Wait, it's June? Sigh.
I'm having a rough day. Yes, already. To tell the truth, I've had a rough week. There are lots of unrelated reasons for this, but rather than lament here, let's see what poetry can do about it. Rather, let's see what poetry can do with it.
Since my brain is wiped, I'm going to try a jump-start with a cento, a form of found poetry that typically uses lines from other poets' poems in a sort-of written collage. I want to lighten my mood, lighten my heart, so I'm going to go off-book here and use first lines from the chapters in the seventh book in Charlaine Harris' Sookie Stackhouse series titled All Together Dead. Yep. Vampires, telepaths, weretigers...I can get lost in this other world of supernatural beings and, yes, lots of sex. Supernatural sex. Plus these books were made into the HBO series True Blood, so, you know, you can't go wrong with that.
Let's see what happens:
The Shreveport vampire bar would be opening late tonight.
Halleigh, since you're marrying a policeman, you'll be able to tell me...just how big is a cop's night stick? (See? I'm laughing already.)
We were in the kitchen when Amelia returned.
It was still warm at night, but not oppressively so, not this late in September.
I was walking in my sleep.
On the second morning after Jason's wedding, I was feeling much more myself.
I don't have anything to say.
"My bags are packed..." I sang. (Now, see here? I'm sensing a theme. Anxiety about something, acceptance, subsequent action. A leaving.)
It was mid-afternoon when we arrived in Rhodes. (I've written centos before using poetry, and I can tell that this is going to involve much more cutting. I'll need to cut most of the proper names, for sure.)
"Go see," the Queen told me.
I was so anxious to get out of the crowd in the wedding hall that I collided with a vampire, who whirled and grabbed my shoulders in a blur of darkness.
I simply couldn't process what had just happened; it didn't jibe with my inner picture of myself or how I behaved. (Hmmm...this could get serious.)
It was a bomb. (Yep.)
Batanya killed the assassin with a throwing star. (Tee hee. How will this factor in?)
I'd finally gone to bed at four in the morning, and I woke at noon.
The vampire Jodi was pretty formidable.
My eyes snapped open like shades that were wound too tight. (This just sparked a memory of my childhood bedroom. We had those shades! I'm heavy handed, and those things flew off the wall more than once. Note to self.)
I know there are many worse things than waking up naked in bed with someone you don't know very well. (Hmm, hmm!)
I'd been terrified the whole two-day drive: that I'd be stopped and they wouldn't believe I'd gotten permission to use the car, that Frannie would change her mind and tell the police I'd stolen it, that I'd have an accident and have to repay Quinn's sister for the vehicle. (Ever spent time in someone else's car absolutely terrified? I have.)
Ok! Now I've not only got some lines I can play around with, but I've got some concrete memories that I might work with later, too. And that's what I call a successful jump start.
Harris, Charlaine. All Together Dead. New York: Ace Books, 2007.