Aspiring to Poet but Running with the Lions

Moi at the Ginger cafe

I am participating in Blogging 101 for ways to pump up the volume here on Quillfyre. Today’s assignment: changing the blog title and/or tagline.

I thought about it, but other than adding one of my favourite quotes, which has nothing to do with blogging, poetry or writing (or not much!)  I realize that I am still happy with aspiring. I’m not perspiring, expiring or retiring from writing. And anything else sounds too academic, which is not what I do.

Oh yes, the quote?  Lemme see if I can find it— Ah!  There it is!

“Every morning in Africa, a gazelle wakes up, it knows it must outrun the fastest lion or it will be killed. Every morning in Africa, a lion wakes up. It knows it must run faster than the slowest gazelle, or it will starve. It doesn’t matter whether you’re the lion or a gazelle-when the sun comes up, you’d better be running.” 

English: An ancient statue of a lion with a ga...

English: An ancient statue of a lion with a gazelle between his feet, exhibited in the garden of the Damascus National Museum, Syria. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Source might be:
Christopher McDougall, Born to Run: A Hidden Tribe, Superathletes, and the Greatest Race the World Has Never Seen

But then there is also this information which dates much further back than McDougall: http://quoteinvestigator.com/2011/08/05/lion-gazelle/

Of course, look far enough, and you read someone else saying it’s all wrong. “The antelope only has to run faster than the slowest antelope.” http://boards.straightdope.com/sdmb/showthread.php?t=661372

It doesn’t really matter though, because the part that resonates for me applies no matter who has the need for speed: when the sun comes up, you’d better be running.

Welcome to Quillfyre

Moi at the Ginger cafeWho am I? I ask myself this all the time. I am a poet. Retired bean counter. Cat lover.

I write stuff. Mostly poetry.  And sometimes I blog about it. Other times, I post about events going on in and around Ottawa, Ontario. I live just outside there, in Carleton Place, on the banks of the OTHER Mississippi River.

Why do I write stuff?  I suppose because I am a poet. I express myself better in writing than any other way. And when the words and phrases that become poems spring up in my brain, I have to write them down or lose them.

That’s me over there, pondering.  Perhaps a poem was brewing then. Or maybe I was just waiting for that Moroccan soup to cool down. I prefer to think it was poem-pondering though.