A friend’s going to a literary festival
Hulla hulla jamboree
100,000 and counting
Dust clouds and shamianas
Speeches and milling crowds
a regal façade and a roll of drums
will they wear hats, I wonder? And gloves!
and much too much of chatter
echoing, rebounding, ricocheting from ancient walls.
Me?
My literary festival
Is 400 word quickies
And my barrage of obtuse. “cut, cut cut” heavy crits
As also poem a day (that alas I often miss)
That pulls out dark stuff from shuttered tight corners
Of my brain and mind, such that it is
And yes, heart sometimes
(but the heart is pokey holey, not much to count there)
And my literary festival is:
Trying to stretch words to not bloat, stay afloat and more
Clenching, grasping crazy deadlines
If I can I must, or so shouldn’t I?
And my jamboree is
Merrily switching words tenses weights across languages
If I can I must, or so shouldn’t I?
And this year, I admit, the first of for-fee subs
multiplying by fifty as I hit send...
So even while the flashing lightbulbs
And newspaper double spreads
Devote eulogies, quotes, reams to the craft
I shall put my head down
Squiggle out a line or two.
Sing along to my sing song
Hulla hulla jamboree