Today I wrote a poem, went to a poetry reading, and read out a different poem at the open mic section.
I know no one at these events, and it’s nerve-wracking for me to read poetry in front of strangers. Still, it’s a good exercise, and I haven’t had the opportunity to attend of late. Generally, I find listening to other people read their work inspiring. I enjoy the diversity: the rapid shifts of pace and subject matter. Even when some of it is not to my taste.
Often, there is a combination of words, a phrase, a verse, or an entire poem that hits the resonance bell.
Then those echoes pulse softly in my head for days.
It’s Thursday, so time for my weekly pico-prose in under 140 characters:
“End of days,” he says. His coal-black teeth snap, gleeful, like a bear trap. I tip my hat in salute. “Maybe for you. Call me Armageddon.”