the blue rose who kept her thorns (fire_and_a_rose) wrote in x____poetic,
the blue rose who kept her thorns
fire_and_a_rose
x____poetic

A Poet's ramblings

(Apologies, for accidentally deleting and needing to repost.)


A Poet's ramblings
About You and Your Poetry

Name/Age/Location – Mirkat / 19 / Tennessee
Sex - Female
Nicknames - Mir
What languages can you speak? - English, French, some Japanese, some Spanish
Date of Birth – 04/25
Atrological Sign - Taurus
How long have you been writing poetry – Since I was six
What type of poems do you write (rhyming, none rhyming, stanzas.)- Almost anything. I enjoy experimenting with new forms.
Do you like to read poems or only write them? - Both.
What type of stories do you write, if any – Anything. Everything. I’m told my stories tend to be other-than-happy sorts, but I don’t think of them as angsty, either.
What subject does your poems most often circle around (You can give more then one) – Life, relationships, random objects

Favorites

10 Favorite books –
(In No Particular Order)
-Good Omens
-Lolita
-Girl, Interrupted (much more than the movie)
-The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe
-The Gunslinger
-The Tao Te Ching
-Salome
-The Belljar
-American Gods
-I Am a Cat

Favorite fruit -
Always and forever, green apples. If that was the apple in the Garden of Eden, then no wonder man fell.

Favorite type of music –
Anything that I can move with, somehow.

10 Favorite bands –
-Tori Amos
-3 Doors Down
-Naked Blue
-Ani Difranco
-The Beatles
-Bob Dylan
-Imogen Heap
-The Shins
-Iron and Wine
-Liz Phair

5 Favorite songs –
-Silent All These Years, Tori Amos
-Both Hands, Ani Difranco
-Let Go, Frou Frou
-She’s Losing it, Belle and Sebastian
-H.W.C, Liz Phair


Favorite color –
Blue

Favorite country –
I lack one.

Favorite place in the world -
Wherever I am.

Favorite food -
Crab.

10 Favorite movies -
-Garden State
-The Notebook
-La Belle et la Bete
-Much Ado About Nothing
-Spirited Away
-The Tenth Kingdom
-Chocolat
-La Huit Jour
-The Wizard of Oz
-Secretary

Favorite actor – James Spader
Favorite actress – Angelina Jolie
5 Favorite TV Shows –
-The Daily Show
-N/A (I only really watch The Daily Show, and CNN)

Favorite thing to do -
Breathe

Favorite Poet (with a book published) -
Sylvia Plath

Opinions

Sex – It exists. I’m told it’s fun.
Young Mothers – Probably have more energy than old ones.
Your opinion on gay marriage – It’s better than gay living in sin, isn’t it? (In other words, I’m all for it.)
Your opinion on the death penalty- I don’t believe in it
Tell us about your religious beliefs – Fairly devout Catholic, with great interest in Buddhism and Taoism.
Do you smoke or do drugs – Nope.
On poetry (What does it mean to you? How does it affect you?) Poetry is. It doesn’t mean, it doesn’t effect, it exists and defines. It’s like asking what air means to me, and how it affects me. I can’t live without it. It’s always there.

This and That

Beach or mountain? - Moutain
Winter or summer? - Winter
Pool or sea? - Sea
DVD or cinema? - DVD
Sleep or eat? - Sleep
Die without loving or love without being corresponded? – Love without being corresponded
MSN or AIM? - AIM
Good or evil? – Chaos Neutral
Contact lens or glasses? – Either, as long as I can see

Other

Make us laugh –
Remember, Remember, the Fifth of…um. July

It might just be me--it probably is just me, if I'm honest--but I find the fifth of July more interesting than the fourth.

Think about it. You have the Founding Fathers getting funky with their revolutionary selves, down with the King, thinking about the course of human events, dissolving the political bonds with the Mother Country, all that.

And you know that after they finished signing, they looked at each other, and went, "Holy shit. We rock."

The testosterone levels in that room must have been unbearable.

So, of course, all puffed up and pleased with themselves, they go off for a night of drinking and whoring, and hey, life is good.

