Monday Poetry on Tuesday

Cycle of Dizziness I want to touch the matter in front of me and say I am recording you to reassure my science when I go inside to have a conversation to appear days later in a foreign place with David Byrne singing in my ear ginger is the new black I’m getting old and all the things the peace-resters told me are True little bang little bang            bang my medication is grief I make a tea with get burnt and sober sipping my choices grind myself helpless and thin or open up wider     to fall limitless in

Monday Potes: from 3:15

From this year’s experiment. This is the first 3:15 poem I’ve ever written from a hospital room. I had to take my husband in one night. (He’s fine, btw. He had a nasty virus.) Aug 4, 2010 Vancouver General Hospital Vancouver, BC the moon is red like a sci-fi planet surreal in the night out the emergency taxi window three cats to the wind then all windows vanish and replace themselves w/white hum disembodied voices test for cures charts mark the anaesthetic blocks to your hands and feet you’re the patient under the sheet you have a fever of 101˚ you ask if you are dead not yet on the TV a man kills 8 in Connecticut but you are safe for one more red moon rise             more red blood sun the plasma rays reach out touch earth skin heat it like...

Spider Relocation Project and Avoiding the Woolly Worms

It’s Day 28 of the Spider Relocation Project (aka Shed-to-Office-Renovation) and we’ve lost two more little dudes. One was into the vacuum and the other one was painted over with a roller. Sorry guys! Total Saved: 56* Total Lost: 3 *It’s possible I could have saved the same spider more than once. I can’t show you the current status of the renovation because it’s too close to being done! The big reveal will be within the next week, I’m betting. Squee! For the Monday Poetry Thang, and in the spirit of being concerned about little critters, I bring you (from my book Every Day Angels): avoiding the woolly worms I drive 10 miles an hour slower to avoid them crossing the road it is the season for so many things don’t know what...

Spider Relocation Project – Casualties to Date: 1

There was bound to be a casualty sooner or later. Spider relocation is risky business. I didn’t mean to do it, but I wasn’t exactly looking out for the little guys as I caulked the room. I was just caulking along and ZOOP, accidentally caulked a spider into a crack. Egad! Condolences to the wee beast’s family and a tribute – an oldie but a goodie from my chapbook Her Red Book. Days After the Spider was Dead She knew that time of year when trees invent new colors and the sunset from a pacific Northwest train is an angelic hole in an otherwise clouded sky She’d been waiting for some appropriate memorial for the dead spider Big-as-Your-Hand leg span tennis-shoed into a basement carpet as 40-year-old schoolboys revisit songs they’d written...

Monday Potes* – Sad/Beautiful

*Potes is my personal slang term for poetry. As in, “Yeah, I got my potes on me.” What has always fascinated me about the sad facets of life (i.e. death of a loved one), is how beauty is the other side of the same coin. I find I am constantly looking into that beautiful sadness. sad/beautiful there is a hole and as the tale goes an infinite being with arms like the aftermath of a bomb so fearless it ceases the heart      so certain it cauterizes the wound of containment our little selves children of a wiser source enchanting explosions on the sun when the moon turned red we knew we knew the sudden vast center expanded    dropping messages our own tales told back to us through the machines we ride motion is the only way to defeat the sad beautiful...

Dropped Pages: solar strings

This was a poem dropped from Her Red Book. I still might include it in another book. solar strings dust is beautiful it floats in the stratosphere above the cumulonimbus and diffuses the waves making the sky blue azuring the eyes of the nomadic poet who learns the names of constellations like pop songs singing them in her head without sound with only light electromagnetic rays that bounce around the nape of her heart because in the middle world there is a such thing as sunshine Jump on The Monday Night Poetry Train The words “middle world” did not appear in the original poem. I borrowed them after hearing this wonderful post on TED. If you have 20 minutes to spare, this will curl your brain: Richard Dawkins Speaks on our Queer...