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Tihmmnmmish's Cuddle-Friendly Fireside Threadcast

There's ruts then there's grooves. Maybe sometimes we think we're in a rut when we're really in a groove... and we're not looking around close enough.

And if you're deemed by one to be boring, I'm certain I'm deemed by twenty to be double boring. I try to cultivate an Expect the Worst kind of attitude, so the surprises are minimized.

And I find a whole lot about the world, especially pop culture, extremely boring... it's another something I've been thinking about lately. Like, there's almost no television shows I like very much. Reality shows. Yuck. But they're the rage and have been and will continue to be. They don't care that I'm one little speck out here who would shed no tears if all reality shows went away. So... just one example. They do their thing, and are happy and I do my thing and don't voluntarily watch them and everybody's fine. And I will not knock another who enjoys reality shows for whatever reasons.

Sometimes the best you can do is create your own entertainment and cultivate your own imagination, and expect a like ratio of reciprocation. Maybe?
 
And just when our Friday Poetry/Poem reviewer had stretched his arms above his head and yawned and considered going into the natural world beyond the fabricated walls of the small town rental, and just when he began to feel the weight of guilt in his conjunctive overuse to begin sentences, and mixing those conjunctions with prepositional phrases, knowing he should not but not able to help but to tack one more, to the end... and just at that epic defining moment, when he entertained the mixture of relief and suspicion that attempted to tortuously tumble within...

Yes, it was just then, that poems appeared.

Gonna take a slow groove approach today. Let those little poems lounge in the glade for now, let the metaphorical poppy field relax them. Yessss, relax them.

Got all day. :heart:
 
I would rather be with me than anyone else on this planet. I like being alone perhaps I would have made a good hermit or a mad woman of the woods. I very rarely get bored, how can anyone be bored when there are so many things to think about? Even when I am asleep I am in vivid coloured dreams like stories in my head.
 
If I was the paranoid sort I would suspect that somehow you broke into my soul and copied my thoughts. Believe me, I identify. 100%. Actually, one of the positives of this place is its hermit-friendly atmosphere. Which other people can tend to struggle with. But yes, I do understand you.

Now the thoughts are all awake and making a mess.

Tend to a few things, plus those fluffy little poems, and then allow those thoughts to come and run.
 
Oh Annie, I've nothing to beware of or to hide. :devil: Read away.

Well so far there are some pretty swell poems today. A couple surprises, as in initial low expectations pleasantly surpassed; a couple I shortchanged in their pc's which I intend to make amends in the O-fficial Review Thread.

But I also get to turn one over my knee. I think it did it on purpose, just for this, to be turned over my knee. It started off with some very fetching words and lines. Its perfumed finger beckoned. But then it ended each line with a period. Okay, I've started off two sentences in this paragraph with buts. But now I realize a little of what some habits may do to others.

I find it hard to believe the periods the poet put at the end of each line were accidental, or done in ignorance. If so, I am not one to order people about, but I will also strongly recommend that it not be done in the future, at least not on any near future Fridays.

If it was intentional, maybe for sadistic pleasure on the poet's part, then it did succeed. However, at least this one reader/reviewer was able to break away before suffering too much.

Funny how that one tiny dot can do things to people. One tiny dot. So we should thank the poet who put a period at the end of so many lines. Maybe it was intentional. A lesson to us all.

Hope you've learned your lesson. Yes it is supposed to burn.
 
Ah! Got some quietude and space, and I shall shortly return to give those poems another onceover. I know there's at least five that caught my eye, more likely more. a couple sleepers. Soooo...

Did some studying and confirmed what I already really knew; good news and bad news; always two sides. About writing that is friendly in print may not be so from a computer screen. On the surface it sounds like it would be a minor quibble but I think it is really significant. Neither better than each other but if you tend to ramble and mosey, that doesn't come across well from a computer screen. Not sure how that works with poetry. Maybe in some ways.

Coming up next, or soon: after supper review.

Ready.
 
