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Shaken

Aug 23, 2017
4 min

Shaken

Seizure: being grabbed and tossed to the ground. In an instant, I became a bucking horse, forgiven everything except this moment. In exchange for a mouthful of blackened bacon sweating grease, here is a chaser of carpet and the hail of a table’s debris. It is unusual, to say the least, to awaken face down on a carpet, having been mounted by electrical shocks and rendered, pardon me, dumb and empty and useless. A man with a need for sugar and grease is of no use to anyone

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Shaken

Aug 23, 2017
4 min

Shaken

Seizure: being grabbed and tossed to the ground. In an instant, I became a bucking horse, forgiven everything except this moment. In exchange for a mouthful of blackened bacon sweating grease, here is a chaser of carpet and the hail of a table’s debris. It is unusual, to say the least, to awaken face down on a carpet, having been mounted by electrical shocks and rendered, pardon me, dumb and empty and useless. A man with a need for sugar and grease is of no use to anyone

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Creative Non-Fiction at Two Hawks Quarterly

Jun 8, 2017
1 min

Creative Non-Fiction at Two Hawks Quarterly

The nice folks at Two Hawks Quarterly have published my story Madagascar, my first attempt this year to send out something else besides Poetry. (Not That There’s Anything Wrong With Poetry). I sent it out on a lark just to gauge what would happen– what happened next was a huge surprise to me. It was encouraging at least. I’m digging like a badger through old journals for more salvageable stories. Hope you enjoy. #memories #memory #writing

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Creative Non-Fiction at Two Hawks Quarterly

Jun 8, 2017
1 min

Creative Non-Fiction at Two Hawks Quarterly

The nice folks at Two Hawks Quarterly have published my story Madagascar, my first attempt this year to send out something else besides Poetry. (Not That There’s Anything Wrong With Poetry). I sent it out on a lark just to gauge what would happen– what happened next was a huge surprise to me. It was encouraging at least. I’m digging like a badger through old journals for more salvageable stories. Hope you enjoy. #memories #memory #writing

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BBQ Ribs For the Dead (on Writing, Loneliness and Repurposing Poems)

Oct 11, 2016
5 min

BBQ Ribs For the Dead (on Writing, Loneliness and Repurposing Poems)

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 was surprised nearly to tears to hear that news. The story I’d gotten was how she was on the street (in the neighborhood of the office? during lunch?) talking on the phone and passed out. She spent the next day on life support and the day after she was gone. I immediately thought a couple of

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BBQ Ribs For the Dead (on Writing, Loneliness and Repurposing Poems)

Oct 11, 2016
5 min

BBQ Ribs For the Dead (on Writing, Loneliness and Repurposing Poems)

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 was surprised nearly to tears to hear that news. The story I’d gotten was how she was on the street (in the neighborhood of the office? during lunch?) talking on the phone and passed out. She spent the next day on life support and the day after she was gone. I immediately thought a couple of

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How Do You Write Poems?

Apr 25, 2016
5 min

How Do You Write Poems?

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 I found the previous week at work, two pens, one pencil. Some books I didn’t open. I’m a morning person, obviously. If I can get out of the house before 8:30 I feel like I’m accomplishing somethi

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How Do You Write Poems?

Apr 25, 2016
5 min

How Do You Write Poems?

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 I found the previous week at work, two pens, one pencil. Some books I didn’t open. I’m a morning person, obviously. If I can get out of the house before 8:30 I feel like I’m accomplishing somethi

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We (don’t) Need To Talk About Kevin

Nov 24, 2015
5 min

We (don’t) Need To Talk About Kevin

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 at that moment, Kevin is walking up the street and passing the entrance, calls my name. He’s so close to me at first I don’t see him. But we fall into a warm gree

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We (don’t) Need To Talk About Kevin

Nov 24, 2015
5 min

We (don’t) Need To Talk About Kevin

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 at that moment, Kevin is walking up the street and passing the entrance, calls my name. He’s so close to me at first I don’t see him. But we fall into a warm gree

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Alternative Lives

Mar 16, 2015
7 min

Alternative Lives

Since these readings never start on time, I killed time in a new bookstore across the street, empty of any life, including the behind the counter staff who could barely keep their eyes open. When I made it to the venue, I was incredibly surprised. There were about 20 or 30 people, mostly middle aged women, already seated in the arc of folding chairs along the right side of the room. The stage was just the carpeted floor crowned with four large speakers on risers, and five a

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Alternative Lives

Mar 16, 2015
7 min

Alternative Lives

Since these readings never start on time, I killed time in a new bookstore across the street, empty of any life, including the behind the counter staff who could barely keep their eyes open. When I made it to the venue, I was incredibly surprised. There were about 20 or 30 people, mostly middle aged women, already seated in the arc of folding chairs along the right side of the room. The stage was just the carpeted floor crowned with four large speakers on risers, and five a

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Spook!! There it is…

Oct 28, 2014
5 min

Spook!! There it is…

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 sure he expected to walk out of the hospital after his last visit. But after he died, I’m not sure if I A) Really saw him looking at me from my bedroom doorway, which was weird because I thought he looked healthier than when he was in hospital B) Re

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Spook!! There it is…

Oct 28, 2014
5 min

Spook!! There it is…

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 sure he expected to walk out of the hospital after his last visit. But after he died, I’m not sure if I A) Really saw him looking at me from my bedroom doorway, which was weird because I thought he looked healthier than when he was in hospital B) Re

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The Stranger

Nov 13, 2013
5 min

The Stranger

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 when she posted on her timeline that her mom had died and that the service would be that following Friday– well, I had to go. Even as I’d sworn off attending any more funerals, there was

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The Stranger

Nov 13, 2013
5 min

The Stranger

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 when she posted on her timeline that her mom had died and that the service would be that following Friday– well, I had to go. Even as I’d sworn off attending any more funerals, there was

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Into The Difficult or A Man’s Silence

Aug 13, 2013
5 min

Into The Difficult or A Man’s Silence

Mid Morning, every workday for more than a month, I’ve ventured a few blocks over to St Mary’s Cathedral to pray. Initially, I began going there in the name of my friend, poet Joanna Spencer. I began going because her son told me she was desperately ill– having a broken hip and staying in a nursing home for some other issues. But what kept me going back daily, were my own issues. The effluvium of memory that quietly started to rotten behind my own heart. At times I would

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Into The Difficult or A Man’s Silence

Aug 13, 2013
5 min

Into The Difficult or A Man’s Silence

Mid Morning, every workday for more than a month, I’ve ventured a few blocks over to St Mary’s Cathedral to pray. Initially, I began going there in the name of my friend, poet Joanna Spencer. I began going because her son told me she was desperately ill– having a broken hip and staying in a nursing home for some other issues. But what kept me going back daily, were my own issues. The effluvium of memory that quietly started to rotten behind my own heart. At times I would

0 views0 comments