Factory Farming & Poetry

Ashley Capps, author of Mistaking the Sea for Green Fields, emailed me (and many other poets) to ask if I would consider posting links to both a poem she published in Boston Review and a youtube video.

What I loved so much about her email was that she said, "I absolutely don't believe people have to be vegan or vegetarian to care about the treatment, and living/dying conditions, of farm animals, or to advocate for farm animal welfare." She also selflessly mentioned that it is more important that someone watch the video than read the poem.

Hopefully, you will read the poem and watch the video. Both are worth your time.

Tommy Shaw is a god

Styx, as usual, was phenomenal last night at The House of Blues in Cleveland. When asked what some of my favorite musicians are, many people expect me to say Morrissey or The Cure. While I do have special places in my heart for Morrissey and Robert Smith and the boys, the truth is I am a die hard Styx fan.

When I reveal my love for Styx, most people laugh. My last three boyfriends have not condoned this love and that may be one reason why they are ex-boyfriends. Who can't hear the beauty in "Blue Collar Man" when Tommy sings "Keeping my mind on a better life where happiness is only a heartbeat away. Paradise can it be all that I heard it was, I close my eyes and maybe I'm already there?"

I don't mess around when it comes to Styx. Once, at a Pittsburgh show, I got into a fist fight with a guy over a Tommy Shaw guitar pic. Tommy threw it to me, I caught it, and some middle-aged buffoon was ashamed he didn't catch it for his girlfriend. Security pulled him off of me while he was beating me. Luckily, the pic was tucked safely in my hand where Tommy threw it.

Now let me give a little disclaimer. I like Tommy Shaw Styx, not Dennis DeYoung Styx. I do like some songs Dennis DeYoung wrote, but many times they end up a bit creepy. Take "Sailing Away." It's a great song until the every end when the aliens show up. Lawrence Gowan sings Dennis DeYoung's song better than Dennis DeYoung.

See, I'm not ashamed to admit that I like something and I bet that if you really thought about it, there is a Styx song you love too. Hopefully, it's not "Mr. Roboto," another creepy contribution of Dennis DeYoung's.

And if you are wondering how this connects to my writing, don't worry about it. Trust me. I got something cooking that does in fact require the use of Styx. If you are one of the few people I told about my idea....shhhhh....it's a secret.

Dog Days

These are definitely the dog days, but in a literal, good sense of the word. I am lucky that I work in a field that gives me the summers off because these past weeks have been important to Edith's training. She is 11 weeks old and she can sit, lie, and give me five. She adores and tortures Telemachus. All in all, it's a nice little family.

I have had a lot of time to read and write as well. This past week I read Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer, Dog Years by Mark Doty, Mistaking the Sea for Green Fields by Ashley Capps, and Huck Finn. I loved every single book. Though Huck Finn and Into the Wild did make me get the traveling itch again.

For those of you who love poetry, I highly recommend Capps' book Mistaking the Sea for Green Fields. I am on my third read and have found it to be a stunning debut book. Here's a short poem:

April

Everywhere, the ghost
wigs of dandelions,
everywhere the green
toothache of early spring.
The cops-in-training
are beating their horses,
and they wave at me
from the fields. All the girls
show their shoulders now.
The future promises more
of the same. It is hard
to love people enough.

For those of you who love poetry and/or dogs, Doty's Dog Years is a lovely memoir about the lives of his two lovely dogs, Arden and Beau. My favorite line in the book is..."Thus, in the face of all dangers, in what may seem a godless region, we move forward through the agencies of love and art."

I am not sure what my reading agenda is this week. I have so many books to read. I'm looking forward to spending some time with Bern Mulvey's book, The Fat Sheep Everyone Wants. Other than that, I have not made up my mind. Happy reading, everyone.

Missing Ireland

Represent, yo.

I may bid on a house in the near future. It's small and cute with a huge yard, space for a garden, and it happens to be close to my family. I have decided to bid on it because it is possibly going to sell for a price I can't pass up. The house payment will actually be much lower than my rent. Plus, then I won't be throwing money away and all that jazz my mom always tells me. It's yellow and I love yellow.

What puts a dent in my excitement is that I love where I live now for many reasons. The apartment is two floors, the rooms are huge and I have a patio that overlooks a creek (or sewer) and the woods. This morning there were 27 ducks out there!

For those of you who know me well, you already know that I am obsessed with my neighbors. Such a variety exists here in these so-called luxury apartments...a couple teachers, a few junkies, a nun, a prostitute, some cops, a stripper or two, and the cutest little old ladies in Akron. There is the complex informer, the drunk who throws beer bottles from her balcony, the old Italian couple who make their square of grass look like something out of a gardening magazine and a maintenance guy who coasts around in a golf cart, 24 pack of Natural Light in the back. There is even a man in an electric wheelchair who loves Bud Light and America so much that he drives around late at night with a flag billowing from the back of his chair, Bud Ice in hand. Sometimes his girlfriend rides on his lap.

And I'm leaving this gem of a place.

I can't think of a genre of music that doesn't have something intriguing about it. Lately I have been listening to a lot of rap. I am the only one in my circle of friends who really has a nook in my heart for rap. And yes, I get teased about it. But as I walk around here (and of course it's nothing like Compton or Brooklyn or Detroit), I realize that the thing that attracts me to bands/artists like NWA, Tupac, Jay-Z, and Bone Thugs is their connection to their neighborhoods. I know this exists in other genres but it seems to be the life and breath of much rap, at least older rap.

I've written one poem so far about a neighbor and that will be handed over to the world in the next issue of Barn Owl. There must be more neighbor poems in me. I think of Nas, one of the only brilliant rappers still around. In his song "One Mic" he says something like This is my hood, I'm gonna rep until the death of it. This is what I must do.

Thanks Mary and all of BOR for picking up the first of what I think must be a series.

In case you didn't already guess, I am the poet pug lady. I wanted to keep the poet thing on the down low but my mother used to walk Telemachus every day when I was at work and she likes to tell everyone about me.

Pug Pageant Mother????

Once in a while a poem comes out fast but that is usually if something hits me and I just grab a notebook or napkin and scribble it down. Mostly, I mull and mull over words and look at Microsoft Word for hours. Being a word-muller has one benefit. As you can see from the above picture, Telemachus likes to sit in my lap and sleep on my arm as I attempt to write poems. This makes typing especially difficult, but when a phrase only arrives once a day, it's not so bad.

To the right of the picture you can see the new puppy, Edith, sleeping in her new tiny pink corduroy bed. She is just so cute that I can barely stand it.

Okay, so don't judge me just yet. I have not purchased one single outfit for Edith. My best friend Kelly just happens to own a Pomeranian named Lola and little Lola likes to eat and can't quite fit into some of her clothes. Kelly passed some outfits down to Edith.


I of course have not taken her anywhere in these outfits because it is too hot, but my apartment is quite air conditioned so I must admit, there has been one small fashion show.

Am I a pug pageant mother? That's a horrible thought. If I told you that pugs love clothes, would you believe me? I swear!