And then?

It's the fifth, and they're awake, hungover, possibly in a bed with as woman who is not their lady wife.

And they stumble out of their beds, and try to figure out just what happened the night before. And there are memories of the tavern, yep--oh, that stain's going to take forever to get out--and walking down the street, jostling old John Penn in the ribs, or laughing with Stephen Hopkins--and damn, Adams owes you for that last pint, but you can't remember which Adams owes you the money--and then...little farther back...Oh.

The treason and forming a new nation and...yeah, that.

And the only thing I can believe they said then is, "...Oh, fuck."

Happy Birthday, America.

By me, on July 05, 2005

Write us a poem –

ring out the old says the master
ring in the new says the mistress
and the little maids dance all around in circles
til the insides have gone out
and something new's contained within

come with me says the master
run away says the mistress
and the little boys beats
the dog with sticks

empty thyself of selfishness
and become a cracked clay jar
to be filled anew
with stardust or urine
but hold it well and prepare
to empty thyself again for never will
it end until the levels in and out are equal


Write us a poem using the theme "tree"-

I look down from
The branch and close
My eyes, wanting
To jump

Hands and arms reach
Up to the bark
And leaves and bugs
Above

And then I take
A breath, let go
And my knees hit
The ground

Grass stains are worth
A moment where the
Tree let me try
To fly


3 Pictures of yourself -

I choose not to submit photos. If this community is about words, then I’m going to be judged on words.

Three pictures of myself

1- One two three four five six seven nineteen years pass in a blur, and at this moment, I am an Adult and a Child.

When I was a little girl, I started to use capital letters on words that some would say shouldn’t have them. Capital letters are like Alice and Dorothy, things being wonderful and more than a lower case. Capital letters mean distinction, and you can hear them said, the sound of something More Than Life, of Excitement and Adventure and possibly Bears of Very Little Brain.

One two three four five six seven nineteen years pass in a blur, and I still use capital letters.

2- "A religious man is a person who holds God and man in one thought at one time, at all times, who suffers harm done to others, whose greatest passion is compassion, whose greatest strength is love and defiance of despair."
-Abraham Joshua Heschel, New York Journal-American, April 5, 1963


I love my Church.

I am a Roman Catholic, practicing, though I'm unable for health reasons to often make Mass. (When I remember, I look up the readings for the day online, but at this point, my memory is also shot. On that note? If you know a website that would e-mail them to me--I'm sure one exists--I'd appreciate it.)

I've been a Catholic since I was less than three weeks old. I was baptized in my grandparents’ living room, using my grandmother's pitcher to pour the water, because she was so ill she couldn't leave the house, and she wanted to see me baptized before she died. I was also baptized in a diocese that was not the one either of my parents were members of, a process that required a large amount of paper work and requests to be made, very quickly. (To explain this--it is somewhat...gauche, perhaps, for a priest from one diocese to baptize someone who technically falls within a different diocese. While it can be done, and is, there is a process. Some people find this to be a pain in the ass. Frankly, I agree. But I understand why it's there, too. I am the first to admit that while the Catholic Church is an institution of faith--it's still an institution, and as such, has paper-pushers. Sad, but true. Jesus never—as far as I’m aware—said anything about whether to write down this annulment request or that date of death with a blue pen or a number two pencil, but I’m sure there are rules about that, too. I love my Church. But I roll my eyes at some of it.)

I am a Roman Catholic, and thus I must submit to the authority of the Pope on matters of faith, but I don’t always agree with them. I think the best way I can identify myself is as an obedient heretic.

“He tells me the sun orbits the earth,” Galileo told his neighbor, “and of course, His Holiness must be right. I am afraid the sun, though, has not heard his decree yet.”

My Church is an institution, and one resistant to change, and it is, in many ways, flawed. But the Church doesn't have to be perfect. It just has to have a few members working to make it better at all times, closer to perfection, to what God wants of us--not what we think God would want, but what He actually wants. The difference between the two is where the problems come from.

