I’ve been holding a notebook full of poems but haven’t been able to read any yet. The most important part of my writing process is running new material before an audience. Its not always enough to just read it aloud for myself (though that always helps) But part of the reason to create anything is … Continue reading “Hope… the thing with Feathers”

April being National Poetry Month… But I’m not tripping. Wasn’t even intending to attempt a 2014 poem a day for 30 days challenge… But its happening anyway. The last poem I posted, A Small White Bottle, triggered a shower of poems and writing over the last several days. A pleasant surprise. I re-wrote S.W.B. which … Continue reading “Poems Are Happening”

I hadn’t seen her in more than 20 years. I had to ask for a hug. She paused, as to think: Did I pack one? She looked the same; her body neither overstuffed nor sickly. Her hair is different. Long & sinuous. And she’s still sexy. Over breakfast, the great shifting of gears of family … Continue reading “A Small, White Bottle”

Dear ____ I was about to email this to you, but stopped myself, not certain if you really wanted it. But I did. After leaving your place the other night, (thank you for the cake) I realized I wanted and needed to write more. My heart needed it. So I began looking for elements. For … Continue reading “Elements”

Read this brief on point essay from 2008 about poetry slam. I’m at work, bored and found myself conversing with the article in my head. “The oral traditions of poetry are in trouble, and performers like this are to blame, performers who believe that as long as words are being performed, they don’t have to … Continue reading “A Brief Conversation On Slam”

OTHER PEOPLE’S POETRY, YO!: Take a poem you like. Delete every other line. Write an original line to replace what you’ve erased. Now erase all that remains of the original poem. Re-write what’s left. That’s a dope prompt. I tried it yesterday and kinda liked what came out. I almost printed it here, but I … Continue reading “O.P.P.”

my grandfather was my first employer. he worked as a landscaper and yard man for home owners along the Oakland Hills Piedmont, Berkeley. I was with him every summer between late grade school and Jr high. his drove a muscular Ford truck carpeted with spilled malts and holes candy wrappers, Styrofoam bowls for Big Macs. … Continue reading “The Last Haul”

One Year Ago: I stood on San Francisco’s Ocean Beach, hours early to a wedding of a friend. I was alone and staring out into the expanse of the sea. It was between storms, the clouds rolled as if being poured into the sky. This was the first time I’d seen two different oceans within … Continue reading “The Two Oceans”

The first reading was for a fundraiser for Breast Cancer. My friend from high school emailed a while back asking if I’d participate. I immediately said yes before I thought—exactly what am I supposed to say to a room full of women about breast cancer?? What kind of audience is this?? But my heart kept … Continue reading “A Tale Of Two Readings”

In the last poem I wrote about my mother, in which I tell a story about one of my last hospital visits with her, there briefly appears a woman named Theresa. Theresa was my mom’s closest friend in the last decade or so of her life. Theresa’s oldest daughter and I are Facebook friends. And … Continue reading “The Stranger”

Friday the 13th Part 18 Jason Goes To Home Depot Jason fingers the new gas-powered chainsaws & the Chinese steel hacksaws like new pornography. He recalls how easy petals of flesh would open, pollenating the air with blood. A young man timidly approaches him, asks May i help you and Jason turns, and quietly notices … Continue reading “Friday the 13th Part 18: Jason Goes To Home Depot”

Without Bart, I had to get to San Francisco hours early for the reading I was in. For a 5:30 call time, I was at the Embarcadero eating vegan doughnuts, sipping coffee and journalling by 3. I finally commuted deeper into the city, back to the Mission and a neighborhood I once lived. Behind me, … Continue reading “One Monkey Don’t Stop No Show”

He called and asked months ago, and I mean months, for me to read at his venue– a bookstore in Fort Mason, San Francisco. I put it in my calendar and forgot until last Monday he called to remind me, then immediately apolgized for not being able to make it. I got tickets to the … Continue reading “Giving A Poetry Reading”

Halle Berry full of honey The Oscar is with thee Blessed Art Thou Amongst movie stars And Blessed art the state of Ohio from which you ascend. Halle Berry, Mother of Fair Skinned Actresses and Models Pray for our skin & complexion, Pray for the Loveless & Lonely, Pray for us fans standing in rain … Continue reading “Hashtag Random, Hashtag Um, Yeah, No Reason”

Here is how we whistle for hammer head sharks –steely torpedoes awaiting to be soft served in bowls of sweet meat we won’t finish before dark– let them swim to a shoreline of 1000 suns curved like so many jaws, abutments of bone between now & minutes shook hence in tremors before this island volcanos … Continue reading “The Only Way Out Is Through”

There are hospitals where hands are a type of medicine I smooth the tremulous lines along your temples with my palm In these cellular rooms, bodies are worshipped in religions of disrepair We burden our mouths to carry more than language I align your tremulous temples in the rooms of my palm There are hospitals … Continue reading “Touch (Abstraction)”

I sat at the statue on the corner waiting for him. For at least two weeks I’ve practiced being present and focusing on my breath. For those 10 minutes I breathed with presence and Not Thinking so nicely it would have been okay if he didn’t show up. But I wanted to be present. I … Continue reading “Lunch Hour”

I was hit by a van this morning. My first day back at work after taking half of my birthday week off, and this happens. At the intersection, I waited for a huge, slow moving blue bus to lumber to the corner and do a meditative right turn. The light changed as the bus was … Continue reading “White Van, Shattered Mirror”

Airport, Alone — Jcagney the frayed petal of his text message krinkles in my palm: I caught the wrong flight to los angeles now we’re separated this leg of our journey. I stand in the lobby of the airport, lonesome staring at the words as if they might change while being read. … Continue reading “Dreams; Tarot Paintings of the Subconscious”

My golden-throated friend Dorian Spencer has produced a gorgeous song that’s probably the best response to TM I’ve heard to date.