poetry class still rules...

So we took our poetry class to the pub.
We drank beer (most of us)
read poems (some of us)
talked about poets (many of us)
listened to the lecturer talking about poems
and poetry
and love-hate-family
and general possibly-related-but-probably-not-really stuff.

We plan to do so again sometime
[why not every time!!?]


The Six Strings

The guitar
makes dreams weep.
The sobs of lost
souls
escape through its round
mouth.
And like the tarantula
it weaves a large star
to trap the sighs
floating in its black
wooden cistern.

- Federico Garcia Lorca