Amanda McKittrick Ros will always be my 'patron saint' for my Bad Poetry section of this blog. She has inspired me to write some of the most awful poems ever found on the blogosphere, but I know that my works pale in comparison to her contributions to English Literature:
"She tried hard to keep herself a stranger to her poor old father's slight income by the use of the finest production of steel, whose blunt edge eyed the reely covering with marked greed, and offered its sharp dart to faultless fabrics of flaxen fineness."
I strive daily to one day attain even a slight fraction of her poetric greatness.
But after January 20th, there is a new poet in my life. This new poet breathes a fresh breeze upon my stale and weakened poetical attempts.
Her name is Elizabeth Alexander.
I shall never forget where I was when I first heard her voice, playing out in forceful cadence one of the most beautiful auditory works of art I had ever experienced. It took all my strength of will to tear myself from the radio, and leave the car to echo with the words so beautifully spoken:
Praise Song For The Day
Someone is trying to make music somewhere with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.
A woman and her son wait for the bus.
We encounter each other in words,
We cross dirt roads and highways that mark the will of someone and then others who said, "I need to see what's on the other side; I know there's something better down the road."
We need to find a place where we are safe;
Say it plain,
Praise song for struggle;
Some live by "Love thy neighbor as thy self."
What if the mightiest word is love,
In today's sharp sparkle,
On the brink,
Here is the video of herself reading her own poem: