Thursday! 2-39: I'm a Bit Stuck, So How About a Poem?
V2, I39
I’m a little stuck for what to write this week.
You may have noticed a bit of a shift in the newsletter, from a more general encouragement and “how to” tone to one more personal and tied into my weekly bumblings. I hope to refine that as we go. Like I said way back when I started Thursday!, the newsletter is a big ol’ work in progress that will change as my preferences for it1 change. Also, I like trying different small experiments, just to see what works2. The other thing I want to do with Thursday! is fun. As you well know, most of what you read on the internet is horrible news or yelling. Thursday! is not a yelling place3.
[I’m making a go of professional writing. It’s weird and frightening and there’s a huge chance I won’t make it. But you can push back against those odds. Be my Patron: $2, $5, or $20 a month! ]
Anyhow, the shift means that once in while, I’ll run the Good Ship Topicality into the shallows. The good news is, on those weeks, I’ll make sure the sun is pleasant and warm and a nice breeze comes up the coast. The sharks will probably stay away, at least during the day. Probably most of the day. At least until dark, I’d say. After dark, though, anything can happen4.
And speaking of dark, here’s a poem about a certain dark night in a place that may or may not exist, told by a narrator who may or may not exist. I’ve long been taken with the idea of writing American folk legends that feel far older than America itself. This is my first attempt to find the basic shape of one.
Keep on creating. Come back next week. Don’t dangle your hands in the water.
The Night Air
The night air is hot, wet
The breath of a titan.
Leaves all turn one way,
Pivot when the wind changes.
Inhale. Exhale.
The night air thickens, settles.
The Titan, the great bull
It sleeps under ground
Moist earth pulses, barely felt.
Inhale. Exhale.
The night air is dense, stifling
Tyranny of the Titan.
It weighs on valor.
Unsettles the brave at rest.
Inhale. Exhale.
The night air pulses, breathes
The Nostrils of the Titan.
Moss covers the deep
Darkness, its place of long sleep.
Inhale. Exhale.
The night air recalls, testifies.
The witness of the Titan
How it will wake
In its rage, trample the world.
Inhale. Exhale.
The night air is quiet water
Enemy of the Titan.
It flows around me
I swim through it, shark-silent.
Inhale. Exhale.
The night air is cloak, armor
The weakness of the Titan.
It will not hear me.
It will not wake and consume.
Inhale. Exhale.
The night air trembles, whispers
Faint hope against the Titan.
An ancient blade glints
I must not seem too eager.
Inhale. Exhale.
The night air stops, waits.
Attendant of the Titan.
Moss parts before me.
I descend to slay the bull.
Inhale. Exhale.
Inhale. Exhale.
Quietly.
Inhale...Exhale.
What I Wrote Last Week
And yours because, let’s face it, if you aren’t reading the newsletter, what’s the point of my writing it, yes?
You’re about to see one of those little experiments a couple paragraphs from now.
Well, not an angry yelling place. We do occasional frustrated yelling here quite a lot and happy yelling. Occasionally we yodel.
Ever notice how things that look completely innocent in the sunlight looks a lot less innocent in the shadows of 1 A.M.? Like that guy in the boat with us who I’m sure wasn’t there at sunset.