#memory

The Saturday A Song Saved My So-Called Life or The Nappy Virgin

nekbone69

Oct 13, 2017
7 min

The Saturday A Song Saved My So-Called Life or The Nappy Virgin

IN WHICH TEEN ENVY FROM THE MID 80’S SET MY SUMMER AFLAME SENDING ME ON A PATH OF SELF DESTRUCTION… HOW HAIR CAN KILL… HOW SOMETIMES THE ONLY THING THAT CAN SAVE YOU IS A MUSIC VIDEO… HOW HAIRSTYLES CAN SEPARATE FAMILIES… HOW NEW NOMINEES FOR THE ROCK AND ROLL HALL OF FAME CAN BE TRIGGERING…IS ‘BLACK PEOPLE’ LISTENING TO ‘WHITE MUSIC’ A ‘THING?’ The summer I was due back in school as a sophomore, I decided to change the game and get a Jheri curl. That particular summer, nothi

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nekbone69

Oct 13, 2017
7 min

The Saturday A Song Saved My So-Called Life or The Nappy Virgin

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nekbone69

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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nekbone69

Aug 23, 2017
4 min

Shaken

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Creative Non-Fiction at Two Hawks Quarterly

nekbone69

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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nekbone69

Jun 8, 2017
1 min

Creative Non-Fiction at Two Hawks Quarterly

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nekbone69

May 26, 2016
4 min

The Empty Room

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 artists got together to talk openly about whatever and one of the first meetings we had was here, along the stone steps. Or was I last here for a video shoot? The small stage held youn

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nekbone69

May 26, 2016
4 min

The Empty Room

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nekbone69

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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nekbone69

Apr 25, 2016
5 min

How Do You Write Poems?

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The Spook By The Door (Who Wouldn’t Sit Still)

nekbone69

Feb 8, 2016
7 min

The Spook By The Door (Who Wouldn’t Sit Still)

The praise dancers of the Apostolic Faith Church perform during the Family and Friends Day morning service. 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 woman got up to do the opening welcome. Since she announced herself as a teache

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nekbone69

Feb 8, 2016
7 min

The Spook By The Door (Who Wouldn’t Sit Still)

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nekbone69

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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nekbone69

Nov 24, 2015
5 min

We (don’t) Need To Talk About Kevin

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nekbone69

Jan 23, 2014
5 min

A Brief Conversation On Slam

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 be well written.” I recently watched—and listened—as colleagues gave a poetry performance. It wasn’t so much a poem as it was shouted bullet points, designed to trigger cu

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nekbone69

Jan 23, 2014
5 min

A Brief Conversation On Slam

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nekbone69

Jan 13, 2014
2 min

The Last Haul

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. A xylophone of empty Dr Pepper bottles would solo at every sharp right and Stop Sign where granddad would chant the letters S L O W as a corrective pr

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nekbone69

Jan 13, 2014
2 min

The Last Haul

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nekbone69

Aug 16, 2013
3 min

What About Bob?

Who was it said Poems are never finished, they’re just abandoned? I begin writing a poem after I assume some understanding about or appreciation over what I’ve just seen, experienced or remembered. Sometimes the poem comes out in one chunk and I let it rest for a while, then go back and tidy it up: Remove, add, clarify. Sometimes there’s a poem that stems from a experience and I don’t know how to express it. Take this Psalm for Mother Sims, for example. I love the memory

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nekbone69

Aug 16, 2013
3 min

What About Bob?

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