14 Words for One Love on Valentine's Day
Jodi Barnes is a poet who lives near me and has started something amazing. As a loving and revolutionary response to the white supremacist "14 words" of intolerance, she has been collecting 14-word poems on love of all kinds. Her plan is to enlist a posse and hand out these poems one at a time on Valentine's Day. Her original goal was 1400 poems, but I think we've already blown the lid off of that.
Click on the picture to check it out on Facebook.
Jodi Barnes is a poet who lives near me and has started something amazing. As a loving and revolutionary response to the white supremacist "14 words" of intolerance, she has been collecting 14-word poems on love of all kinds. Her plan is to enlist a posse and hand out these poems one at a time on Valentine's Day. Her original goal was 1400 poems, but I think we've already blown the lid off of that.
Click on the picture to check it out on Facebook.
I guess I've made it clear here that I'm working toward recovery from a fairly nasty bout of depression, that my writing has stalled off and on, and that I'm trying to feel okay about things out of my control but that affect me and my family greatly. So while this 14 Words for One Love on Valentine's Day thing caught my eye, and I joined the event, I didn't intend to write more than one or two baby poems. I just didn't have it in me.
The problem, well, more like the wonder, was that once I wrote a couple, I wanted to write more and more. When you attack the many crazy angles of love a few words at a time, you get the pleasure of little tastes, different views, and a forced clarity that I adore more and more with each passing poem. It may not be the cure to all that ails me, but it's been a hell of a healthy distraction, at the very least.
So every day I'm writing little baby poems, some sublime, some ridiculous, all healing. Reading the words of others and talking about them is an incredible bonus, and being a part of something larger and completely open just makes the air taste better for me all around. I'm hoping there will be a collection of these poems, because even though the idea is to send them all out into the world as free little birds (yes, a pun, of course), the creation itself is worth holding onto.
I'm so grateful for this chance to contribute, and to put my own pain and pleasure to good use in the world, even if it's just a touch. There are people from all walks writing poems, people from across oceans, people living under rocks, people suffering as people do. It is a small and magnificent world, and I can't wait to hear all about how the poems have flown.
The problem, well, more like the wonder, was that once I wrote a couple, I wanted to write more and more. When you attack the many crazy angles of love a few words at a time, you get the pleasure of little tastes, different views, and a forced clarity that I adore more and more with each passing poem. It may not be the cure to all that ails me, but it's been a hell of a healthy distraction, at the very least.
So every day I'm writing little baby poems, some sublime, some ridiculous, all healing. Reading the words of others and talking about them is an incredible bonus, and being a part of something larger and completely open just makes the air taste better for me all around. I'm hoping there will be a collection of these poems, because even though the idea is to send them all out into the world as free little birds (yes, a pun, of course), the creation itself is worth holding onto.
I'm so grateful for this chance to contribute, and to put my own pain and pleasure to good use in the world, even if it's just a touch. There are people from all walks writing poems, people from across oceans, people living under rocks, people suffering as people do. It is a small and magnificent world, and I can't wait to hear all about how the poems have flown.
Here's just a smattering of my baby 14-word poems...
| there's no cure for a broken heart but I do recommend the emergency chocolate | devoted she visits him daily he ponders her bewildered before asking who are you? | he is bleeding cut to ribbons from squeezing through your narrow definitions of love |
| my morning love begins with a bean measured pulverized drained please pass the cream | grubby hands triumphantly present a struggling frog eyes bulging an offering of pure wonder | wet nose and slobbery tongue remind me what it means to belong to someone |
| hope is like air it's everywhere you lick it from your fingertips and smile | leave me alone she shouts hoping I'll know she really means please don't go | you knew me once but fail to recognize i'm rearranged and you haven't changed |
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