‘…mise en place’ means far more than simply assembling all the ingredients, pots and pans, plates, and serving pieces needed for a particular period. Mise en place is also a state of mind. A couple of weeks ago, my friend met me in the city and we sat for lunch. She mentioned wanting to write … Continue reading “Mise en Poetry”

There were several strikes against this poetry event having any audience at all. The first was it being scheduled on a Saturday afternoon at 3, when other even main event readings I’ve attended don’t begin filling up until after sundown, irrespective of the day of the week. Second: beyond being asked by the events organizer … Continue reading “Alternative Lives”

Once I finally settled upon a form for my poem idea, I spent four months working on it. Intended for/ Inspired by BlackPoetsSpeakOut, the poem emerged slow-brewed, during my weekly half hour walks to the acupuncturist for the arthritis frosting my knee. During that walk, I’d think of a line and dictate it into the … Continue reading “Booze, Not Books”

In the mid 90’s Saul Williams helped change the landscape of delivering and reciting poetry. In his own defense he’d prolly cite folks I’m overlooking as equally influencial as himself, but I make the statement because I saw the change take place first hand. The first live performance of his I saw was around the … Continue reading “Saul Williams”

In the mid 90’s, after my mother died, my house was haunted. The only house I’d ever known, The only place I’d felt safe and loved. But at the time there had been a series of deaths– not in the house, not violent, but all familial, all relatives. My father’s death surprised me. And I’m … Continue reading “Spook!! There it is…”

The first woman called mid day Friday and left a voice mail. I called back an hour later, after I’d gotten out of the office. She said she had to prepare a story for a forthcoming live performance and felt stuck and needed help and could I… We arranged to meet at a bar that … Continue reading “Two Women (or An Ideal Marriage Is An Amicable Divorce)”

Riding in a packed car after the reading last night, heading down to the bar, the driver said: Look at the moon. And at the end of the street, the moon appeared as if it were doing some burlesque feather dance with clouds. The woman crammed in next to me who’d been talking about her … Continue reading “After The Reading”

Tonight after work, I’m heading out to Fort Mason to do a poetry feature. I’ll write about it tomorrow, but you can peep poems and info for myself and the night’s co-feature, Lorene Zarou Zouzounis here. The above also counts as the first time I had a poem published with typos. I’ve struggled a long … Continue reading “Before The Reading”

I promised myself to write poems based on dreams. But the one from last night was so fragmented, I’m not sure what to do with it. And my memory of it is weird: am I pulling from different dreams scattered over the last week or did everything happen last night? I pick up my dream … Continue reading “Dream Alley”

I spent last week reading Blood Beneath My Feet a remarkable true life account from Joseph Morgan, a death investigator from the South. A slim but potent volume, it covers the life and work of a coroner who lived and worked between New Orleans and Atlanta. For all the graphic and unsettling stories and descriptions … Continue reading “Red Beaning and Nothingness”

The office I was looking for was in an old building that for many years I thought was a theater or ballroom. The lobby was full of glassed offices and small businesses. A gorgeous ceiling made from stained glass. I saw a security dude seated at a desk. He sent me to the third floor, … Continue reading “Join The Club or What If… There’s Nothing Wrong?”

if you’re ever present when a monkey sneezes, say ‘evolution’ -jcagney

Its been years since I’d taken the train to Sacramento. I don’t exactly remember the last trip I made in the name of my biological family that still lives there. I didn’t belong there. My birth-mother was right in giving me up and never looking back. For this trip, I bought my first cane. My … Continue reading “Without Love, Your Poetry Is Irrelevant”

My heart felt like a closed fist urgently knocking against my sternum. That’s not a metaphor or bad opening line; its a description. My chest felt knotted and angry. I was angry. There’s a plethora of reasons why. But I’m writing this because of the moment I felt it stop and open. Earlier this week … Continue reading “(Public) Apology or ‘…The Heart Has Got To Open In A Fundamental Way’”

In one of my notebooks, there are two pages of handwritten notes in pencil that smeared. It wasn’t until last night I squinted through the thick fog on the page and salvaged those notes. It was written in 2012 during my visit to India. I had two roommates, both women. We were there as artists … Continue reading “Who’s Sari Now?”

She and I met months ago. We’ve had movies nights, dinner. We’re not dating– I emotionally began pulling back once I truly began listening to her. I need to be turned on from the inside. Maybe last night is a good illustration why she doesn’t do it for me. She’s a poet and performer and … Continue reading “Writing To-Get-Her?”

I’ve been to Reno twice over the last 8 days. On that last trip I drove there with my friend, who bowled in a Tournament at the massive Stadium. His mom drove with us to which was doubly good since she cleaned up at the slots, pulling an astonishing $500 out of a penny machine … Continue reading “Lost Hours”

Godzilla is an atomic chicken come home to roost. Born out of fears of nuclear radiation’s generational impact, he has arisen from the depths of political subconscious to burn your playhouse of complacency down to ash. You think war-mongering is an answer? You think your guns will protect you? Your cities will fall to skeletal … Continue reading “Your City In Ashes, A Godzilla Primer”

I helped run a poetry workshop at the SF Public Library in April. Myself and another poet hosted Saturday afternoon workshops for an entire month culminating in a public reading, which happened Sunday afternoon, May 4. I arrived an hour early. My friend who works at the library walked me through the staff area, then … Continue reading “The Empty House”

I was back in the Mission late Saturday evening. This is my old neighborhood and I miss it; the hot dog vendors and homeless sleeping under a blanket of pigeons at Bart, the bodegas and smoke shops, the taquerias and discount clothes stores. I passed bars, nearly wanting to go in, but I promised myself … Continue reading “Who Dares Follow Master Storyteller?”