One must make a distinction however: when dragged into prominence by half poets, the result is not poetry, nor till the autocrats among us can be “literalists of the imagination”—above insolence and triviality and can present for inspection, imaginary gardens with real toads in them, shall we have it.

Thursday, March 22, 2018

You and Me

Hello, Toads! Marian here with your occasional music prompt. Get ready! 

Last week, I was truly lucky to be able to take my family to see Alice Cooper. I have to say, of course I’ve known Alice Cooper songs for my entire life but it never occurred to me that I would see him live. It just wasn’t on my radar screen at all until the past year or so, when my son Jack started to really get into him. When we learned he was coming to Boston, we scored tickets for the family that Jack received in his Christmas stocking. And I am so grateful!

This show was truly, absolutely amazing and completely inspiring. Alice Cooper is now 70 years old and I hope he keeps playing and performing until he’s 80. Or longer! He puts on such an incredible show, I mean wow, so much energy! And I am so happy to be a new fan of the younger woman guitarist who plays with him, Nita Strauss. I am overwhelmed by how awesome she is!

Here is a link to a video of the encore from the show we attended in case you are interested. I did not take this video, we were in the balcony, but it's great:
SCHOOL’S OUT at the Wang Theatre in Boston 3-6-18

Okay, enough already. Obviously I'm a fangirl and am incapable of focusing on any other artist right now, so let’s all listen to this great, beautiful, classic ballad and write poems about 

sharing a bed, some lovin’ and TV 

Tuesday, March 20, 2018

The Tuesday Platform

Today is full of wonder (for moi). It’s World Storytelling Day, it’s the first day of spring in the Northern Hemisphere… And I don’t know about you, my dearest Toads, but the thought of oral storytelling and the kiss of the Vernal Equinox makes me all giddy and bloomy and annoyingly cheery inside. I don’t even care that according to the weather forecast, New York is supposed to get more of the frozen stuff that shall not be named. Spring finally came. So, sleep señor winter.

Let’s welcome the freshness of Spring (or the spiciness of Autumn, if you are in the Southern Hemisphere) with poetry. Share a new poem, an old poem, a short poem, any poem… then, delight in everybody else’s poetic yum. 

winter continues
chilling clouds and naked trees,
but New York feels spring