Thursday, August 28, 2008

Busy busy busy

August may appear to have been a slow month for me, but it's in fact the opposite. I've been busy with work, busy with running, busy watching the Olympics, busy thinking about and researching grad schools. I've been writing some things that I haven't posted here... I expanded that last snippet I posted into a little prose poem type of thing. I almost finished the poem about the devil's sister. I wrote something really quickly before going to dinner on Sunday that I liked a lot. It's not finished, but I got a good bit of it out in a hurry, now need to come back to it and finish and refine.

There's always that whole revision thing, which I'm not so good at unless I have a reason. A writing sample for grad school applications is one really good reason. The reading series at Larry's is another....aside to myself - I need to figure out when the first one for fall is scheduled.

Okay, back to work. Just wanted to throw some sort of post out here since I know people who read but don't comment and I wanted to let you know I'm still here. Psst, I think I left a pillow at your house!

Thursday, August 21, 2008

Snippet of something

The weeds beside the river in late August smell of dust and exhaustion, a tired sweetness, like the lace on your grandmother's wedding gown that crumbled in your hands when you cleaned out the attic after she died last year.

Thursday, August 14, 2008

The End of Summer

another recent one, which i think i like. fyi: anyone who knows me, and might know who the "she" is at the end - i didn't see her. it just seemed to fit. author input aside.

The End of Summer

Every day of August
no matter what the mercury says
bears a chill. The days drag

sluggish through the haze.
They evade our grasp. We sleep
through the last of the warmth.

I will not go back to school
this year, haven’t even taken
a vacation, but I feel the loss

just the same. Empty shells,
cicada-shaped, cling to the sticky
bark of trees whose leaves

are drying, thinking of turning.
Grass, scratchy as hay but not as fragrant,
crunches underfoot like dead leaves,

like bones, like insects
on a windshield. I drive
home from Cleveland on the most

perfect August day. I saw her
for the first time in three years.
Everything was different.


one of those aforementioned poems i've written recently. this one (all of them actually) i wrote out long-hand first, in my little green journal, then typed up, so they aren't quite first drafts because i edit slightly as i type. this one i also just changed a few words while waiting for my wireless to connect.


Have you ever wanted so badly
to stand alone in the dark, stretch
wide your arms and call the rain?

You don’t believe it’s possible
but on a dark night like this
with a cold summer breeze

when all you are is a question
and the stars look down
their daggers and you wait

for something without knowing what
you want to believe, you wish
you still had some faith.

You don’t know how to cast a circle
or speak the language of the wind.
All you hear is the emptiness

swirling dry leaves around your feet
speaking of space and time,
endless motion without matter,

the desire of flesh to join
with spirit. Call. Silence to silence,
emptiness to emptiness, anything

to something, and the answer
will come, with a breath, a cloud
curtaining the moon, a gather

of darkness sheer as silk.
Wait. Stand still, close your eyes,
and wait. The rain will come.

I get my car back tonight!

I've written three poems recently which I like a lot, but have not had the chance/inclination to post up here, plus a group of twenty-sevens about the devil's older sister. Sounds odd, and probably is, but kind of fun. I was working on that last night but just got too tired to keep counting syllables and hadn't felt the end yet anyway, so went to bed in the middle of a line. I'll post some stuff soon.

In other news - I heart Timothy Liu. He read at BG when I was there, and he was so fantastic! He did almost everything from memory, which really impressed me, plus I loved the poems. The stuff on (where I linked) includes one I remember from that reading : "An Evening Train" which is just wonderful. I started thinking of him last night when I was thinking about poets I'd love to study with. Unfortunately, he teaches at a school without an MFA program. They offer an MA in writing, which might not be bad, and if I could study with him, it would be worth it!

Other people I've stumbled on and liked (as faculty in programs I'm looking at) are: Arielle Greenberg and David Trinidad at Columbia College, Sandra Alcosser (who studied with Richard Hugo, who is one of my classic favorites) and Marilyn Chin and Ilya Kaminsky at SDSU, Rae Armantrout and Roberto Tejada at UCSD (both of whom I'm not sure I like but are interesting). More to come... Doing lots of reading/research....

Friday, August 8, 2008

On Keeping Silent

On Keeping Silent

Do I watch things unravel
and not try to capture the threads?
I know I can not trim them all,
can not sew quickly enough
to fix the hem.
But should I try?

Is it the effort that matters
more than the result,
or is it a waste of time
like using a newspaper for an umbrella?

There is beauty in getting wet
letting the rain curl your hair
and soften the leather of your shoes.
There is beauty in the frayed edge,
character you can’t get from the neatest stitches.

Debits and Credits

Debits and Credits

I know so much less than they credit,
never live up to their expectations,
am afraid of heights yet accept the pedestal
on which they have me stand.

I know more than they credit when it’s over,
where I failed, when they gave up,
what I’m missing that they hope
the next girl will have.

I balance my accounts, calculate
what I learned, what I lost. It always
comes out even.

Monday, August 4, 2008

and another twenty-seven

Is it arrogant
of me to say
my perfect woman
is a lot like
me? She is just
a bit more humble.


Another twenty-seven.... Been thinking this recently, and was talking about it last night with some friends. I've gotten a LOT out of living here, I really have, but I feel like I may have gotten all I can, and it's time to move on. I'm not sure, but maybe. I'm also thinking again about applying to MFA programs for next year, so that goes along with it. It is part of that whole process of turning 30 and deciding to do the things I always wanted to do.


This city has been
home for five years,
longer than any
other. I love
it here, but now,
it is time to leave.