Thursday, August 5, 2010

July 26, 2010

This was my first time reading at a poetry reading and, really, my first time sharing my work publicly.  It was great fun and I hope to do it again sometime this winter. This is what I read:


All my poetry
is Goddess poetry
everything I write is
cause that's how I move
there is no separate
for me from Her
walking hand in 
wispy voice
that curls deep inside
with a purr and sigh of knowing
that all is well
that all is right with what is

there She is settled in my soul
like a tiny reflection
Objects may be closer than they appear
of the beginning of time
swirling with all I've ever known
all that's been known
and swollen with the unknowable
pulsing with the tide of
so much
of every star
of so many distant 
and unfamiliar
yet brothers
sisters to what I see

but being so much
still soft   She is
curled, lying there 
like and infant
after an millennial nap
blinking in comfort
ready to stretch
and try her voice

Hostage Situation

Why am I so damn raw
exposed nerves crackle
like the backs of my eyeballs
floating on the surface
of the thought I just had
or the song I'm listening to
why does everything want 
out        right  now
without even identifying itself
as it squeezes through my lids
why do I feel as if I'm
holding           my heart          hostage
and what am I waiting for
what are my demands
do I have any plans
if I get away with this
hostage             situation
I'm no good at negotiation
I'll just wait down at the station
till the whole thing is resolved
leave it up to someone else
to see my problem solved
but the problem is there's still that part
my pumping, bleeding, aching heart
it seems wrong to just leave her there
saunter off without a care
but how much am I willing to give
without the promise that I will live
and how much is really at stake
if the battle's more than I can take
which pieces will I walk away with if I loose
is it a craps shoot, or can I pick   and choose
are there things in my heart I can't do without
creativity, empathy, my smile, my pout
looks like I have to suck it up
and work this thing out
but don't I believe in war so     is there another way
we could coax my heart and and humor her,
convince her to come away
from the me who wants to harm her
we should probably disarm her
she's the one who started all this
standing there raging with balled-up fists
I just need to convince her to step back into me
put down the heart, and just let it be


Molehills from Mountains

You are sex walking

You are fuck      on legs

You are naught but tongue
and hands and heat
You're skin, hair,sweat,
my heart's pounding beat

You're there to consume me
to coax those low sounds
out of my deep
to test and push bounds

to find the little spaces,
the far, far withins
to summon the crawlies
and ripple my skin

You are sight and scent
of sex unleashed
energy called forth
from North, West, South and East

You're times with fingers splayed
toes curled and panting
times with whimpers like a puppy
trying to make it to the landing

You're nothing more than the places
where my skin touches yours
and the surfaces we rest upon
beds, dressers, walls, and doors

You're running down my leg
you're that wet spot on the bed
the hum between my legs tomorrow
you're candy for my head


Curves and Lines

      My body is the Goddess's 
      not a single curve out of place
      'cause I can see my form in nature
      all the beautiful round shapes to trace
But cities are made by men
you can see it in their design
cold and hard, constructed
all straight lines and street signs
      We do our best to invade them
      with bushes, trees, and vines
      but they always feel constricted
      to a pretty little box in time
Meanwhile outside the cities' borders
the ongoing ugly rat-race
is mowing down curves and forests
marching on leaving nary a trace
      Still, no matter how many lines they draw
      with their rulers to tell them how big
      when it's time to lay the foundation
      look where they have to dig
Into the sacred skin of our Mother
on the altar of our birth
source of all the life we know
the ever spinning, round, round Earth. 



Good Evening Ladies and Gentlemen and 
Welcome to the Church of What the Fuck is Going On?

There are so many directions to place blame
Patriarchy. Corporate Greed. The MEDIA. Technology. Bad Government.  Complacent Society.  

we didn't know any better
there were so many flashing lights
and signs and voices
"Look right this way!"
and so many moving parts
and radio waves
and digital ate analog like the way
video tried to kill the radio star
multinational multimedia channel channel channel shop! on line on T.V. by phone
for non stick hi-tech hi-def plastic remote control motion sensor
sensor sensory
sensory input
in put
what are we putting in?
is this stuff filling you up?

I'm stuffed! 
I can't take any more of this
junk-food for the brain
high-fructose information
this saccharine distraction
layer after sticky layer
in conveniently disposable packaging
or beamed straight into your brain
only 49.95 a month

it's every new sensation
competing with so many 15 minutes
crammed between increasingly inane human antics
followed by what they call the "news"

this veil they hang meant to convince me
that this is all there is, or ever could be
constant daily rhythm of 
get up go to work go home eat zone out go to bed
no wonder we're numb

they're pick-pocketing our freedoms
insisting it's for our own good
rewriting history to take away truth
back room deals and 
out-right theft
tarnished elections and
toxic incorporated
paparazzi exposing personal privacies
while government corruption goes untold

It's all such a spectacle, disparate but sparkly
disorienting reminding me of the Land of Oz
and we could all use a little more courage,
a little more heart, a clear mind to think
and the knowledge that our homes are our homes
but without those we keep moving,
perpetuation the system we seem to be stuck in
keeping heads down, arms and legs inside the vehicle
with lemming-like devotion
to our own degradation

And when we walk out of step,
when we stop and look around
when we start to think on our own
we're labeled disloyal, unpatriotic, crazy
If we start to raise some eyebrows, 
that voice always comes along
to remind us The Show must go on
and to take our seats and please,
pay no mind to that man behind the curtain.


  1. Molehills is hot! There is so much to enjoy in that poem.

    I loved Clamor! What a great poem, it says how I feel so well, it's beautiful!

    Intristic and Curves and Lines are very good, and Hostage Situation was already one of my favorites.

  2. Thanks. It's funny that came out hot because it came out of being really pissed-off. I want more people to feel like I do in Clamor. It's a wake-up call I guess.

  3. I think it's your language, it comes across to me as things that you like and enjoy. I don't feel anger unless anger as the writer at themselves.

    I think a lot of people do feel like you do in Clamor, but they don't know what to do about it.

  4. I did enjoy those things very much at the time. But I was angry, maybe at myself, and felt the need to smallen that person.

    I don't know what to do about it either. That's why I write.