Once every nine weeks or so, I share Sunday breakfast with my friend, Tureeda. Poet, teacher, storyteller, medicine woman as she’d describe herself. I forgot how our ritual started two years ago, but my heart has relaxed into them for their consistency and the warmth generated at our cell-phone free table and our eye to … Continue reading “Breakfast of Lions”

Months before it opened, I was asked to participate in a poetry reading as part of a museum exhibit. When I finally went to the gallery, Generation to Generation at the Contemporary Jewish Museum, it was as reporter with a notebook slipped in my pocket. It wasn’t until walking through the gallery and being present … Continue reading “Museum Piece”

The Lyft driver pulled up and I jumped into the more inviting front seat for a change, asking first if he minded. He didn’t. A vibrant youngster in a backwards baseball cap, his car smelling like chocolate cookies vaped, not baked. He immediately asked where I was going– to a poetry reading at a bookstore … Continue reading “First Poetry Reading of The New Year”

The continuously awesome journal Eleven Eleven has published three familiar poems which are up and available for your critique. Its a consistently gorgeous journal and website I’ve admired for long time. Its an honor to get in with so many other strong artists. I went to an open mic last week, and an old friend … Continue reading “New Poems Up at Eleven-Eleven Journal”

HE awoke screaming again. His head steaming and raw. He coughed to near seizure while some slow moving slime thawed, dripping the length of his throat like mis-swallowed gum. His breath was reticent to move and once it did unobstructed he angrily pounded the bedding with his fist until flurries of sweat rose in swarms … Continue reading “A Stranger’s Dream (A Halloween Story)”

How many years ago was it when my friend told me: You know, poetry readings are like AA Meetings… Turns out he found as much value in one as the other. The two rooms were companions and shook hands in his mind. I am not a member of The Program, but I attended one with … Continue reading “My Name is James… I Am A Poet”

In two days time, there will be an office memorial for a coworker who died the weekend of my birthday. I came back from my personal 3 day weekend and a secretary passed my desk, stopped and told me how over the weekend Linda had died suddenly. I’d worked with her about seven years and … Continue reading “BBQ Ribs For the Dead (on Writing, Loneliness and Repurposing Poems)”

I was the first to arrive at the venue Saturday night for the reading. The venue is a nurturing writing space for women in East Oakland, where my friend A_____ volunteers. If you hadn’t been to the place before nor had the facebook invite, there’s no way even the next door neighbors would know anything … Continue reading “Mother Stands For Comfort”

The restaurant was quiet and church-like. The wait staff and cooks outnumbered the guests. I walked towards the back and found a banquet room where a half dozen people sat quietly eating. They sat at one of the two long banquet tables in a kind of solemn thanksgiving. The woman hosting who’d emailed me sometime … Continue reading “A Poetry Reading @ Poetry Express”

At least three times a week, I leave work and walk two blocks over to the library. I go to write and if writing doesn’t happen, I hang out with and gently molest the books and dvd’s. Three good poems came out of my library visits the last few weeks. Like some expectant fisherman, I … Continue reading “The Security Guard”

On the way to the hospital, I walk past Mosswood Park and was compelled to visit the amphitheater. Speckled key lights of sun were spilled randomly along the ground. When was the last time I was here: the late 90’s men’s group meeting? I was quite fond of those Sundays when a bunch of male … Continue reading “The Empty Room”

I stood at the bus stop, the sky freshly blushing with day. I stood alone and traffic was light to non-existent. At the bus stop and to my left, there’s an apartment building with a small parking lot marked by a wood fence. While standing there, I could see just over the fence and briefly … Continue reading “Intersectionalities or This Morning In Missed Connections”

SPOILER: I don’t. They write me. I woke up in time to catch CBS Sunday Morning and the moment it was over, I clicked off the television, already annoyed by the Sunday morning crew newscast, and started getting myself dressed and my stuff together. Four notebooks, some print outs of articles and Other People’s Poetry … Continue reading “How Do You Write Poems?”

I stood on the train platform feeling desperately sad, anxious and lonesome. It was nearing 10pm and from where I stood, it would be a full 90 minute commute back to my door thanks to getting to my last connecting bus stop five minutes early. I’d felt like I wasted my time and evening. In … Continue reading “How Do You Want To Be Paid”

If you use a Yoruba chant to open a public event, welcoming the ancestors to join and be welcome in the proceedings, how do you close the ceremony and tell the ancestors, spirits– thanks for coming! shows over now, yawl can go back to the far reaches of heaven or wherever… I ask because a … Continue reading “The Spook By The Door (Who Wouldn’t Sit Still)”

The only time this week I could do it was last night. So after work I jumped on MUNI and rode out to Bayview Hunters Point. I felt sleepy; an unusual feeling this time of day, but since the new year I’ve been out every other night or so. Last week I did two poetry … Continue reading “The Best Hamburger I’ve Ever Had In My Life”

By mid-day Sunday, Taqueria San Jose was packed. The gorgeous restaurant feels air lifted from Mexico and is bigger than you’re currently imagining, with an outdoor fountain on the rarely used and kind of small brick patio. I ordered lunch and armed myself with chips and salsa. As I hit the door to leave, right … Continue reading “We (don’t) Need To Talk About Kevin”

At the last minute, she sent me a text cancelling her previously offered ride to the gallery. But I was still able to get a timely bus and train to Berkeley. Too timely, in fact. I arrived exactly on time and didn’t want to be exactly on time. These readings NEVER start on time. And … Continue reading “This Is About Time”

The reading finished before 9:30. I left the bookstore and crossed the street. At the bus stop on the bench was a woman, whom I know, who bought a book off me but an hour before, whose house I’ve visited, and whose name I could not recall. Even now, thinking of that night last week, … Continue reading “Who Gave You Permission”

I read as part of Litquake SF this weekend in the Mission, reading with the group Cave Canem. I went with Stewart, my friend and fellow CC member, who reached out and asked to join me when I went to the city. We made it to the gallery exactly on time, but first mistaking it … Continue reading “Wake Up Call At The Old Morgue”