I’m almost at the place!
No fortune-telling
gypsy need tell
me now
I feel a sense
of grace,
of place,
of peace
The day just
opened up,
the sun shone
down so fierce
My father looked
into my eyes, he cried
then my tears fell too
We smiled at one another
under the pines
We stood in October’s
warmest day
I’m coming home, Daddy
I said to him
I won’t hardly wait another day
Category: Writing
Fog
My mood
is reflected
in the night
in the fog
in the pre-dawn
four o’clock hour
My mood
is reflected
in the solitude
of my thoughts
Alone.
Again.
Forever.
My mood
is reflected
in all the
unanswered
questions
My mood
is reflected
in the street lamps
as I drive
they keep
sneaking
up on me and
aren’t really
helpful at all
just represent
more questions
My mood
is reflected
in the headlights
and how they
don’t work
in this fog
not when
they’re bright
nor when they’re
dim and something
says stop driving
but I keep going
because I am
American and
we are impatient
to a fault
My mood
is reflected
in the
auspiciousness
of this day
and I find
it strange
that I cried
I got all
red in the
face while
an email
from my
absent
mother
sat awaiting
me and I
did not
even know
it. Or did I?
My mood
is reflected
in all the
moments
that I sit
and I think
and I look
for the
answers
Only to
find I do
not own
them but
they belong
to those
who are
willing to
love me
And they
only belong to
me when I
bend myself
over backwards
to love another
The relief,
the relief
to the pains
of this life
are found
in those
rare vulnerable
spaces in-between
large events when
we innocently
love each other
stranger or
no stranger,
relief creeps
in on you like that
My mood
is reflected
in the fog
in the dark
in the pre-dawn
four o’clock hour
My mood
is reflected
on the
page
Boyfriend-ishhh
Her naive void
was formed of
his bones
his flesh
his spare time
She no longer
shooed him like
a fly
He turned her
from a fresh young
thing into a woman
over night
and their days
amounted to
Scrabble and
talking of dreams
that never seemed
to take flight
Society
Spin your wheels
and take, take, take
Not only you
but me too
Buy buy buy
Shake shake shake
Eat here
Try this
Shit over here
Look at that
Mans wonders
are plenty but
Earth’s are only
eight?
Hot & Cold & Nothing In-between
I want to be on
top of the world
but am unwilling
to climb even a mole hill
I want to grab IT by
the horns,
by the balls
but I’m either
too weak
or too disgusted
I want fame
but I am unwilling
to emerge from this,
dinged and dented, shell
I want Home Sweet Home
without paying a cent
I want love without
getting naked
I want it masked and
mysterious and
practically perfect
I want pleasure
and I want it to roll
and unfold forever
I want truth but I
like fantasy even better
I want respect,
I want it now,
and without having to give it
I want the Earth but I want
Starbucks to-go cups too
…and cars
I want family but not
red and green holidays,
toothaches,
ignorance,
incest,
smelly bathrooms,
ugly toes,
he-said-she-said’s,
why don’t you’s,
chatter-induced headaches
and taking care of Dad…
I want friendship,
health, and happiness
but I refuse to go out
and get it
My Next Big Thing
I always need a Big Thing in my life. For the past year, my Big Thing has been a bi-monthly writer’s group in Portland. But now that I need new tires, new disc brakes, and more money and time in general, I’m finding that I can’t pull off going to Portland like I used to (it’s a three-hour drive). All the signals are pointing toward something new, and at this point, I’m looking for anything that will help me accomplish completing my manuscript. So I’ve decided to stay local and sign up for a class at Lane Community College. The class is “Crafting the Novel” and starts on October 3rd. Back to school for me! Fucking, yay. I know, I just know that this is the push I need to wrap things up and begin the editing (and publishing) process.
Here is the description of the class:
This class is designed to assist students not only in writing their novel but to get it published. Whether you have a completed draft, are in the idea stage or something in between, this class will help you develop the discipline, dedication and the skills you need to get that novel written and published. Week by week we’ll workshop our works-in-progress in a supportive and positive setting. Some of the areas we’ll cover include: developing character, plot, dialogue, organization, revision and finally how to publish and market a completed novel.
Major plus: the class is held at the brand-new downtown location, right next to the library and closer to home than the main campus. I am concerned that the class might not be the absolute best fit since novels are fiction-based, but I’m hoping the teacher is flexible (I know that I can be) and will help me adapt my memoir to the structure of the class, or whatever. Because if I’ve learned anything it’s that a memoir needs a plot, climax, and rich characters too. Wish me tons of luck! I really think this is the last leg, the final chapter of my memoir-writing–which all began a long five years ago!
I Can Smell You

Your words
and gestures
reverberate in
my head
I cannot fathom
how you got in
I locked the
front door
and the back
I let you in for
tea once
or twice
We maybe
went for
biscuits
and gravy
…and has it
been that
long?
You met my
father
We cursed
our mothers
but I locked
that door
before I left
When did you
get in?
I can hear
your words now,
see your gestures
I can smell you now.
Love Me
I just
won’t let you
love me
For months
all you’ve
seen is me
Still I won’t
let you
love me
You’ve proved
yourself a man
beyond belief
Still I won’t
let you
love me
Your hair is fair
your eyes are blue
just like the man
I envisioned to
be you
Still I won’t
let you
love me
You told your
cat grandma
sister dad
I am the prize
the only prize
to be had
Still I won’t
let you
love me
You find me
brilliant
You find me
rare
You’re fine
yourself but
I do not care
Still I won’t
let you
love me
You’ve serenaded
You’ve paid your dues
You’ve worshiped me
while I’ve laughed at you
You’re coming back
You’re wanting more
Your fire hasn’t faded
through it all
Still I won’t
let you
love me
Lover’s season
is almost over
You never even
made me your
lover
I let you touch
me once
I let you touch
me twice
Your touch was
fine
Your touch was
nice
You touched my
toes
You touched my
heart
But you didn’t
violate me enough
from the start
Crazy me
Sick-girl me
You love my
nasty me
Still I won’t
let you
love me
Reach Out and Grab It
But how?
I do not
see it there
Is it blue?
Is it orange?
Am I hot?
Am I warm?
I did not get
the map nor
the memo
How short?
How high?
Bigger than
a bread box
or a fly?
Do I send for it?
Some say don’t try
Who has it?
Do you have it?
Gotta work hard
before you die
Home
Prompt: Write about your home without mentioning your house, town, or street. –Natalie Goldberg
Home. Home is where doves dive and trees dance and creatures bump in the night underneath a full moon that I. Am. Looking. At. Home is where I turn into myself and hate myself and love myself. Home. It has been where I love and where I scold others. There is fire there, and ice. The stars say I should built it near water–that I am like the otter. I oblige. Home is larger than a bread box but modest yet. Home.
Home.
Home.
Happy.
Humble.
Home.