Join Us in Despair

You know when you were a kid and your diary was full of angst and woe-is-me-ness? That is what this blog is for. Lost your job, dog is sick, someone stole your parking spot, crashed your car, just generally glum? This is the place to put all that lovely grey and those long drawn out sighs.

Lists of sad songs. Depressing movie reviews. Top ten reason to stay in bed. All things not happy. Bring them here.

Are you sick, are you tired? Have you been sick & tired for a year? Share it here. Unhappy, gloomy, dismal, down in the dumps, miserable only. Did you have a bad day, a month... share. Not that tragedy and despair can't be funny, contributors are welcome to make their posts goofy, witty, laugh-out-loudable, just not happy or upbeat.

Would you like to be part of the DD&D project? Do you have a sad story, a rant, a poem of a lost love? Join us as a contributor.

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

The Reading

eager words
projectile vomited
onto laps of unimpressed

disdain for spewed
vowels and consonants
shows clearly on faces

unable to clean
the offending mass
of retched verses

I slink away
never to expose
this feeble talent again

"Open Mike 7 P.M. Next Friday"

perhaps just
one more time


And so I sent out this poor little poem and the rejection it got was delightful.

Dear Ms Laura Jayne,

Thank you for your submission of The Reading to our magazine. At this time we do not find a place in our publication for a work that includes the phrase "projectile vomited." We wish you luck in placing this elsewhere.


And now at last I have a place to place it elsewhere. Yeah, I had to create that place, but the sad poem has a place at last.


Simply Heather said...

hahahaha - forgive me LJ but I must

I like the poem, it made me smile and then you're letter recieved just topped it off.

I'm so happy it find's itself cozy here. Honestly...these are words found in my house daily (vomit, poop, fart, throw up, know how it is) ;o>.

Roger A. Gavrillo said...

You should have enclosed an accompanying photo.

Roger A. Gavrillo said...

"A few weeks later, I went with both men to a reading at the Mistral Bookstore on the Left Bank. Forty or fifty people were in attendance. Another poet was reading his own work.Ginsberg was outraged and yelled, "That isn't poetry." Someone yelled back,"What is your definition of poetry?" Ginsberg stripped off all his clothes and recited his poems naked." from I'll Always Have Paris by Art Buchwald.

The best poet is also a visual artist. Not everyone will appreciate the vivid imagery. I did!