Forty-seven.
Poet, writer, editor; a graphomaniac, for sure.
Loves the sound of rain, the smell of homemade ratatouille, the pleasure of company, and the serenity of solitude--not all in that order.
Reads way too much; possibly a bibliomaniac.
Otaku since 1990; fujoshi since 2002. Slash fan and advocate of gender-bending/blending.
Loves Japanese style, gypsy music, manga, anime, Russian poets and poetry over all.
Super keen on movies, crime drama, satire, bad puns, and art.
Fat chick--not into thinspo, fatspo, or any spo.
People watcher, eavesdropper, and fond of hidden places.
Singer in a Sunday choir. No, really.
Speaker of Spanish, French, and Portuguese.
In love with libraries.
Misses the pleasure of sitting on a porch greatly.
Personal assistant to a fighting, biting lightning-fast tuxedo cat.
Working on my first book of poetry--look for Set List in 2012!
Alive and living in the City Beautiful, a/k/a Coral Gables.
Posts tagged: Poetry Is Everywhere
Please do forgive me my radio silence. Things have been mixed.
I shall be moving out of the studio by the first of May. Rent trouble again…so I have hit Craigslist to look for a place with a lower rent. Couple of good prospects—one, actually, on Biltmore Way, a 1/1 with all utilities. It seems a great prospect, but I have to pursue at least a Plan B, in case that lead doesn’t go through.
I may well have to give up my little Wonder Cat. I’d like to keep Ten-Ten, but I still have to get on firmer footing (paying work), and the next apartment may not allow me to keep a pet. So I have to seek out someone who can take in a cat, or take her to a shelter. However much it may break my heart, I have to think of her well-being.
My emotions have been pinging all over the place; anxiety, depression, anger, despair, even euphoria…last month marked the 3rd year since my mom died. It’s also fueled a good deal of writing: this National Poetry Month, I’ve been writing on a pretty steady basis.
What will May bring? Stay tuned. I’m hopeful.
Today kicks off Women’s History Month. I look forward to it.
It also brings me a month closer to my favorite month—National Poetry Month in April—so I’m looking for ways to nurture and feed my Muse. If you have any suggestions concerning poets and books on poetry, please send them my way.
Also, a friendly reminder: If you’re submitting work for Microlandia! the deadline is the 18th. So kickstart your Muses and send your work to aherreracg@gmail.com with your name, address (snail, so I can send you a copy), your poems and a microbio.
Thank you, one and all.
I’ve heard of pop-up restos and bars, and there are a few here in the Miami area—but given the choice, I would sooner see pop-up libraries, bookstores, and art installations. And since O, MIAMI is coming round the bend (April is National Poetry Month, after all)—why not add pop-up poetry readings to the mix?
I’m a mixed bag at the moment.
Yesterday was one of those days where I wanted to cry, laugh, and curl up into a ball. I’m still feeling the impact.
The Coral Gables Cultural Council held a meeting, so I went to see and hear. Strolled and window-shopped, came home, changed clothes, and went off to the library.
After I left, I went to Books and Books, where the Coral Gables Democratic Club was meeting. Talked to a couple of people with Occupy Miami, listened to several speakers—among them Alex Sink, ran into Grisel S. from my days at LACC. She gave me her card.
And somewhere along the way, the frustration over being jobless, combined with grief and PTSD flashbacks, steamrolled me. It was a wonder I didn’t hurl myself onto the parquet and start wailing. I ran into Jonathan Rose and Liz, and they helped me chill. Also got an offer to volunteer for a mayoral candidate race, met several more interesting people…
I wanted to stay in bed this morning. But I had to remind myself what was going down tonight (I read at Books & Books, at the Famous Last Friday poetry night) and got up, fed Ten-Ten, and got out to check my email.
I’m nervous and jumpy and I still feel like laughing and crying all at once. Forgive me for unburdening. I just need to know I’m heard.
as the beautiful being you truly are.
Oh, this is a wonderful Shel Silverstein poem! Cheers!
Friday afternoon at the Gables branch. Not much to say at the moment. Two high schoolers are sitting nearby, singing pop idol songs, talking about guys they want to marry, and why guys named Neil will never be their husbands.
To say this is banal is an understatement.
So I’ll move on.
I’m pleased with this last instructional poem, and I think I want to write a proper series, Criminal Minds-related or not. It’s fun, and ripe for mischief.
- Find a mirror. It doesn’t have to be any particular shape or size; a compact will do nicely.
- Set aside time when you will not be disturbed, a time free from distractions and worry.
- Gaze into the mirror. Don’t worry if you can’t see anything beyond your reflection. Simply breathe, deeply and slowly.
- Close your eyes, and count backward—from 100, or 20, or whichever number springs to mind.
- Open your eyes. What do you see?
- If, on your first attempt, you cannot sense any ghostly presence, put away the mirror, and try at another time.
- When you finally do see ghosts, let them speak to you first.
- If a ghost blows you a kiss—goodbye or hello—blow a kiss to them in return.
Copyright 2012. Antoinette M. Herrera. Feel free to reblog, or make yourself a copy. All I ask: please do let me know! Thank you.
This past Saturday night, at Books and Books, I caught the UM Faculty/VONA reading—very good, varied authors and poets. Before and after the main reading, audience members were encouraged to participate in an open mike reading.
Yes, I did read there. No question.
One of the other participants—a student, I think, in UM’s Creative Writing MFA program—read a poem inspired by the instructional poems of Yoko Ono (if you haven’t read her collection, Grapefruit, do scare up a copy and enjoy).
The following night, the title “How to become Matthew Gray Gubler” lodged in my head. So I got out notebook and pen, and started writing.
And now I’m thinking, why not write an instructional for the other cast members of Criminal Minds? Silly, yes, but it seems like good fun.
And while I’m trying to get Crime Drama Cage Match out of the doldrums, it does promise to keep me writing.
My question now—who should be next?
2. Something you feel strongly about.
Those who have followed me from day ____ (fill in the blank) know that I am bullish about poetry and poets.
“Well, you are a poet, so that’s no surprise!” True enough.
I blame my mother, really. When my parents divorced, life in the Herrera household became a scene from some opera: over the top and dramatic as hell. One of my sisters spent time in a mental hospital (another story for another day, lovelies); when Mom and I would drive upstate to see her, I’d be clutching a steno pad and a pen. As we drove from Orange up to Rusk, along Texas highways and back roads, she would dictate poems, which I wrote down in my messy handwriting.
Sometime in sixth grade, I decided to write my first poem, one with rhymes, stanzas, and the like, for my language arts class. The end result? Drivel, and embarrassing drivel at that, about a boy! I was mortified, and didn’t write another poem for years.
During that time, however, I began reading poetry, and absorbing the nuances of works by e.e. cummings, Emily Dickinson, May Sarton, and the like. When I moved to Miami, I snapped up one of Mom’s college texts—an anthology of American poetry—and started scribbling my own pieces.
When I started writing, I originally wrote prose; poetry was an afterthought. Over time, I found that I not only liked writing poetry, I preferred it, and spent hours studying it—formally and informally.
For some, poetry is a fancy, or a hobby. A phase, something to grow out of.
I’ve grown into poetry, though—and it has grown into me.
