Spotlight on the Microphone: 1

So, as a writer there are so many people that I admire, envy, and wish to emulate. I have been surrounded by beautiful writing my whole life. When I was younger, it was books that I snuck from my mother's shelf. In college, the writing circles formed in Creative Writing classes. And as an adult I have been profoundly blessed to meet and befriend several amazing talents that consistently leave my jaw hanging slack on the ground. So this is my writers corner.

Yes..I know. I thought this was a blog about Spain? WTF? Shhhh...relax...it is. But I'm not just a girl in Spain. I actually have an existence beyond that which just so happened to precede Spain and I am sure will outlive that experience. Not to mention that a large portion of my desire to travel stems from my desire to have more things to write about.

With that in mind, I realized that since I am constantly sharing awesome poetry/stories with my friends, that maybe some of you might enjoy it too...if this is not true for you, fret not! I will keep the title of these blogs consistent so that it can serve as a sort of DO NOT ENTER sign to you bat shit cray non-literary folk that would rather not be cultivated bothered. lol j/k...kind of...

Some of these writers will be friends of mine that I am also a fan of and some will just be people that I wish would be my friend so I could hear their poetry all the time...this first poet falls into the latter category.

Anywho, as my first highlight, I'd like to share one of my favorite poets of all time **insane applause** Terrance Hayes (this poem can be considered a bit controversial to some and if you are not one for homosexual themes, you may want to never come back to my page again bypass this post).

Terrance Hayes- Favorite Book of His: Muscular Music

Without further ado:

At Pegasus

They are like those crazy women who tore Orpheus when he refused to sing, these men grinding in the strobe & black lights of Pegasus. All shadow & sound. "I'm just here for the music," I tell the man who asks me to the floor. But I have held a boy on my back before. Curtis & I used to leap barefoot into the creek; dance among maggots & piss, beer bottles & tadpoles slippery as sperm; we used to pull off our shirts, & slap music into our skin. He wouldn't know me now at the edge of these lovers' gyre, glitter & steam, fire, bodies blurred sexless by the music's spinning light. A young man slips his thumb into the mouth of an old one, & I am not that far away. The whole scene raw & delicate as Curtis's foot gashed on a sunken bottle shard. They press hip to hip, each breathless as a boy carrying a friend on his back. The foot swelling green as the sewage in that creek. We never went back. But I remember his weight better than I remember my first kiss. These men know something I used to know. How could I not find them beautiful, the way they dive & spill into each other, the way the dance floor takes them, wet & holy in its mouth. Brava! Brava!!! (I'm kind of a groupie for his poetry lol...) Hope you enjoyed it...give me your thoughts? What was the imagery in your mind? Were you drawn in, repulsed? Any great writers I should know of? Hasta Pronto!