Memorial Lighthouse, Trinidad Civic Club, Trinidad, Ca. -- JCagney Bone spur of the lighthouse Excavated from the hillside By diligent shovels of weather Stands purified under the administration Of the sun; overseer to an ocean Of scales flashing white and green. An old man sits at a bench shepherding the wet painting of …
Hold The Phone
Hold the Phone - Jcagney There used to be one in every house with its own end table or altar. ours was a wire stand crammed with phone books-- the first internet. if you remembered to clean it you'd wipe it down like a baby – its umbilical cord would braid itself over all the stories …
The After Life… with God
After Life with God - Jcagney The other side of the white light is a stage light. God’s monologue subsides as the last breath eases from my chest. Relatives gone on before now sit in audience cheering my entrance. God’s hair is a tsunami shadowing a beach, cresting over remarkable brown eyes. He’s in …
Alaska Stories: Cathedral
Cathedral Keeping monks hours, I arise at midnight to a false dawn where the sun pauses at the horizon and creeps sideways like a crab. Our crew chief materializes at the door salmon roe dripping from his palms. Midair, he draws the sign of the dollar. Then, I am Lazarus summoned and …
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 …
A Message From Mumbai
Last Christmas I visited Mumbai, India. After the walk I mentioned, I came back to my room and typed a slightly different version of this letter on my cell phone to my best friend back in the states. A few weeks ago, I planned to read part of this on stage at my last reading, but its too long and …
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 …
Getting Your Point Across
How does one write something where all the characters understand the point being communicated, but no one speaks? This must've been my introduction to zen. Don't let me re-write the poem as introduction, but maybe I could clarify something. I spent two months on a fishing processor in Alaska around the mid 90's. Its a shit job. There's …
The Secret: I Can’t Write Right Handed
Full of optimism and hope, I submitted some poems to a literary magazine. Long before deadline! Hot damn, I accomplished something! Hot damn, these are good poems!! Then I get an email from the editor from the mag saying: I just wanted to send you a quick note because, after logging in all of …
Alaska Stories — Land Shark (formerly Crazy)
When I can't write, I become like a badger and start digging around. Maybe there's something in the past I can revisit/improve since I can't think of anything new. To me, that counts as exercise. Literary calisthenics. Years ago, I worked on a fishing processor in Alaska. Instead of taking photographs, I wrote a lot. …
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The Dirty Rat 