There is a recall on spinach, on the lovely fluttering greens that sit so prettily in my vegetable bin.

I don’t have to discard them. I could cook them until they beg for mercy, and then cook them some more, thereby ending up with a concoction even I wouldn’t eat.

Meh.

Therefore, curry chicken with onion. Comfort food in the Carter household.

Well, for one Carter, in any case. Steve likes his Chinese food starchy and bland. He’s a lo mein kinda guy.

I like my Chinese food to inspire me to rip my face off and douse the flames with Diet Coke.

Oh, and this post was written using Dvorak!

I’m learning how to type on a Dvorak keyboard. I think something in my brain just went *foomf*.

Pretty much useless skills are becoming my specialty. Why do I do this? Am I a masochist and I didn’t even know it?

Was it you?

It seems that everyone around me has a cold, and now, my poor little immune system has succumbed.

That means I’ll give it to Steve and he’s even more of a whiner than I am. Yes, surprising as it may seem, that’s actually possible.

I might be relaunching some WEE reviews, but I think I might go with a different model. If readers would like to suggest specific published poems, available online, for review, that might be a neat way to keep me a little more focused.

So, if you’re reading this and would like to suggest a poem for review, something that you thought was interesting or wonderful or you just ended up curious to hear another reaction on, please do. And please always feel free to comment on any reviews. I have a bit of a soapbox here, but I would prefer a town meeting.

Suggest poems via email or in the comment section.

I don’t know exactly what an online launch party entails, but I like online and I like party, so it’s all good!

Check out Ivy’s post here for details about the party for “A Slice of Cherry Pie,” edited by Ivy Alvarez.

Oh, for $500 spare dollars.

I disagree, but perhaps not just for the reasons you might expect.

Take a look at Collin Kelley’s take on the modern poetry scene.

My reply?

Nope, I have to disagree in part. There is such a thing as bad poetry, and that’s when the poem doesn’t do what I meant it to do when I wrote it.

I want a solution to the problem of poems being like mayflies, with just a tiny amount of time in the sun before dying off. The best poems being written are only being read by a few people–I’m not talking non-poets or uninterested people. I’m talking about people like me being able to find the truly great poems. How? I don’t have time to read every journal, and I sure as hell don’t trust that those journals would even be able to pick out the great ones in the first place.

I think there is more good poetry being written than ever before, and I love it and hate it at the same time. There isn’t enough time in the world to read even a healthy fraction of what’s being produced. There has to be a way, dammit. There has to.

Is there no bad poetry? Is poetry in crisis? Can the pie be made higher? Your thoughts welcome.

(With thanks to Steven Schroeder for linking to Collin’s post.)

Oh, I’m so not ready for baseball’s end, for the leaves to fall, the sun to hide its light under a bushel.

I used to love autumn. What happened to me?

It was long ago that “Rain bowed” was just a twinkle in my eye, and now it’s all grown up and gone to live at Autumn Sky Poetry. *sniffle*

If you see it, tell it to write.