I am an artist in every sense of the word. But enough about me. Unless you wanted to talk about me? Sorry, I got something else on my mind today. I got a lot on my mind. I’m a busy guy. Okay not really. But my father apparently is I suppose. He’s a poet. Not many people know what a poet is. Last post I asked that question with a curious result. But poets are neat. Poets are someone I’d love to associate myself with. More importantly their people that should be associated with me.
But get to the point you say. The point is… evidently there is going to be a poet in my “wonderful hometown” of Lock Haven, at the Ross Library very soon. Apparently she’s a newscaster too. But who cares about the news. Lets talk about poetry. Her is name is Jennifer Miller Carboni and I haven’t read anything from her yet but would be interested what she has to say as she has actually…*gasps*… gotten a book about poetry published. What an accomplishment? wait a second that wasn’t a question She deserves a standing ovation no matter what you say.
The title of Jennifer Miller Carboni’s book, which again I’m sorry I haven’t read yet, is titled No One Reads Poetry Anymore. This is a subject that has petrified my father for a while now and we should all be shocked. What if people never listened to the radio anymore or made bad prime time TV shows anymore? This is a travesty and we should all be outraged. But there is hope. The only thing you have to do is change your approach.
That’s right I said “change your approach”. Don’t look at me like that. “But what’s wrong with my approach? Are you saying I’m a bad artist or a bad poet?” you ask. That’s not what I’m saying at all. I’m saying when your literally dropping poetry on people, you shouldn’t be shocked when people begin to get sick of it.
Edit: sorry it wouldn’t let me embed the video I wanted to post.
If some one would do that to you in real life, you would be pissed off, pardon my language. Who does he think he is? People love their coffee. And there’s one thing the sheriff has forgotten to mention and that is that his horrendous little energy shot taste like coughing syrup and most people would rather not drink coffee syrup first thing in the morning.
Jennifer says she wouldn’t call her work poetry. She prefers the term freestyle poetry. Jennifer are you reading this, Jen?, If you’re gonna call poetry anything besides poetry, call it art. Thanks for reading and have good night or day or whatever it is in your little corner of the universe. *winks* Goodbye.
Hello my subjects. Are you reading for some more experiments?
Okay. So it wasn’t fair yesterday when I picked on an old dead goose. But to be fair, I’ve told off plenty of so called “poets” on the internet. I wish I could speak with these people in real life.
You see, when I’m bored I visit a website called yahoo answers (i wouldn’t recommend it). There are tons are writers on there and honesty most of them are terrible. So today I performed a little experiment. That’s what I do. I asked a question on the site. I asked what they thought poetry was.
I only received four answers. It was disappointing but I am still excited that I was able to learn. Here’s the best/worst answer I received (slightly edited for better viewing):
“Imagine someone able to reach into themselves, pulling out their brains and souls, then staining a bit of paper with those bleeding emotions, creating something with words.”
Is creating art that painful? I’ve never felt any of this whilst writing. Am I a cold, emotionless, mindless zombie? Apparently, yes I am. But I’m still more creative than most folks. Thanks again to the internet. Talk to you later, “buddy”.
i need some one to watch my pen while i’m away
a pure soul
ignorant of artistry
ignorant of truth
must have ten years of experience
no more no less
the job is simple
so maintain a heart of stone
it’s stressful keeping it in such excellent shape
without a tiny scratch or smear
i’m afraid the ink will dissipate
a tragedy that would be
for without ink a pen is no more than a mediocre sword
that’s why i’m buying a gun
my precious pen must not be hurt
so you can find me at the corner of genius and perfection
reply in five days
Are you there? Are you aware tomorrow is American Independence Day? Do you care? Am I asking too many questions? Questions are annoying. Aren’t they? It’s these very questions that are threatening our Independence. Luckily I’m not here to ask questions. I have all the answers. I will ask of you no questions as you exercise your very important right to great blog posts. Soon we will be celebrating with wonderful booming fireworks. You want some? You’ll have to buy your own.
