Rockin' My Soul

Photo taken by Gabrielle Chanel

One aspect of writing that used to really fuel me, and that was the study of other's work… cliff notes… interpreting a book, stuff like that... and being tested on it!?!

“Why doesn’t the author grade the papers?!” ~ my top notch question. The cliff book could be wrong, and I could be right... exactly why Mignon McLaughlin's quote from the Neurotic's Notebook resonated with me. "A critic can only review the book he has read, not the one which the writer wrote."

~ Of course only the author knows the full intention(s) of his or her work.

To include my latest book, A Piece of Peace, which happens to be my first published title where the story developed out of imagination so sheer that each character is still a stranger to me, every piece I write has a story behind the story. And since it’s poetry month, I thought to share a couple of poems, along with a few sentences to explain the back story of the piece.

Plausible was written after a few run-ins casually telling someone they needed to use their instinct, or how I used my instincts, not realizing how cavalier of a remark this is. Once I was challenged on this cavalier remark, and I mean really challenged by someone of the real studied math and sciences aperture. Still couldn’t explain it, although I made an attempt in this particular poem…

Plausible

It’s plenty plausible, I say, to measure intelligence
taking note driving along a highway.

Look through my lens and see what I see,
seven vehicles in a row, toe to nose and nose to toe
left lane, 70 mph, easy on the eyes, a real smooth flow
in sync, unrehearsed, as they all systematically go, go, go.
But look again,
at the seven vehicles in a row, toe to nose and nose to toe
left lane, 70 mph, easy on the eyes,
and the real smooth flow
in sync, unrehearsed, as they all systematically go, go, go.
Does anyone else see what’s wrong with this demo?

See, there it is...
one tap of the break and there they all go.
Ok, so someone tells me, “No. No,”
“that’s rare, it’s not how things customarily go.”
But I say no, no, it’s exactly how things usually go
I happen to see the drivers, so I know
I watch their expressions out my driver side window
eeny, meeny, miny, moe
all of them stare ahead blankly as if they don’t know
distance between vehicles should at least allow a shadow
which raises an eyebrow
as they drive along in this neat close row
wondering what is on their mind as they go, go, go
staring ahead blankly as if they don’t know.

My question is only answered at the end of each demo
when I am told that wasn’t supposed to happen though
and that there’s no way to measure,
and calculate flaws unique to each of the demos
because once the foot is on the pedal
and the vehicle starts to go
every driver is expected to systematically follow
the flow
of not physics, not science
not even looking out of one window or mirror
which I assess and guess
smirking as I hear horns blow, blow, blow
inspecting each of the drivers expressions
as they blindly go, go, go
that they must leave it up to the vehicles to know.

…And of course, anyone who knows me… to include many readers here… I enjoy talking a great game, as if I know it all. Welp, before I got to penning my talk to books, I was still doing much of the same except here I came up with this piece, perhaps as a small incentive to motivate me to do more than talk a great game.

Talkin’ ‘bout Nothin’

Don’t talk about it. Write about it.
Always sittin’ ‘round
philosophizin’ like I’m all smart
wif all dis wit,
nobody can’t say nuttin’
I don’t know somethin’ ‘bout it.
Talkin’ economics,
mathematics, terrorists, politics,
I’m a good conversationalist.
Finance, budgeting, accounting,
I won’t lie, I know a lil bit.
I’m a skillful driver,
can do a lil hair,
and alter the hell out of an outfit.
From poetry, to non fiction,
and a lil screenwritin’ too.
Whether it be drama,
romance, sci-fi, mystery,
that’s what I do.
Done read some of the Bible,
quite a lot about animals,
and all of Ann Rule’s
true crime grit.
Yes siree…
Skiing, fishin’,
and even deep sea divin,’
I just don’t quit.
Snailin, sailin,
crying and whalin’
I do it.
Runnin’ track, swimmin’,
batmittin’ and tennis,
I’m talkin’ ‘bout it.
I don’t care what it is,
if it’s broken let me fix it
Hell, give it here, I’ll make it fit.
But least you best omit,
callin’ me the Jack of All Trades,
cause I’s get real nasty,
and you best believe
I know how to pitch a fit.
Let me tell it,
I just like the sound of my voice,
sittin’ round, talkin’ ‘bout nothin’,
er’body listenin’ wonderin’ why,
somebody callin’ herself a journalist,
jus’ don’t write about it.

Back-links on poetry posts: National Poetry Month, Tell Me a Poet, Not A Chance, Music Makes Me…, and more.