I Didn't Ask For Any Lip
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 …
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 …
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 …
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 …
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 …
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 …
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 …
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 …
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?"
The Dirty Rat 