Thursday, October 30, 2014

Holding Hands with a Rock (Chant)

clap hands.
clap hands.
stones tremble.
stones ring. 

clap hands.
clap hands
stones tremble.
stones sing.

sumptuous earth
groundswell blessing
each little continent
whirls in hope turning

shape wrought of fire
wintered pucker, ropy water
bead breaker
seed shaker

clap hands.
clap hands.
stones tremble.
stones ring.

clap hands.
clap hands.
stones tremble.
stones sing. 

stone egg crack open
heart of stone released
fierce future brings together
stone hearts burst or cease

clap hands.
clap hands.
stones tremble.
stones ring.

clap hands.
clap hands.
stones tremble.
stones sing. 

future, guide our mending
ancestors, rout our sending
pebble cells and stone bodies
unmake our deadening

clap hands.
clap hands.
stones tremble.
stones ring.

clap hands.
clap hands.
stones tremble.
stones sing. 

Stones of Memory Workshop 

Tuesday, October 28, 2014

Dr. Charles Charlie Martin

One of the city’s marginal,
laughing in genuine mirth,
passed me going the other way.

That was last week.
Today a barefoot woman
roared at Market Street.

I had my face on,
and I didn’t know (often)
what I should do.

That’s part of urban life:
how busses are big red ads
and a busy street is a zoo.

It might have been the laughing man
who defaced the photo
where suddenly my feet

stopped: a doctor, stethoscope,
magic-marked red mouth,
neat black hair and bowtie,

and wet, beating heart
held on his fingertips
beneath the texture of trample. 

Wednesday, October 22, 2014

And the White Ginger is about to Bloom

“This will be a hard thing that I am going to tell you”
and with a shrimp taco (in red sauce) in front of me
R. told me how he had been to the top of the hospital parking lot a couple of times to look down and see how far he would fall if he went over the ledge and that two weeks ago he bought a half gallon of vodka that he carried up there with the intention of seeing if he uncapped and drank some he would gain enough courage to jump
“R. you gotta call Psych and tell them this and text me you called in”
and he apparently did as I received a text from R. that intake would be the next day
And the white ginger is about to bloom
the giant dahlia is above the deck communing with night blooming jasmine
the persimmons are turning gold/orange
big black “O” the barn cat finishes his perimeter check, sits in the deck door opening
and the white ginger is about to bloom.

Monday, October 20, 2014

IMUNURI Prompt: "Read" something illegible (Projective Symbiosis)

One of human's favorite activities is projecting meaning into the dense ineffable catterwaul of nature, culture, and life. Are these moments of fathomless oracular power or hopeless species-dominant voicings? Find something ineffable and actively project meaning into/through/with/in/and/on/as it. The scrollwork of beetles under bark. A painting of modern art. The fugue state of clouds. Bonus to metacognize in your poem or creation your idea about whether you are speaking through, as, or for. Bonus to include a visual representation of your projective symbiont.

Image: Bark Beetle Galleries from Wikimedia Commons

keywords: your name, poem, read

Monday, October 13, 2014

crossings (excerpt)

right after that woman made that racist comment in the diversity workshop
that went unattended about not being someone whose family had gotten here
by crossing a river, a friend and I raced, ran full out to catch up
to the group getting to the boats for a sunset cruise of the canal.  we
lunge with bags hefted and jettison all dec(orum) as we vault bionic
down the convention maze and I hear the duhduhduh of jamie summers as
we dodge left and lap right and leap onto the escalator, panting like dogs for our one last jump.
little did we know we didn’t need to race
for our lives (this time), though for us, whose ancestors crossed on boats
unwilling, shackled; for those whose ancestors crossed desperate or forced out;
and for those displaced and slaughtered by ancestors who came on boats;
we knew instantly how to run as if our lives depended
on it. we are a species crouched on the brink, the future
threatened to break, and we summon our strength, hurdle thump,
hurdle thump, hurdle thump. the waters we hurry to cross
are invisible: the deep, stained structures of ownership, denial, dominion.
what will the stories be, and the skills and cultures, ten lines down,
200 years from now? i hope it’s not the waters of the milky way
they cross, infecting other places. in the north american canals
of willingness, let the lapping waters soften us. it’s what we don’t take
that matters. what we put down. here at the brink. the chasm, the ridge
the cliff, the cleft, the jump-off, the bridge.  like fools leaping
off. or over. let our magic bags on a stick be light. filled with autumn leaves
of leaving, and seeds, magic beans, for saving. launching into the cool waters
willingly, this time, and for joy at how water teaches presence, teaches
that sky and land are one, mirrored partners in beauty, this cloud, this water, this land
without gizmos or plugging in, we are part of the river of life running through.
let us be this clear, there is no where at all to go. water teaches:
we are right here. water: river, ocean, giver generous. quivering sun and moon,
giving these back. flexible fabric of connection. slaking thirst and making life.
at the verge of these inner crossings, we lay down
the need to flee in fear either from or toward some migration to somewhere
else. we no longer know whether our children’s children
of all species will survive. we know some will make it through.
we have the canny craft of those who came before. the whisper
wisdom of those who are to come. we lift up a handful of leaves
and crinkle them into duff. the trees have already contracted the green
the chloroplasts, and hunkered off. make your choices. here in the winter
of planetary life, we contract, saving what matters
which is not something
that can be

plugged in.

Saturday, October 11, 2014

Unipedally Riffed

Left, left, left.

I left
Jeff Taft
bereft by a cliff.

He sniffed,
that I stiffed him in the lift.

I laughed
'til I coughed
as I rebuffed his guff.

Our theft
was deft
staffed by Steffi Graf.

He cuffed
me on the cleft,
and that's when I

Left, left, left. 

Tuesday, October 7, 2014

Hopped UP


Hopped up

Came down
Ears flapped
Same foot
Pogo sticky left

Written on it:

"Right to bare arms"

W/ thanks to my Muse