i am making sundaes on wednesday,
at court with kids from school, i only know
well enough to say i hope ---
well, that is as far as i got in my explanation poem...life is wearing on me a bit between grad school, school (work), family, church --- pretty much all my spheres. I am exhausted at the end of the day right now as too tired to log in and say hi. (sorry)
Family is good.
I am alive.
trying to sleep at night and not think about everything.
thank you to those that checked in, sorry to make you worry.
i will return.
Sunday, September 7, 2014
|photo by dale|
i talk to wildflowers
in the road side ditch
they don't say much
but every once in a while
choking on exhaust
from thundering cars
as if i am silly
for letting it get to me---
what others give
they are quick to forgiveness
& wave in the wind wake
& settle in to listen
Note: The title is a quote from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams.
Saturday, September 6, 2014
|photo by noe' alfaro|
i walk backward, like a tour guide
is what teachers do
on your left,
notice how the reflection in the window
bisects the angle
& since it's 90 degress
that makes each
and to your right,
the midpoint of
& can you calculate the distance
the ten kids traveling with me
are all waiting for me to run into a column
or step off the sidewalk & cartwheel,
"when we get to the library
& i give you the test, jot what you know
in the margin, it might help"
i know full well, most will be blank,
no matter how much i hope,
or run my mouth
a boy walking across the grass,
hisses like a steam engine,
w/ a simple smile
am a kid
by the tracks
again, hoping he'll
but he doesn't,
no one notices & i don't point him out,
but keep him for myself, imagining smoke
following him around the corner of the building
as i hold the door for my class,
it's artificial cold breath
Thursday, September 4, 2014
|photo by CBS fan|
both Asian and a Hispanic,
he's not much
of a punchline for cross-culture jokes,
but punches from time to time & this morning,
has told me
because of anything i did as much as what
the other 26 eyes in the room require // & is
expected of the 'most likely' to be locked up
written up 22 times last year for dis-
respect / defiance & fist-i-cuffs, breaking knuck-
les on faces of lesser beings
"he has no respect for authority"
"won't last 9 weeks"
"nothing you can do with him"
he lives it up,
lives up to the talk
shoulders back & head up
"DON'T YOU TURN YOUR BACK
ON ME - i'm not done with you yet,"
& you'd think they let the air out the room
with all the gasps // eyes locked,
"you don't get it man ---"
"that's BULL CRAP! all the others may fall for it,
but i've watched. you're the smartest kid in my Algebra class
& when no one is looking, you help the kid next
to you /// so don't tell me you don't---"
"what do you care?"
what do i care?
what do i care?
"you don't know me."
"you're right --- i don't, i know nothing of not
wanting to go home // of being pissed off // of realizing
if i slip up, they'll find me out --- "
& we take off
our histories, like leaden coats, old warriors
finally freed of their armor, letting it fall
where it will
laying them a/cross
allowing each other over & later i will explain
to my co-teacher why i was late, making her life
a bit harder
--- because for an hour,
i put bricks to my back // well polished
concrete to my butt
& got to be a teacher //
who won't fuck off.
where we are writing base on the Rilke quote
“write about what your everyday life offers you; describe your sorrows and desires, the thoughts that pass through your mind and your belief in some kind of beauty Describe all these with heartfelt, silent, humble sincerity and, when you express yourself, use the Things around you, the images from your dreams, and the objects that you remember.”
Tuesday, September 2, 2014
Monday, September 1, 2014
|artwork by claudia|
she plays hide & seek
in each picture & not
in obvious ways, so you notice
& those that only glance
across the surface
a reflection in the eye of a passer by,
the lean of a tree,
the blue building
& sometimes it's just
the way a line curls,
intimate around the neck
the tail of a cat
disappearing around the corner, you know
will stop by later
in your room
for a chat & licking itself,
tongue still out
"i hear you
went to the wrong room,"
art is relationship//
art is the steaming cup//
not the cappuccino
but the warmth
an investment in what is
seen & unseen
& i am standing, (peek-a-boo)
right there in the center, as the crowd ambles
around me, fingers extended
in the fullness of the empty bowl, of anticipation
at that moment
Over @ dVerse, we are writing ot the artwork of my good friend claudia...smiles...doors open @ 3 PM Tuesday.
Sunday, August 31, 2014
|photo by joel robison|
there is so much hope in the paper boat,
the crease where stories on page 2 & 3 meet
the slapping feet on the sidewalk,
chasing its trek // cheering as it twists
& turns around submerged refuse
the flow a raindrop follows from a cloud,
to a car window / along a wiper / down a side panel
to the road, where it
to a trickle, to a stream that fills
the gutter & as all things, finds the drain;
it's the look,
on the boy's face, when the boat does the same
& is gone, the stillness of standing over the last place
he saw it
that makes me leave
the ever cooling coffee cup
on the round table top & umbrella shade,
to catch the last bit of rain
in the gap between my collar
& neck, the line it draws down my spine
to my waist
when he looks up in all our askance,
it knows the way."