Poetry After Dark: A Writer’s Tools

I’ve had a long delay before I could start teaching classes. Something about accreditation? They want me to prove I’m qualified! Me! I mean, really. I’m the inspiration of erotic poetry incarnate.

So I had to appear before the college board and prove I’m able to teach creative writing. I can’t decide if I’m horrified at the fact nobody knows who I am, or pleased at the opportunity to inspire more people. I guess I shouldn’t be horrified. It’s been a few thousand years.

Anyway, it went pretty well. They asked me to read a few pieces and show them my lesson planning. There was definitely a problem with the air conditioning; several people were complaining about how warm it was in that meeting room by the end. The chairs must have been uncomfortable as well, because a few of the attendees didn’t seem able to sit still.

But they seemed happy! The college director was very pleased. I was a bit worried as she keeps stopping by the little office they gave me, but I think she’s just very focused on an efficient administration. Every time she gives me a form, she leans over my shoulder and helps me fill it in. I’m very grateful; four thousand years as an inspiring spirit doesn’t really give me the bureaucratic skills I seem to need as an educator.

With any luck, I’ll be starting soon. I really can’t wait to see who’s in my class. Inspiring others is the best feeling.

A few more pieces to get together. I want to be prepared. Perhaps I’m being over-cautious, but for four millennia, my job has been mostly to hang around people and they just get inspired. I’m starting to think teaching poetry might involve a bit more. I guess I’ll find out!

A Writer’s Tool

Sit, calmly, and at rest.

Open your book

You may find it advantageous
to moisten the tip
of a finger
before you
begin

Place your fingertip
at the extreme
of the page
move it slowly inwards

feel the sensation
of the pages
sliding over each other

now, examine the words
the shape of them

becoming distinct

Watch them grow
before your eyes

open your mouth,
and allow the words
to fill it slowly
to bursting

feel the texture
of the words

the sounds
that fill your throat

allow them to slide
from your tongue

drip onto the paper.

take your index finger.
caress the margin
slowly turn the page

in lesson two
we will fill
the book

with words
make
a story

to remember



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Erato (The Poet)

Erato (The Poet)

Staff Writer
Erato is currently manifesting as a sexy wordsmith and voice artist from down under. You can read (or listen) to more of his work on his website, and be sure to follow him on twitter.
Erato (The Poet)

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7 Comments

  1. Lovely poem, Erato! I wish my words would drip on the page. More often than not, writing–to me–feels like blood oozing from a thousand paper cuts. I much rather “say it with flowers”…

  2. Dear Erato,

    Trust me, it was not a broken air conditioner. *wink*

    Enjoy campus life, but when students start flinging themselves at you, and I can see that they will – keep in mind mortals inexplicably frown on teachers accepting sexual offers from their students. In other words – just don’t get caught.

    *blows kiss*

    -Nyx-

  3. I agree with Nyx, on both counts.

    I love your poems, but I hate how they make me flutter. I’m going for a run.

    XXOO,
    Pallas Athena

  4. Aw, thank you all!
    I didn’t get to see these comments until now because my mortal had the flu, and oh my is that not fun.
    Which one of you does disease again? I have opinions!

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