Right there in the Center of the Freeport Water Intake Structure plaza MY POETRY cut into the stone! I'm so excited !!!!!!
14 years ago
Monday, October 3, 2011
Friday, November 27, 2009
1111
Eleven Eleven Volume Seven is avaiable! Featuring yours truely...
http://www.elevenelevenjournal.com/
http://www.elevenelevenjournal.com/
Thursday, June 11, 2009
I Dream of Apples
I made this little "Vide-Oem" for the Cache Creek Poetry Workshop. The assignment was to take "poetry off the page".
I Dream of Apples
Eve sashays by Johnny’s orchard,
wishing she could cast off her high heels
and run barefoot in the meadow again.
A nameless Frenchman
in a bowler hat exclaims
“Cela n’est pas une pomme!”
The princess turns icy pale
remembering the red delicious
once lodged in her throat.
The doctor stays away.
Little Billy walks tall and
straight past the picket fence,
eager to tell his hero’s tale.
And Isaac ambles,
seeing starlight and possibility
in each and every orb.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Medusa's Kitchen
Two more poems have found a voice... one at Medusa's Kitchen, one in the new Rattlesnake Review
http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2009/02/like-i-love-loons.html
http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2009/02/like-i-love-loons.html
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Reds
Video: "Duck & Cover"
See Jane. See Jane hanging upside down on the monkey bars. The red ribbon in the lace edging of her ankle socks matches the red ribbon in the lace on the ruffled spankies under her rumpled plaid dress. All the tomboys wear spankies - to keep the real boys from seeing their real underwear. Jane thinks it’s rather silly though since they look just like underwear, only made of slightly heavier cotton and decorated with garish look-at-me ruffles. But Mother insists “Jane, if you are going to do cherry drops at recess, you must wear spankies.”
Jane swings quickly, flips once and lands feet-first on the asphalt. Her bruised legs and skinned knees are evidence of her previous unsuccessful flips. Once, she even landed on her head, but that was way back in September when the blacktop was still new and soft. Now Jane and Tracy and Donna practice everyday, at every recess (except on rainy days of course when the entire class is forced to stay inside and play Duck Duck Goose.)
After recess, as the children settle obediently into their seats, Mrs. Blackburn pulls the heavy curtains across the wall of windows, cheerfully announcing, “Today we’ll be learning about the Russian menace.” The projector hums and clicks. Dust particles dance in the single ray of light. A cartoon turtle whistles an insidious tune that will stay with Jane into adulthood, manifesting its wisdom in myriad strange ways. Duck and Cover; then, the shrill cry of a civil defense siren; Duck and Cover; and the movie screen turns white. Mrs. Blackburn opens the curtains and instructs the students to practice hiding under their metal desks.
Crouched on the floor, Jane studies the marbled pattern on the asbestos floor tiles. It reminds her of the brown and pink crayons she melted and mixed together under a magnifying glass last summer. The turtle says the bomb is 10 times stronger than the sun. Jane wonders if she weren’t under her desk, would she melt like a crayon too? And if she melted next to Bessie’s son would they make a pretty marbled pattern? Then she remembers that Dad once said the races aren’t allowed to mix. The bell rings.
That evening, Jane plays Barrelful of Monkeys on the family room floor. She is lying on her tummy, legs bent at the knee, her ankles swinging above her and a pile of red plastic monkeys tangled in front of her. She hooks the arm of one monkey to another forming a chain of two, then three. She tries again and again to add a fourth, but with no success.
Mother is on the telephone; her cigarette glows red in the evening shadow. She is talking long distance to her sister. She tells Aunt Sue that Dad’s secretary is divorced, and blonde. “A bombshell” Mother says. The headlights from Dad’s car travel across the family room wall like search lights. Mother hangs up the phone. She takes a deep breath and announces “Bessie, Mr. Pavlovsky is home now. You may put dinner on the table.” She puts on her crimson lipstick just before Dad walks through the door.
“Hey, Dollface, what’s for dinner?” he says as he grabs Mother’s waist and kisses her clumsily on the cheek. “You’re late” she replies as Jane runs up to him and wraps her arms around his waist. Under her breath, Mother adds “and you smell like Vodka.”
See Jane. See Jane hanging upside down on the monkey bars. The red ribbon in the lace edging of her ankle socks matches the red ribbon in the lace on the ruffled spankies under her rumpled plaid dress. All the tomboys wear spankies - to keep the real boys from seeing their real underwear. Jane thinks it’s rather silly though since they look just like underwear, only made of slightly heavier cotton and decorated with garish look-at-me ruffles. But Mother insists “Jane, if you are going to do cherry drops at recess, you must wear spankies.”
Jane swings quickly, flips once and lands feet-first on the asphalt. Her bruised legs and skinned knees are evidence of her previous unsuccessful flips. Once, she even landed on her head, but that was way back in September when the blacktop was still new and soft. Now Jane and Tracy and Donna practice everyday, at every recess (except on rainy days of course when the entire class is forced to stay inside and play Duck Duck Goose.)
After recess, as the children settle obediently into their seats, Mrs. Blackburn pulls the heavy curtains across the wall of windows, cheerfully announcing, “Today we’ll be learning about the Russian menace.” The projector hums and clicks. Dust particles dance in the single ray of light. A cartoon turtle whistles an insidious tune that will stay with Jane into adulthood, manifesting its wisdom in myriad strange ways. Duck and Cover; then, the shrill cry of a civil defense siren; Duck and Cover; and the movie screen turns white. Mrs. Blackburn opens the curtains and instructs the students to practice hiding under their metal desks.
Crouched on the floor, Jane studies the marbled pattern on the asbestos floor tiles. It reminds her of the brown and pink crayons she melted and mixed together under a magnifying glass last summer. The turtle says the bomb is 10 times stronger than the sun. Jane wonders if she weren’t under her desk, would she melt like a crayon too? And if she melted next to Bessie’s son would they make a pretty marbled pattern? Then she remembers that Dad once said the races aren’t allowed to mix. The bell rings.
That evening, Jane plays Barrelful of Monkeys on the family room floor. She is lying on her tummy, legs bent at the knee, her ankles swinging above her and a pile of red plastic monkeys tangled in front of her. She hooks the arm of one monkey to another forming a chain of two, then three. She tries again and again to add a fourth, but with no success.
Mother is on the telephone; her cigarette glows red in the evening shadow. She is talking long distance to her sister. She tells Aunt Sue that Dad’s secretary is divorced, and blonde. “A bombshell” Mother says. The headlights from Dad’s car travel across the family room wall like search lights. Mother hangs up the phone. She takes a deep breath and announces “Bessie, Mr. Pavlovsky is home now. You may put dinner on the table.” She puts on her crimson lipstick just before Dad walks through the door.
“Hey, Dollface, what’s for dinner?” he says as he grabs Mother’s waist and kisses her clumsily on the cheek. “You’re late” she replies as Jane runs up to him and wraps her arms around his waist. Under her breath, Mother adds “and you smell like Vodka.”
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Sac News & Review
One more poem in the Sacramento News & Review - just a little sweet thing..
http://www.newsreview.com/sacramento/Content?oid=869909
http://www.newsreview.com/sacramento/Content?oid=869909
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