friday feast: what are you for?

“Here’s to the soul-expanding power of the simply beautiful.” ~ Taylor Mali

“Blooms” by Majlee.

I’m for flowers in the pink, greens and robin’s egg blue.

Try: baby foxes,

photo by hapyday.

the other-worldly colors of Haleakala,

photo of Haleakala Crater, Maui, Hawaii by itexas.

well-loved volumes of Alcott.

photo by Majlee.

My morning smoothie,

photo by yoshiko314.

tea and cookies,

photo by fruitcakey.

a friend seeing fireflies for the first time.

 by whimsy studios.

Okay, dogs with moustaches!

photo by ginnerobot.

Confession: I belong to the glass half-empty club. Poetry and blogging are forms of therapy when I need it, means to find the silver lining, a flip to the bright side.

That’s why I am so for Taylor Mali. See if this poem doesn’t lift you right up.

by Taylor Mali

I’m for reckless abandon
and spontaneous celebrations of nothing at all,
like the twin flutes I kept in the trunk of my car
in a box labeled Emergency Champagne Glasses!

Raise an unexpected glass to long, cold winters
and sweet hot summers and the beautiful confusion of the times in between.
To the unexpected drenching rain that leaves you soaking
wet and smiling breathless;
“We danced in the garden in torn sheets in the rain,”
we were christened in the sanctity of the sprinkler,
can’t you hear it singing out its Hallelujah?

Here’s to the soul-expanding power
of the simply beautiful.

See, things you hate, things you despise,
multinational corporations and lies that politicians tell,
injustices that make you mad as hell,
that’s all well and good.
And as far as writing poems goes,
I guess you should.
It just might be a poem that gets Mumia released,
brings an end to terrorism or peace in the middle east.

But as far as what soothes me, what inspires and moves me,
honesty behooves me to tell you your rage doesn’t move me.
See, like the darkest of clouds my heart has a silver lining,
which does not harken to the loudest whining,
but beats and stirs and grows ever more
when I learn of the things you’re actually for.

That’s why I’m for best friends, long drives, and smiles,
nothing but the sound of thinking for miles.
For the unconditional love of dogs:
may we learn the lessons of their love by heart.
For therapy when you need it,
and poetry when you need it.
And the wisdom to know the difference.

The solution to every problem usually involves some kind of liquid,
even if it’s only Emergency Champagne
or running through the sprinkler.
Can’t you hear it calling you?

I’m for crushes not acted upon, for admiration from afar,
for the delicate and the resilient and the fragile human heart,
may it always heal stronger than it was before.
For walks in the woods, and for the woods themselves,
by which I mean the trees. Definitely for the trees.
Window seats, and locally brewed beer,
and love letters written by hand with fountain pens:
I’m for all of these.

I’m for evolution more than revolution
unless you’re offering some kind of solution.

I’m for the courage it takes to volunteer, to say “yes,” “I believe,” and “I will.”
For the bright side, the glass half full, the silver lining,
and the optimists who consider darkness just a different kind of shining.

So don’t waste my time and your curses on verses
about what you are against, despise, and abhor.
Tell me what inspires you, what fulfills and fires you,
put your precious pen to paper and tell me what you’re for!


Today’s Roundup is at Carol’s Corner. Cruise the blogs, drink up the poetry, practice a little reckless abandon this weekend. ☺

Barnaby Britches by JIGGS IMAGES.

**This post was brought to you by some of the things I am for. Do you like any of them too? Tell me what YOU are for. I’m listening.


Copyright © 2010 Jama Rattigan of jama rattigan’s alphabet soup. All rights reserved.


friday feast: proof of the puddig (or sumthing)

photo by gsol.

I wish I had a proofreader for all of my blog posts.

It drives me absolutely nuts to find errors after I’ve posted something. Usually they’re not obvious typos, or else spell check would have caught them. Just words that decide to become invisible at whim, others that like to rearrange themselves for fun, or the weirdness that happens when one ballsy word unexpectedly steps in for another. Why? I’m not smoking funny cigarettes, and I proof everything at least five times.

Now, it could be you’re all very polite, strapped for time, or smoking those aforementioned cigarettes, because thus far, you haven’t brought any of these errors to my attention (I wouldn’t mind, really). Okay, not something to obsess over. We all make mistakes. But I was thinking that people in food service really can’t afford to make mistakes. “Corned beef harsh” could be lethal. In fact, some mistakes could kill your appetite on the spot:

photo by Gunnar Geir Pétursson.

*Julia Child screaming*

A sense of humor helps, and slam poet, former teacher, and awesome teacher advocate, Taylor Mali, is all that and more. Thought you’d get a kick out of this poem. When you’re done reading it and watching Taylor in the video, send your copy editor and/or proofreader some chocolate.

The the impotence of proofreading
by Taylor Mali

Has this ever happened to you?
You work very horde on a paper for English clash
And then get a very glow raid (like a D or even a D=)
and all because you are the word¹s liverwurst spoiler.
Proofreading your peppers is a matter of the the utmost impotence.

This is a problem that affects manly, manly students.
I myself was such a bed spiller once upon a term
that my English teacher in my sophomoric year,
Mrs. Myth, said I would never get into a good colleague.
And that¹s all I wanted, just to get into a good colleague.
Not just anal community colleague,
because I wouldn¹t be happy at anal community colleague.
I needed a place that would offer me intellectual simulation,
I really need to be challenged, challenged menstrually.
I know this makes me sound like a stereo,
but I really wanted to go to an ivory legal colleague.
So I needed to improvement
or gone would be my dream of going to Harvard, Jail, or Prison
(in Prison, New Jersey).

So I got myself a spell checker
and figured I was on Sleazy Street.

(Rest is here.)


Today’s Poetry Friday Roundup is being hosted by Jone at Check It Out. She may enjoy some rice puddig.

photo by psychoticadvisor.

Copyright © 2010 Jama Rattigan of jama rattigan’s alphabet soup. All rights reserved.