Oh for a beaker full of the warm South!

Well, I happen to love poor Johnny Keats. I admit it. I embrace it. I breath it.  However, as I was much disappointed with the movie Bright Star, I won't speak of it here, just yet -- I'm leaning towards giving it another chance before forming a final opinion of the thing. Though, I will say that one good thing has come out of it: Ben Wishaw's reading of Ode to a Nightingale.  Give it a listen, I hardly think you'll be disappointed:

Reflection

I mentioned it earlier, however the link did not work at that time, so I figured I would re-post this. I was lucky enough to have a poem printed in Gonzaga's journal "Reflection". It is Gonzaga's Journal of art and literature, and they are always eager to receive "anything interesting" from students, etc. You can find it here on Gonzaga's website. There is some really great stuff in here and in past issues, so be sure to take a look if you're at all curious (I personally like last semester's issue better) :)
Support student work! :)

Cloudy ~ Paul Simon

The sky is gray and white and cloudy,
Sometimes I think it's hanging down on me.
And it's a hitchhike a hundred miles.
I'm a rag-a-muffin child.
Pointed finger-painted smile.
I left my shadow waiting down the road for me a while.

Cloudy
My thoughts are scattered and they're cloudy,
They have no borders, no boundaries.
They echo and they swell
From Tolstoy to Tinker Bell.
Down from Berkeley to Carmel.
Got some pictures in my pocket and a lot of time to kill.

Hey sunshine
I haven't seen you in a long time.
Why don't you show your face and bend my mind?
These clouds stick to the sky
Like floating questions, why?
And they linger there to die.
They don't know where they are going, and, my friend, neither do I.

Cloudy,
Cloudy.

Rives on TED

TED.. Watch it. Learn it. Live it.

Now would be the time I would like to write -- when I need to write, to get all these things out of my head and onto paper in some sort of a cohesive fashion. Get something flowing; anything, whatever it is. A poem, hiding in those deep recesses, waiting to be treated properly, brought out in the light where it belongs. A thought that has been hibernating, but never has the chance to see the spring or summer. But now is also the time when I can't write, because I haven't the time. I haven't the clarity. There is always that paper, those papers, in the back of my mind, due tomorrow, but against which my very being rebels. I don't really have the time to write it, because I'm tired and it's been a long day, but if I did have the time, would I write it? I don't even have the will. What happened to me? When did I stop loving this? It was all I had left... and now? That idealism that used to be my fuel is all but turned to cynicism... I don't know. And winter is come again...

WoRdLe!!! lol ok, this is just some silliness, but kind of fun. Ive always been a calligraphy fan, so this kind of caters to that hankering for word art :) This is a wordle from CaughtintheDawning


Image created by: http://wordle.net/