memorial for a brilliant woman

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

So yeah, this made me almost cry

Poetry can do that, if it's the right poem (by Cate Peebles) at the right moment of chaos in my day

Read it and weep

Maybe it's because I window shopped at a couple of little odd-shops on Lakeside Ave today (across the street from Consignment Corner, where we also shopped).

There's something about the sight of objects someone doesn't need anymore that makes me happy - they are relieving themselves of the burden of "things".

but what if they have died or lost everything because of difficult circumstances?

Conflict. That's what makes poets. Conflicts. That's what makes poems.

Tuesday, August 09, 2011

New National Poet Laureate

Head wordy fella

And so it's the personable curmudgeon Philip Levine as our new poet laureate.

A "working man" because he grew up in Detroit. A "common" man because he isn't an elite New Yorker.

I happen to like his poems. A lot. But there is a certain cynicism attached to the decision to offer up a "commoner" to the people, when the middle class is under such pressure.

At least that would be the case if anyone really cared- except a handful of poets sprinkled across the country.

Another drop in the ocean, A sweet one.

Thursday, August 04, 2011

Wanna Free Book? Do you like Dead Penguins?

Check this out:



an ebook promo from MelvilleHouse Publishing

AND

you can get it right here in Richmond at The Fountain Bookstore!!

It's free if you do it in the next four days!!

I got mine.

A summer poem...by Tony Hoagland

Summer is tough for poetry- it's hot, other things call (barbecue, watermelon, naps) and general folderoling around.

So I got nothin'

But here's a poem by Tony Hoagland you might like

Summer

mmm, yeah.

Friday, July 29, 2011

Hanging out with old poems (by old poets)

eleven years ago on PIF

Interstate

nine years ago at the Melic Review

(I wanted to) Dance on Your Grave

if they had been published in print journals, these poems would be lost.

I love the internet!!

Poet Laureate of Virginia

To all concerned:


There is NO List at this time for nominations for Virginia Poet Laureate!

Kelly Cherry is the current laureate and will serve until her term expires in Fall of 2012.

When the time comes, probably early spring, the newsletter for the Poetry Society of Virginia will contain a ballot where interested parties can submit names. Ten names will go forward to the MEMBERSHIP of the poetry society for a vote which will then be reduced to 5 names (three from the committee, two from at-large candidates). Up until that time, no names or candidates will be considered and it does not make me very happy to receive all these letters of support in my email, since I have one vote and one vote only, just like every other member of the society.

If you want to be eligible to vote, join the poetry society. We have been appointed by the legislature to suggest names to the governor.

Your candidate may be the most qualified, may receive enough votes to be on the final list, but all of this is more than six months away. This is NOT a popularity contest. Letters of support hold no sway and will not be considered. Someone needs to nominate your candidate when the time comes.

There will be many wonderful and well-qualified candidates. The poet laureate spends the two years traveling all over the state presenting programs and readings. It is not an award to be given as a tribute, it is a difficult, expensive, and time-consuming job.

Please go to http://www.poetrysocietyofvirginia.org/ for more information and to join the society, if you wish.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

So far behind! So much poetry!!!

Poem accepted for Scissors & Spackle for the 1/11 Equinox issue (out September 30th)

Submitting like crazy-

leaving tomorrow for West Virgina for the Writers Workshop at WVU with Denise Duhamel-

I hope the family doesn't stop up the sink or the toilet while I'm gone!

More poems after that- still working on my "Assassin" series.........

Saturday, July 02, 2011

Friday, June 17, 2011

I'm from the FDA and I'm here to kill you...

Watch this movie free thru Sunday night-

seriously- watch it!!!

http://healthimpactnews.com/2011/the-proven-cancer-cure-the-fda-has-tried-to-surpress/

I'm from the FDA and I'm here to kill you...oh- and to get rich from your money while I do it!

Thursday, June 16, 2011

June 14 poem-a-day

Why Poets are not Optimists

up too late
assembling chapbooks
she hopes to make gas money,
maybe get a sandwich,
have a little extra for the weekend
for the farmers market-
early tomatoes, peaches, maybe,
feel like a success
in the face of so many
people grinding out poetry,
she doesn’t even have
what she’ll read
picked out
or her dress
nothing is timed
nor in large fonts
now she won’t get
enough sleep
she never does
preparing to tell strangers
her deepest secrets
they should at least
buy a lousy chapbook.

Monday, June 13, 2011

Mark Rylance on the Tony Awards

In case you thought Mark Rylance was riffing- here is the prose poem he used in his acceptance speech...

POEM

Don't tell me poetry can't be memorized if it doesn't rhyme!

June 12 poem-a-day

Selected


Jumble of covers,
I am not trapped,
I am not trapped.
Aggregate calamities,
opportunity + idea = advantage.
Covert operations indicate
a lack of documentation.
Sancho Panza got it right
(about the pitcher).


Slipping into tepid waters,
I remember how to swim.
Under the influence/
it is too easy to ignore
the obvious
old injuries
telegraph a warning,
too late, too late
I throw myself against the wall of your smile.

Wednesday, June 08, 2011

June 6 poem-a-day

Half an inch of water


I’ve never been confused for someone else,
who’s missed a plane to Memphis,
fought with a ragtag few against the many,
stepping forward when those near me don't.

I’d rather duck and run, look busy, divert
attention when necessary, or just say No.
As the rope gets to me, I’ll ease it out,
unwilling to hang alone or with others.

When it is time to stand I’ll watch
from a comfortable distance in a lawn chair,
shaded under the gnarl of a grape arbor,
as the vine grows to cover my transgressions.

I’ll never be a martyr, or a blessed saint,
my convictions are fluid, convenient,
fleeting as first love, only a pin prick deep,
silent in mourning, I will not speak first.