That’s how Independence works. That will be nine bucks. Take it or leave it.
You see, when you’re a writer it’s always best to give someone all the answers. You shouldn’t have to think hard about anything! It’s a holiday. Luckily for you I’m here. And thanks to this nation’s wonderful forefathers, who seem to keep making more and more babies, we have this wonderful place called the internet to come together and be completely dependent on it. What is independence without a little dependence, eh? No need to go to the library. Unless you wanna pick me up a movie there. Do ya? The internet is a wonderful thing. If only our forefathers could see how grown and independent we all are. It’s a wonderful thing.
I’ll be back. Don’t worry. If you have any questions, don’t ask me. You can do it. You’re independent.
Hello folks. Sorry I haven’t been here for quite a bit. Haven’t been feeling quite well. But I’m back and ready for us to start some discussion. Today I’m going to share by you a short poem I just came up with. It is below.
Walk by me with the park tis better than walking by alone lets skip by one another by people watching us with the river we will sing by each other and the birds shall sing by us with the end of the day everything will be okay walk by me
The idea came to me earlier when my grandmother told my brother “Don’t get hit with a car.” That didn’t sound quite right to me. And it lead to a discussion with my brother Jo about the difference between “with and by”. Needless to say (I know. Why am I saying it then?) , the English language is an odd one. And we commonly don’t think about how something so simple could change the meaning of a sentence entirely.
I’m not sure how I feel about this one. But they same a writer is a great critic… or something like that. Anyway, I think it’s interesting and would like to know what you guys think. I’m always trying to improve. I’m already so great. So anything you can say is helpful (probably). But if you can’t, I still appreciate your reading anyway. It is my wish that this blog can grow and prosper one of these days. But in the meantime, I need to get writing. I’ve been coming up with some great character ideas for stories. But putting them into a certain situation is a whole different monster. Writing is a science in that sort of way. All we can do is experiment and see what happens. With that thought in mind, I’ll be seeing you later.
Hello, I’m Micah Bauman and this is my blog. If you’d take a look at the about page, you’ll see I am an amazing young writer who is currently stuck in high school. This is my first post, so lets get rolling. Well actually “lets get writing” would be more accurate I suppose. You get the idea.
My kindergarten teacher said I was a child prodigy. While highly debatable, I do consider myself a talented writer la poetry and fiction and I don’t need you telling me otherwise. Honesty, I don’t know where I get my talent. It’s not like it runs in the family.
It’s hard being a writer. Not because I’m not already fantastic at it. But because I always have these good ideas and great concepts in my head, but when it comes to writing them down. It’s a little harder than it looks. And I am still constantly improving too (almost perfect). But I can’t just not write just because I fear something I write might be only just great, not perfect. Writers everywhere need to raise up their pens and prepare to do what they do best (what I do best anyway), writing. Our mission has started.
As you know (I blindly assume), there are a lot great writers out there. There are endless amounts of great young writers I’m sure. But no one wants to here from them. No one wants to hear from me and read my fantastic writings. And I’m not gonna stand for this any more. The schools won’t have it. The public won’t read it. Everybody is so sick of reading bad poetry and bad fiction that people just don’t care anymore. I won’t stand for that! I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore. That’s write I’ve started a blog and this means war. And those who don’t have the guts to battle should shoot themselves in the leg (figuratively, you know).
Okay, back to talking about me. When I was younger, I used to tell my grandfather short improvised fictional stories. A lot of times they turned out not so good. But we both enjoyed spending the time together. Now, without him, I have finally discovered that I can actually write these stories down. My father, being a poet, has helped exposed me to a whole new world (probably much more than any English class ever could). And now I have a blog too. Your welcome.
While I’m not quite sure what I’ll post here in the future, I just wanted to get a blog out there in case someone should need it (and you will). For now you can take a look at this poem I wrote during drivers education class via my fathers blog.