{"id":137991023,"date":"2026-04-11T21:47:17","date_gmt":"2026-04-12T02:47:17","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/jahangiri.us\/2020\/?p=137991023"},"modified":"2026-04-12T21:06:30","modified_gmt":"2026-04-13T02:06:30","slug":"lost-a-day-day-11-of-national-poetry-month","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/jahangiri.us\/2020\/lost-a-day-day-11-of-national-poetry-month\/","title":{"rendered":"Lost a Day: Day 11 of National Poetry Month"},"content":{"rendered":"

Day 11: National Poetry Month<\/h2>\n

Posting this from Day 12. How did I lose Day 11? I think I pushed it off to 10:00 PM and fell asleep. It was a long day. A good day! But six hours of back-to-back Zoom meetings and I don’t remember much from after 4:40 PM. Dinner, mindless scrolling, TV (nothing much on, on Saturdays), and…sleep. Somehow, it wasn’t quite enough.<\/p>\n

This is what happens when an introvert tries, for six straight hours, to fake being an extrovert. Nobody’s buying it, you know that nobody’s buying it. I mean, they’ll say they were buying it, that they never guessed how much you’d rather be backstage, making sets and sound effects, or something. And yet…you know they know. And you know most of them are just glad it’s not them.<\/p>\n

Can I call that last paragraph a prose poem and move on to Day 12? No? Fine.<\/p>\n

I Got a Ticket from the Language Police<\/h2>\n

I used to believe that “he who stoops to profanity first, loses.” To some degree, I still do. Lately, I’m losing the battle against the nightly news and I’m not proud of that, but it beats throwing bricks at the screen. I do feel quite strongly that if one’s objection to “strong language” is greater than one’s concern for the rape and abuse of women, the denial of healthcare and housing to the poor, the bombing and murder of thousands of civilians (innocent or not – I mean, none of us are saints, right?), the exploitation and waste of natural resources and public lands by greedy corporations, the destruction of our planet, and so on ad infinitum<\/em> – then I do not give a fig about your precious prudery.<\/p>\n

I am inclined to respect everyone’s right to worship as they please, provided they don’t use their religion as a weapon or disrespect anyone who does not conform to their particular religious doctrine. I do not want to live in anyone’s<\/em> theocracy, any more than most would want to live in mine. I believe it was a nun who, years ago, likened “taking the Lord’s name in vain” to “prank calling God.” The admonition makes more sense, when viewed that way. When I understood the prohibition against making images of Muhammad as a way of preventing Muslims from idolizing a man, that also made more sense than the idea that a man was so special one dare not caricature him in a cartoon. Funny how we all get things twisted and end up doing the very thing the “rules” are meant to prevent.<\/p>\n

But I cannot imagine an omnipotent God who’s overly concerned with a few “naughty words,” even disrespectful words, so long as we’re not being abusive towards one another<\/em>. Running around cursing and damning people. Isn’t that one of the things He reserved to Himself?<\/p>\n

I once worked for a man who wouldn’t hire a writer who couldn’t spell “fuck” without asterisks. While I don’t think profanity-as-filler-words is good writing, and I’m not inclined to profanity often in my own work, it’s hardly hurtful. It’s words. Words, words, words. See? If you overuse any word, like “shit” or “fuck,” then eventually it loses all meaning. It has no power. So maybe we should reserve it for when we really mean it \u2014 when shocked attention is truly called for. When we want to bring it down like an anvil on a church bell and break the sound barrier with its resonance.<\/p>\n

The seeds of today’s poem sprang from recent discussions on language, profanity, free speech, and knowing one’s audience.<\/p>\n

Deadheading the Dictionary<\/h2>\n

Hothouse words, tenderly curated
\nto conform \u2014 now
\nbled of first blush \u2014
\nruthlessly deadheaded,
\nswept from sight.
\nThey’ve lived
\ntoo long.<\/p>\n

Bright little weedy words pop
\nyellow \u2014 mischief makers
\neasily dispatched \u2014
\na withering spritz of spittle,
\npoisonous glare,
\nan eyebrow raised \u2014
\ncrushed.<\/p>\n

Others, wild, fiercer grow
\na tangle, tendrils tearing
\nat the rotted relic
\nof a trellis.
\nStraight-line winds
\nwrench roots dug deep
\nto die in violence
\nwith a purpling scream.<\/p>\n

Other National Poetry Month Posts<\/h2>\n