Wow, Pollock invoked twice in two days. If he could've seen into the future... wow. Maybe he's reading these now, and having a great little laugh.

The other something I was thinking of lately ties into the print vs internet writing/reading, about allergies. You know something that many can safely eat might cause an adverse reaction to a few. How do they know? They try it and they learn. Maybe they like the taste but know they'll pay for it afterwards. Maybe they're addicted to their allergy. Maybe they don't really realize the extent of their addiction or how they've adapted to their allergen, until they back away or are visited with a sudden conversion. Conversions. Love conversions. Haven't had one in four or five years. About due. Maybe tomorrow. Or Monday. Sometimes you have to work and sometimes just sit and chill and wait and enjoy the view.
 
Oh what a great day it's been for conversion and to see that what I wondered is shown to be at least partly accurate. And the timing couldn't be more suitable.
 
we do think the same! I was thinking along similar lines. Swiss-like.
 
I'll put the fishing metaphor here. Love the smell of fish frying in a skillet: cast iron of course.

I wonder if you can tell a lot about someone's fishing preferences by their prose or their poetry.

Many people who 'fish' do the whole big boat and tackle gig, go for the excitement, the hunt, the thrill, their goal to catch the biggest they can. Trophy. A wall mount. Proof they succeeded. Then, out here the fishing style is focused on fast river style, since this is fast river and rugged mountain country. I've enjoyed fishing sometimes but this way out here is probably my least favorite. Too fast. Too much. Too much like a magazine or too much like 'sport'.

My fishing preference was always the quiet pond. To be in that place and sup the day or night or the place itself. Actually catching a fish was always the lowest priority. Just throw a line out there and see what happens. Lay back and watch the clouds or listen to crickets. Oh it is an undeniable thrill when something does bite. When the pole jiggles, and when you feel it jerk in your hand. A nice little struggle. In that case, the last thing I want is to just yank the line and the fish pops out and lands at my feet. Oh no. There must be attempt, serious attempt for the fish to try to get off, get away. Maybe it does. But at least there was an uncertainty: on both sides.

This could go on of course, since there's many ways to take it.

Then there's the travel metaphor.

Oh how I love metaphors.
 
Have you ever touch legered? your fingers on the line so that you feel every small movement ..... was that a nudge at the bait, you're tense anticipating the bite .......
 
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You mean without a rod? I don't think so. Sometimes crooked a finger under the line. You know?
 
No not without a rod lol yes with your finger on the line as opposed to watching a float which can play havoc with your eyes!
 
Ah ha! Gotcha. Yes I have. Done it like that. Fished that way. But honestly, in all honesty, I have not cast out a fishing line in some years. But if I were to fish again someday I would prefer... well, you know you can throw the line out there and go without the 'float' (we call it a bobber) and then set the rod on a forked stick stuck in the ground, and then kinda watch it. And do other things meanwhile. If the rod noses towards the water it's likely something nibbling the bait.

Actually I prefer the traveling metaphor. I often fantasize about just taking off on foot. Without a destination. Without a schedule. Camera and pen and notebook. Just walk. Though I think this is a repeat.
 
Have you read 'As I walked out one midsummer morning' by Laurie Lee? he ended up in Spain!
 
This is a well-developed morning already. A blue one. Not merely cliche, but the tone is bluish, like cold bluish. See, I've neglected that: the joy of getting into the blue or whatever tone it is and not worrying how to describe it or to make it poetic. The words should be afterthoughts. Discards. Really.

Anyway, on this bluish rocky mountain morn I see no new poems in here. But there seems to be a wealth of poetry out there.

So I cannot at this moment say in all honesty that I will be in the best mind to give new poems their just review due if and when they appear in the near future. Could happen of course but hold onto that longshot wager for a horse or... or I don't know. You know... So if new poems appear as I am popping in and out and someone wants to give them some Friday flavored review treatment before I get to them, why be my darling guests and do so.

What a gorgeous day.
 
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