Who, pray tell, / was Mr. Brainwash? / Did Andy Warhol know? / These questions / agitate my head, as / my light goes red to green ...
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ONE POEM: ‘The Masquerade’
It is a forgetting, for one. / Dissolution into physical bliss, / which, as the head is so troubled, / so often, feels like a blessing ...
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When the mic opens and the poetry flows
I am walking past the multi-culti shops and through the lively streets of Ann Arbor after dinner at an Ethiopian restaurant, living the good life. What's that flyer say? 'Open Mic Poetry'? And it's tonight?!
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‘THE BUCK’: A Dollar Store Haiku
What can I say? Sometimes, you just have to write a haiku about the Dollar Store. They should sell it there. For a dollar.
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The night he watched the skies for others
Dots of satellites, / slow-moving stars / high high overhead, / always circling the / marble of the earth, / pass by well past / midnight, far above / the push-up Appalachians ...
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‘Welcome to the Past’
It is lovely here, this place you call the past, / but which is my present. We meet in the middle, / upon this bridge of words ...
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‘8 Foot Notes from a Dancer’s Diary’
We prance across the floor & close / the space. Until I see your back to me, those hips, an intoxicating / whiff of shampoo, the outline of your lips, an accidental touch, / matched rhythms, yes, our bodies talking on a wavelength our / minds cannot access ...
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Short Poems & Epigrams for an Autumn Day
Sometimes, you gotta go short, instead of long. A sampling of short poems and epigrams in advance of an autumnal reading amid the West Virginia trees.
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‘So Special’
'I think that I cannot be killed, / that my work is incomplete, / my dreams / not yet completely manifested … / Why do we think this way?'
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“The Green, Green Hills of Earth”
When the azaleas burst into bloom around a Buddha given me by a dear, departed, harmonic soulmate, it was time to set her memorial song to imagery of the green, green hills of Earthh ...
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For when you are struggling in your art …
What does it mean when you are you struggling and wrestling with your writing or art? Nayyirah Waheed sums up.
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‘What Does the Past Look Like?’
A more Catholic grade school name you could / not conjure — Our Lady of the Rosary. Where, on a / bright Saturday afternoon, I'm surprised to find / an orange traffic cone propping open a first-floor / door. And so, as one will do when invited by the / cosmos to stroll the hallways where you once / walked a half-century gone, I walk in.
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‘TIME FOR A POEM, No. 1’
Do not deny the urge, do/ not let the chance for a poem/ pass you by. It’s OK, it’s wholesome / and nutritious, go ahead …
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‘Unfamous’
I decide to be famous / only to myself. It is / so much easier and my / tender, so lightly bruised / ego now thanks me for this / demilitarized zone …
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‘Something for Nothing’
I want to see / if it is possible / to be a nobody / from nowhere. / Creating something / out of nothing …
