I've spent years collecting footage of trains rumbling through West Virginia's hills, dales & valleys. I also scribble poems that play on Buddhist allusions. And there's this electronic music maestro I know named Lucas the Flow, who composes ethereal tunes. Mix them together and this is what you get ...
-
-
POEM: “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 ...
-
POEM: “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 ...
-
A Sampler of 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.
-
POEM: 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?'
-
VIDEO: “The Green, Green Hills of Earth” and who it’s for
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 ...
-
‘When you are struggling in your writing (art) …”
What does it mean when you are you struggling and wrestling with your writing or art? Nayyirah Waheed sums up.
-
‘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.
-
VIDEO/POEM: ‘The Difference Is’
There is a difference / between people who do things / and people who don't ...
-
“RUN-ON SENTENCE: At 47”
I am 47, the day is Jan. 2, the year is 2005, / my beard is stained white in several places, / my son is 14, my girl 10, my (borrowed neighborhood) / cat is named Mister Puzzlesocks, / my favorite red wine of the moment is / Trinchero Cabernet, my car is a white ’93 …
-
Dirt & Bourbon
My ink-stained hands hear the/ sound of the railroad, another train / passing through my town, here/ at the middle of nowhere &/ everything. I am ready to burst/ open like a cherry tomato/ between your teeth …
-
POEM: In Need of Saying
I am on a porch, captain/ of a green ocean. Wasps patrol / the boundary lands. In whispering winds, conversing / in high tulip poplars, I hear / poems from another tongue …
-
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 …
-
POEM: “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 …
-
POEM: “The Cow Bell”
A great grief saddles me,/ rides down the pampas of / Virginia Dare Avenue, / until I am too tired / and we return home / together ...
