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Showing posts from July, 2013

Poet for Hire

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Full circle, still time to donate. Never had the desire to pursue fundraising. Always have hated not having, hate the idea of chasing the $$ even more. “Give me some $$ son, give me some funds,” Dislike it for any type of project. It’s hard to get people to buy-in. So I thought. But that’s what writing is about. Do you buy my ideas? Would you fund them, enjoy them as much as the theater? Poet for hire- 30 poems in 30 days fucken set fire to my ass. Sorry to be crass, this challenge took me to class. Oops, I mean to school, had to use all my tools: Thank you-poem, How to-poem, Found-poem, Personalized-poem, This day in history-poem Inspired by what I heard, witnessed, felt-poem Revised some whack ass lines that were going nowhere- poem I’m angry, saddened and moved by the injustices of the world- poem. No cento poem, though. Was inspired by Robert Frost, May Swenson, Kay Ryan’s rhyme schemes and all the fol

…For Everything

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Got me feeling like Pele Suddenly the words come easy. This doesn’t have the feeling of farewell. I think they’ve gotten familiar, found ease in your visits- you make them feel refreshed. The daily routine of appearing early with the birds outside my window at their most expressive, wore on them, made them shy, to be so rushed-baby birds pushed into flight. So used to being prodded, resized. Finally settled into with this temporary exercise. It’s the knowing that helps, knowing you’re there with your eyes peered at the screen allowing them to fall into you; all 30. Your readings always make it easy. So much ADD so much information to digest it’s a stretch for a poem to make the cut.   You have me feeling like a pretty girl on her prom night, ready for you. Excited, nervous, wanted; this means everything and will mean nothing. But I know that I deserve this. My fingers, twisted branches grip the pen, twist words for you. I rese

Wrong Side

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I can be sweet as a prickly pear cuter than a koala bear, at my prickliest a porcupine. Not a fine feature, associated with such creature whose line you cross leaves you with a pine or two in your face. Got work to do, undo the threads I hold like breath and threaten our closeness. Bust open my closed mess, destiny, cradle you in my arms my child.  Note: 2 more days left of my "write a poem a day" journey. Please donate and support independent, non-profit  http://tupelopress.wordpress.com/3030-project/

Sunday Ride

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Load the bikes up on the rack stuff snacks, sunscreen in a backpack charge the phone for some ridding tunes slather on sunscreen, check the time…still on track. If it’s a long, pretty, breezy, ride you seek drive on down to Ballona Creek one of the nicest bike paths we got in town away from smelly autos, ride along canals to the sea. Loads of joggers, pedestrians enjoying the scenic route   “on your left, on your left” many times you’ll need to shout the coastal breeze in your face as you head to   the ocean sweating, smiling, sun-shining, what LA Sundays should be   about.  Note: This is one of the nicest bike paths in LA, whoever says there is nothing to do in LA better Google something!  Enjoy your city's outdoor pleasure, no $$ needed. Donate the $$ you save to a worthy cause like http://tupelopress.wordpress.com/3030-project/

Recover

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There will always be women I say this with pride even though It is fatal to be a man or a woman pure and simple; activate others activate you. Stop looking how to climb up look ahead to get ahead, be a womanly man or manly woman. Make it a habit- living, move off my hunches move so fast off my haunches I discharge fumes. Habit? How many days must I do it to finally have it? Note: This is poem #27 of 31, getting it done! Arte es vida, support independent publishing, support tupelo press http://tupelopress.wordpress.com/3030-project/

The Rock

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The things We DO for a lil’ thing. Precious. Incandescent. Diamonds. A girl’s best friend! ‘Cause they? Kill people, reap lands, the commoner picks it, but not worthy NOT             WORTHY of such material possessions that started in their hands                                     Dug Up from the Earth. Thousands at a time so common so pricey, what a conflict. Commoners, precious little ones, delicate fingers slashed, eyes burning, drained, lungs congested, infected with cut-dust working poverty rates for the 4 Cs, color, cut, clarity, carat. Young girl, princess fantasy crusted in your eyes, “the rock” black, pink, Canary yellow illusion disguised as ever lasting love. Crystalized symbol of manhood, more $$$$ is better, symbol of vows- manufactured, like a princess. Note: 5 days left in my verbal-run please donate and give some funds to  http://tupelopress.wordpress.com/3030-project/

American Dreaming

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    When I feel like quitting I feel my pulse, her blood occupies my veins. She who’s life started in a shack, her mama died when she was young. Dad forever on one. Became a sister-mom too, young. She could barely read. Too, poor to afford books, schoolmates too, mean to share theirs, she couldn’t read. Sister-mom torteando pound after pound of masa for all the sibling mouth’s to feed, no time to read. American dreams don’t depend on a page they can travel by tongue, ignited her, painted a little bit of red and white atop her chronic blues. Single mom expatriate in a land that welcomed her with open arms into its factories and production plants. Planted on her feet she worked double shifts and sprouted blackberry plump veins on the back of her legs. Hung a key around my older sister-mom’s neck,  we walked to school, books in our hands feeling the weight of h