I was baptized before I knew how to even speak, and couldn’t make the vows they asked of me myself, and so my godparents and parents made them for me. And this, of course, is controversial—are the vows valid, when I didn’t make them? Infant baptism is a tricky thing. But to me, when I was born, my parents took me from the hospital, and did not wait until I was old enough to say, “May I come in?” to let me into our home, and this is much the same.

I have met members of the Body of Christ, Catholics and Protestants alike, who were cruel, and hateful, and bitter, and reduced me to tears.

And sometimes I think that as illogical as it may sound, it’s better to cut of your nose to spite your face, if the nose is also infected and spreading a disease.

But it’s far better than that to treat the disease, and somehow that’s become what I try to do. And fail miserably at, nine times out of ten, because I’m human—I’m very good at being human, which may not be the same thing as being a good one, but it’s what I am, at that—but I still try.

My father came in to my room the other day, when I was reading, and leaned over and kissed my temple. “You are the pearl of great value He spoke of. I would trade the world for you.”

And to understand this, you have to understand that my father is a deeply spiritual man, but is not loud about religion. For years, all I ever knew was that he went to Mass with us on Sunday and didn’t sing. But he keeps a well-worn rosary in his pockets, and goes to Adoration, and other such things that are so easy for me to miss. And this was a Bible reference, in telling how much he loved me.

And it meant more for that, somehow, though I don’t know that I could tell you why.

I love my Church. I love my God, of course—before all else, three in one, as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end, amen—and that comes first, but I love my Church. Even the cruel members of it. Even the bigots.

And I love those not in my Church, or in any church, or temple, or place of worship. Because if God made man in His image and likeness, then to love God, I have to love all ways in which He shows Himself. This is prayer. It doesn’t mean I like everyone, because I don’t, but I still love them. Overwhelmingly, painfully, and foolishly. Love is the action of working for good things for another, and that’s what I do. Even if I don’t like you, I’ll do that.

Religion isn’t a set of rules. Religion isn’t my god versus your god versus his goddess versus her animal guide.

Religion is a word for the process of seeking out the Divine.

Spirituality is the connection we find with the Divine as a result.

And Faith?

Faith is simply persistence, hope mixed with the belief that there must be something, and in the end, Faith is what all religions, all sciences, all arts, all heroes and heroines, have in common. Faith is Love directed at a Being we don't understand, and probably don't want to understand.

Faith's the one that gets you through the night.

Spirituality is what brings you peace in the afternoon.

And Religion provides you with a guideline from which to try and operate in your daily life.

It is good to have Religion, tenants that you hold to be true and devote yourself to. Even if your Religion is simply, "I do things that are good, because they make me feel well. I do not do things that are bad, because they make me feel badly." (This is not Philosophy. Philosophy is an attempt to make all the world make sense, to make Spirituality easier, and to strengthen Faith, and while this includes Religion, it is not limited to it. In a perfect society, Religion and Philosophy would be the same thing, as would Spirituality and Faith, but I don't think one exists yet.)

This is what I believe, what I hold dear and true and right. I don't ask that you believe it, or claim that I'm an expert on such matters.

But this is what forms how I see the world.

And because of this, it makes me who I am.

3- Words are limiting, but they’re all we have, until the telepaths arrive, anyway.

Words are limiting, but they have power thoughts won’t ever have. Words are the internal made external, and a way to share That-Which-Is-In-Me with That-Which-Is-In-You.

I listen, and read, and smile, and take in all that is You.

And when I speak, when I write, I am sharing with you Me.

This is me, with the high voice I think sounds like a child’s, still, and the babbling, and the jerky-but-not-derailed train of thought.

The is electrical impulses flowing from me to you, the output from me, you taking it in.

This is who I am.

And I open my mouth, and I flow.


Promote in at least 3 places (the more the better) -
http://www.livejournal.com/community/00000000000000b/1456484.html
http://www.livejournal.com/community/adver_mote/81265.html
http://www.livejournal.com/community/000000000000008/1302035.html

What makes you poetic (i.e. what in your poems should make us accept you)? –

Nothing.

There is no reason that you should accept me.

If you choose to, then I can’t tell you why. I can only point at the rest of my application and ask if you’d like to have me in this community or not, based on that.
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