What song are you most grateful for?
These days it’s any song that isn’t a song for kids or a nursery rhyme.. Some days the TV is on all day. The kids mostly don’t pay attention to it, just look up at it from time to time. But if I turn it off…. Well that would be a bad idea. So all day I am listening to The Wiggles, Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, annoying little jingles that get stuck in your head ALL DAY..
I am a massive music lover. In the days before downloading everything I had hundreds of CD’s and many a sunday morning was spent going to search of new CDs. I loved discovering new bands to obsess over. The longest obsession was a Finnish metal band by the name of H.I.M. The lead singer was the bees-knees. And I had all of their CDs, books, DVDs.. I even have a massive tattoo on my back dedicated to them!! How is that for love.
But these days I don’t listen to much music apart from the utter tripe coming out of my TV everyday.. It does make the days drag sometimes.
What story are you grateful for?
I can’t think of any stories I am grateful for, but poems can tell a story so I will share with you a couple of my favourites. I am grateful to them because they made me write poetry as a teenager. And any form of artistic expression at that age is something to be grateful for. I used poetry as an outlet for my extreme emotions. I always felt better if I could write my feelings into a poem. It was like a cathartic release for me. And no I will never be sharing with you my poems… I read one of my poems to my husband once… He just laughed. I suppose teenager angst is pretty funny.
Mirror by Sylvia Plath
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful ‚
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
This was one of the first poems being really affected by. My grade 9 english teacher read this to the class and it made me want to write poems. Sylvia’s morbid musings always appealed to me.