, , ,

dverselogoWell, hello there poets! Before I get into my intro, I wanna say happy birthday to my wonderful mom and thank you to D’team for continuing
to be such amazing and tireless
supporters of the poetry community.
I’ve known Brian, Claudia & Gay for years; they’ve done nothing but support me + my growth
and it is an honor to be a part of this.

Moving forward… My name is Anthony Desmond and I’ll be the dude behind the bar this evening.

       I’m writing this at 3am as I listen to Johnny Hates Jazz with Richard Dawkins’ ‘Sex, Death and The Meaning of Life’ on mute… Thinking about how the cold weather here in Michigan has given me a lot of time for self reflection. Instead of just setting goals (that never stick) for the year, I realized I have to put some energy into my central nervous system. Meditation and deep breathing have become a part of my daily life; seeing as how it acts as a medicine for my inner self and helps release neurotic holding patterns. I am no longer ignorant to the fact that change must come from the inside…

I’ve also decided to start free writing every single day; in my 5 years of writing, I would always take breaks for weeks or sometimes months because I wanted to wait for inspiration. Just about every time I’d start to write, if I thought it was gonna be crap, I would stop; it drove me mad! They say you have to take the good with the bad; now that I’m writing a lot more bad, the good is coming much more often than beforeIt’s become quite clear to me that I don’t have to wait for inspiration, it comes whenever the writer wants to put in the effort to find a new vein to bleed from… Now, enough of me sounding like the 2nd coming of Deepak Chopra for poets, lets get down to the nitty-gritty…

I feel it’s only right to end my 1st intro here at d’Verse with a poem from my hero, Frank Stanford,

In Another Room I Am Drinking Eggs from a Boot

Hans Richter

What if the moon was essence of quinine

And high heels were a time of day

When certain birds bled

The chauffeur is telling the cook

The antler would pry into ice floes

Swim with a lamp

And we’d be shivering in a ditch

Biting through a black wing

There would be boats

There would be a dream country

The great quiet humming of the soul at night

The only sound is a shovel

Clearing a place for a mailbox

*Estate of Frank Stanford © C.D. Wright

Source: Automatic Co-Pilot (Unpublished Collection,)

If you’re new, here’s how we get down:

  • Write a poem and post it on your blog/webpage.
  • Click on the Mr. Linky button below, enter your name and direct url/web address to your poem
  • There you will also find the list of those participating this week. You might want to refresh this occasionally or check back in as there are people joining over the next 33 hours.
  • Giving support is the best way to receive it: go and read other poets that have linked. Let them know what you thought and/or how the poem moved you, your favorite part, etc. We don’t expect you to hit every link, but please don’t forget to at least return the favor of those who have visited and commented on your work.
  • Encourage others to participate through social media, promote your own piece and others.
  • Have fun meeting and engaging with your fellow poets.