Have you ever been embarrassed for that guy or gal on the stage singing karaoke? Have you wished there was a polite way to tell them that maybe they should just not?

Look, I get it. We all love to sing. That is so awesome! Singing is a sure sign that someone is happy and wants to please others. I too would love to make the world happy, but like me that person on stage would have a much better chance at making others happy if they handed them an ice cold Coca-Cola rather than festooning them with that off-key screech… or in the case of Prose, penning in verse. My poetry is every bit as bad as my singing... shallow, predictable, distasteful. It is best for me, and you, if I stay off of that stage.

This challenge prompted me to a post about the poetry on Prose. I have done a couple of Iamagoofball’s “Dig Site Challenges” on storyteller’s, so why not do one on poetry? Naturally, I looked up Posey’s profile. Posey is my favorite Prose poet, even though she has temporarily left us. I was disappointed to find just 30 pieces remaining there, but I read through those 30 posts, first post to last, and also through my own comments at the bottom’s of them, fascinated at the obviousness of my growing respect with every new one she wrote. Posey has left us, and has taken many of her poems with her (more is the pity). The one’s left behind are not her best, mostly word challenge responses, but they are still golden, my fellow Proser’s… pure gold. Fortunately the thirty left behind are plenty enough to remind me that her poetry is what made me stop writing it. I mean, when I read Shelley and Byron I get psyched! Inspired! Pumped! I truly believe that I can do this!

Then I go read @Posey and see the hopelessness. Or @Undermeyou… same effect. Or @SoMoSoGo… also gone. Sigh. Whatever feel they have for meter just is not in me. These poets have depth in their lines, and taste, and texture. It is like their poems are darkened rooms you may enter just long enough to taste life through another’s tongue. They drag my bleeding emotions across the page with their words. They knot my muscles, and choke my breath, and grate ever so lightly on my last nerve, similarly to how a massage therapist would work over a bone spur.

And dammit, that hurts so fuckin’ good! As soon as I’m done reading it I rush in search of new writers in the hopes of stumbling across another that might rub me that just-so pleasantly-painful way once again, but it is so hard to find, and harder to maintain poem after poem, and again. Most of us cannot. Sadly, the majority of us screech on that stage, and must be content with branch-hopping, mimicking the songs of they who can soar.

As I went through her writing I noticed some interesting things. She is one of several siblings, and they have all sorts of shenanigans together. She is Christian and isn't afraid to show it. ThatGirlAJ writes a variety of pieces, most notably the poems of God. ThatGirlAJ has a style which she writes something which you think is going one way, but then it turns around to be something unexpected. It is always interesting to see where the stories and poems go. One of my favorite examples of this style is https://theprose.com/post/468162/attack-a-tale-of-the-kingdom-of-culicidae

Keep writing @ThatGirlAJ I can't wait to see what comes next!