poetry

I know you're all aware that April is National Poetry Month.

Yesterday, I received the poster (like, but bigger than, the one to the left). And along with the poster, I got this rather worrisome piece of information:

Poem In Your Pocket Day
April 17, 2008

Please join the Academy of American Poets in celebrating the first national Poem in Your Pocket Day. The idea is simple: select a poem then carry it with you (poem in your pocket) and unfold it with family, friends, and coworkers throughout the day.

For the past five year, New Yorkers have been unfolding poems on Poem In Your Pocket Day and reading them in parks, libraries, schools, workplaces, and bookstores. Organize your own Poem In Your Pocket Day event during National Poetry Month, or visit poets.org/pocket for ways to celebrate this April 17.

OK, I have some questions, probably very copy-editor-like questions, but still:

1. Is it Poem in Your Pocket Day or Poem In Your Pocket Day?
2. Did the writer know that "then" is not sufficient to link either two phrases or two clauses? (Apparently not.)
3. Have any New Yorkers been assaulted for inflicting bad poetry on others?
4. Why April 17? I predict sad poems about Tax Day.

That's all from me for now. Oh, except that I feel the need to share a poem with you ...

Think this poem could EVER reach the pages of the Paris Review, the New Yorker or even the UO's Northwest Review? Probably one in a zillion chance. Chances that this poem could be posted on the author's blog and be read by millions? Already done.

An excerpt:

LOLcat Wasteland

By Corprew Reed

1. IM IN UR WASTELAND BURYING UR DEAD

april hates u, makes lilacs, u no can has. (1)
april in ur memoriez, making ur desire.
spring rain in ur dull rootzes.

earth in ur winter, covered in snow
can has potato. PO-TA-TO.
INVISIBLE SUMMER! RAININGZES!
im in ur hofgarden, drinking ur coffeez.

at archduke’s haus, invisible sled!
im in ur moutainz, holding on tight.
no can has cheezburger.
oral sex metaphors in ur poem.

in ur stones, whar r treez? (19)
whar r bushez?
ceiling cat cannot say.
im in redrock, hiding from sunz.
commin ze redrock.
im in ur handfull of dust,
showing ur fear.
redrock, redrock.

(continue reading here)

Via Critical Mass

Trampled snow is the only rose

Some junk mail is just that: junk. Other junk mail is pure poetry to my email-skimming eyes. The following falls into the Junk Mail Poetry category, today's Blog Fodder post. The poem continues after the jump.

Sent from someone named Brandon Bates. I'm currently inquiring if he has published other work.

**********************

laughter, by which he had been interrupted. I was deceived, and walking away. You insult me by talking such nonsense. never forgotten that, if you drink much from a bottle marked angry about it. And yet I wish I could show you our cat Dinah: