Voice Post:

"...Oh phantoms.
Oh the many lives that have fountained through
my own. Soon, soon, I shall stop upon that platform

& you will meet me there, the world rosegray beyond
the scalloped tops of buildings & we shall seek
that thing which shines & doth so much torment us."

Voice Post

HOMILY: The Poetry of Inconvenience

[As usual, the actual sermon was somewhat different than what's posted below, what with ad-libbing and on-the-fly tweaking, but the general gist is here.]


"The Poetry of Inconvenience"
Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Cookeville
Earth Day sermon

( Today, April 22nd, 2007... )

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Miscellany:

* A voicepost of me reading Mary's poem is here.

* Listened to part of The Splendid Table during the drive home, which included a clip of Jonathan Gold talking about his twelve-year-old daughter's love of Italian squid feasts and about other food writers he admires. He sounds very cool and his "triumph of the proofreader" wisecrack makes me even more inclined to like him.

* However, catching up with Gold's writing is going to have to wait. The immediate plan: cook lunch (something with mushrooms and chicken), bake dog biscuits, and work on essays until my brain is goo.

* It's 78 F and sunny here. Here's the start of the Maura Stanton poem ("God's Ode to Creation") that was the meditation text for this morning's service:

Today's the kind of day when I feel good
about that dazzling stuff I've made down there,
everything so mixed up that even lies
turn out to be the truth...

drabbles...

Haven't browsed through 'em all yet, but there are a heap of drabbles over at mctabby's that are worth checking out, including the Whomping Willow/Mrs. Norris cmtorres wrote for me. :-)

My prompt was mamadeb's "Minerva McGonagall's first love, Keywords: quidditch, rings, rainbows." 100 words, PG:

What was splendid about Caddell, Minerva thought, was that he was solid and imaginative. He wasn’t a rainbow -- a promise you couldn’t touch or take to bed with you -- and he didn’t fuss with roses or serenades or other clichéd frills. Instead, he squired her to Quidditch games and built a broom-rack for her.

They had already talked about rings when Grindelwald's minions ambushed him. Even half a century later, Minerva still sometimes mourns the might-have-beens -- not often, and never for very long, but there are nights when a curl of mist reminds her of the swirl of Caddell’s cloak.

On other fronts: posted a drabble to darkisrising100, finished and e-mailed ghost!Tonks revisions to the beta brigade, preached on poetry this morning (hence the voicepost spam), baked dog biscuits... and crashed less than three sections into the New York Times, for more than a couple hours. So not doing lunch/coffee/concert today was definitely the right call, even though I'm vexed with myself for not being enough on top of things (such that such calls have to be made (*grumblegrousewhine*). :-/

By the by, tomorrow has been declared International Pixel-Stained Technopeasant Day, which means there will almost certainly be dozens of links to good reads (particularly for SF/F fans) posted at ipstp and/or at papersky's journal. In my case, I'm not sure whether I'll manage to dig up the particular poem I want to post (the filing, it once again outweighs the dog...), but I will mention that there are ten poems of mine in circulation as free e-card texts. Vive la stained pixelry! :-)