Thursday, September 18, 2014

where am i

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 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

If there's anything more important than my ego around, I want it caught and shot now

photo by dale

i talk to wildflowers
            in the road side ditch

they don't say much
but every once in a while
                              they sigh,

choking on exhaust
                   from thundering cars
& shake
              my fist,

as if i am silly
for letting it get to me---
                what others give

they are quick to forgiveness
& wave in the wind wake
before refinding
                       the sun,

& settle in to listen
to move

Note: The title is a quote from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams.

Saturday, September 6, 2014

the places only locals know

photo by noe' alfaro

crossing campus,
i walk backward, like a tour guide
cause that
              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
                         two coordinates
& 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,
i won't.

"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
& i
am a kid
by the tracks
again, hoping he'll
whistle ---


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
ushering us

for PU

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
       FUCK OFF


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

"i'm leaving,"
he walks
                  shoulders back & head up

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.

for dVerse 
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

tastes like denim&gasoline

photo by LMAP

your jeans
are still warm
        the smell of your hips

my lips
            & i drift

in a dream
too good
            for sleep.

for PJ

Monday, September 1, 2014

more left than right & sometimes up

artwork by claudia

she plays hide & seek
                          in each picture & not
in obvious ways, so you notice
& those that only glance
across the surface
                          will miss

a reflection in the eye of a passer by,
the lean of a tree,
                         the blue building
a hue
              bless you)

& 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
                        this evening,
                                        in your room

for a chat & licking itself,
                       will pause,
                       tongue still out
                       & purr

"i hear you
                         went to the wrong room,"

art is relationship//
art is the steaming cup//
                    not the cappuccino
but the warmth
                            shared between//
an investment in what is
          seen & unseen
of self
         & giving

& 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
                           before feeling

Over @ dVerse, we are writing ot the artwork of my good friend claudia...smiles...doors open @ 3 PM Tuesday.

Sunday, August 31, 2014

born of rivers, lakes & oceans

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

caught in,

the flow a raindrop follows from a cloud,
to a car window / along a wiper / down a side panel
to the road, where it
                              joins another
                                  & another

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
                  & say,

when he looks up in all our askance,

"don't worry,
it knows the way."

for PU