or even talked to on the phone--yet in the last couple of years has become a deeply valued friend, as we've shared so much of our lives with one another in emails. Rarely a week goes by that we don't at least check in, sometimes just water-coolering about our Etsy sales, yet at other times talking about the most intimate details of our lives. She holds a hallowed place in my life these days...this soul out in Illinois who knows so much about me (and I her), yet who I've only seen in pictures.

    When I found this poem, I knew I'd written it for her, although I can't recall the circumstances. At first I thought it corny, then funny, then true.

    Untitled

    I will hold you until it’s over

    Listen ‘til the tears fade

    Hope for you when you can hope no more

    Dream for you a better day

    So cry, complain and fail

    I’ll lie on the ground with you

    We’ll point at the stars, at the gods and the saints

    And say, fuck you, and fuck you, too…

    Fuck you for all the suffering

    Fuck you for all the pain

    We’ll fill our cup with shits & giggles

    And let love pour down like rain

    **********************************

    Written sometime in January 2015. c Mary Ann Farley.