The continuously awesome journal Eleven Eleven has published three familiar poems which are up and available for your critique. Its a consistently gorgeous journal and website I've admired for long time. Its an honor to get in with so many other strong artists. I went to an open mic last week, and an old friend …
A Stranger’s Dream (A Halloween Story)
HE awoke screaming again. His head steaming and raw. He coughed to near seizure while some slow moving slime thawed, dripping the length of his throat like mis-swallowed gum. His breath was reticent to move and once it did unobstructed he angrily pounded the bedding with his fist until flurries of sweat rose in swarms …
My Name is James… I Am A Poet
How many years ago was it when my friend told me: You know, poetry readings are like AA Meetings... Turns out he found as much value in one as the other. The two rooms were companions and shook hands in his mind. I am not a member of The Program, but I attended one with …
BBQ Ribs For the Dead (on Writing, Loneliness and Repurposing Poems)
In two days time, there will be an office memorial for a coworker who died the weekend of my birthday. 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 …
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Mother Stands For Comfort
I was the first to arrive at the venue Saturday night for the reading. The venue is a nurturing writing space for women in East Oakland, where my friend A_____ volunteers. If you hadn't been to the place before nor had the facebook invite, there's no way even the next door neighbors would know anything …
A Poetry Reading @ Poetry Express
The restaurant was quiet and church-like. The wait staff and cooks outnumbered the guests. I walked towards the back and found a banquet room where a half dozen people sat quietly eating. They sat at one of the two long banquet tables in a kind of solemn thanksgiving. The woman hosting who'd emailed me sometime …
The Security Guard
At least three times a week, I leave work and walk two blocks over to the library. I go to write and if writing doesn't happen, I hang out with and gently molest the books and dvd's. Three good poems came out of my library visits the last few weeks. Like some expectant fisherman, I …
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 …
Intersectionalities or This Morning In Missed Connections
I stood at the bus stop, the sky freshly blushing with day. I stood alone and traffic was light to non-existent. At the bus stop and to my left, there's an apartment building with a small parking lot marked by a wood fence. While standing there, I could see just over the fence and briefly …
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How Do You Write Poems?
SPOILER: I don't. They write me. 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 …
The Dirty Rat 