Recently I put a collection of my poetry together and published it through Amazon as well as Barnes and Nobel. Not long after I put it on Amazon and saw a few sales, but a relatively flat response, I started to wonder. I did not advertise it with anything more than minimal effort however even with that minimal effort a little interest could be reasonably expected. I wondered what it was about poetry that made most everyone shy away, perhaps applaud the "courage" they thought it took to expose yourself in such a manner however consuming it (for lack of a better word) not so much. Let's face it, people don't generally read poetry, a lot of people have preconceived notions that play into that but by in large I believe it is because we don't want to think. We really don't have to anymore, and we certainly don't want to.
Below is a sample from the book and a couple links to purchase...with any luck we can generate thought, if not for poetry then maybe for the ponies...
Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/Moving-On-ebook/dp/B004MPRAZM/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1311215945&sr=8-1
Barnes and Nobel:
http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Moving-On/Carol-Flores/e/2940013647459
From the book:
Witness
There was a second when I thought to breathe,
to feel, to crawl under my own skin, turn it
right-side out, claim nothing more
than capability. As if disrobing
mid-sentence were entirely normal (accepted).
More likely it'd find you half undressed
with as much life as an eight (times 7) year old
hound stuck somewhere in Iowa exhausted
with July and it's knee high corn, serving him
as much purpose as you, naked on some corner,
skin all upside down and backward, stumbling over
your words, wondering who's idea was this anyway?
Still there was that second when I thought to reach under,
to touch myself as if I cared a great deal.
You came to watch, and did so fascinated
it was hard to tell which was more beautiful
more natural, you struck silent
or me, struck alive by my own hand
at your witness
I choose this poem because so many misunderstand the original intent. It used to insult me that everyone that read it believed it to be about the obvious. Anymore I figure it's none of my business what the reader chooses to see, it's enough that they took the time to "see"...
There you have the connection between pony and poem. We (collectively) don't want to think, and they certainly deserve thought.
Considering all this I have decided that the two truly do belong together and any sales from the poetry book should go to Pony Up Rescue in Olalla, Wa; people who DO think about the ponies!
Below is a sample from the book and a couple links to purchase...with any luck we can generate thought, if not for poetry then maybe for the ponies...
Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/Moving-On-ebook/dp/B004MPRAZM/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1311215945&sr=8-1
Barnes and Nobel:
http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Moving-On/Carol-Flores/e/2940013647459
From the book:
Witness
There was a second when I thought to breathe,
to feel, to crawl under my own skin, turn it
right-side out, claim nothing more
than capability. As if disrobing
mid-sentence were entirely normal (accepted).
More likely it'd find you half undressed
with as much life as an eight (times 7) year old
hound stuck somewhere in Iowa exhausted
with July and it's knee high corn, serving him
as much purpose as you, naked on some corner,
skin all upside down and backward, stumbling over
your words, wondering who's idea was this anyway?
Still there was that second when I thought to reach under,
to touch myself as if I cared a great deal.
You came to watch, and did so fascinated
it was hard to tell which was more beautiful
more natural, you struck silent
or me, struck alive by my own hand
at your witness
I choose this poem because so many misunderstand the original intent. It used to insult me that everyone that read it believed it to be about the obvious. Anymore I figure it's none of my business what the reader chooses to see, it's enough that they took the time to "see"...
0 comments:
Post a Comment