tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18423629624048282252012-02-11T12:45:39.601-07:00journalsJeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.comBlogger811100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-43933479574197200132011-10-17T09:52:00.000-06:002011-10-17T09:52:43.340-06:00

banana bread with carrots and walnuts. oh yes sir'ee.inspired by this cake. but gluten free, vegan, and sugar free.

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-1182710933731507542011-10-16T23:10:00.000-06:002011-10-16T23:10:37.423-06:00

dear g, i fell asleep last night mouthing a prayer. a tender heartfelt prayer. one that was also daring. i prayed for a partner. a true partner to my life. a man also praying and longing for me. (i prayed that you might become that man.) then i dreamt of a man i haven't been able to get over. and later i had a strange encounter with a man at walgreen's in front of the baby products shelves. and i

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-68087400018915436582011-10-15T18:34:00.000-06:002011-10-15T18:34:43.649-06:00

hello again. are you still out there?

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-27566304533055898082011-05-03T14:06:00.003-06:002011-05-03T14:07:25.656-06:00

where is mother? she has gone                     quiet.

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-11835528617927957542011-04-18T15:59:00.000-06:002011-04-18T15:59:54.454-06:00

bird of my feather

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-45939322861505752012011-04-12T20:59:00.000-06:002011-04-12T20:59:04.691-06:00

how does memory work? / in fractures - time shifting & rearranging / uncertain / uncertainty / then certain / of trees / climbing trees / Permian Basin dirt & green / a green desert / just before the mountains of west Texas / just before i move to El Paso / ticks and dirty dog-mutts / a girl down the street Lisa coloring books and markers / her little brother / riding bicycles / she told me that

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-91713231120063802422011-04-11T14:52:00.002-06:002011-04-11T14:52:49.560-06:00

to begin : my father's mother's side justine louise kinnaird -- ralph charles a pape (1st marriage) =Justine Louise A Pape (later Helen Louise King,adopted by her maternal grandmother. a story for later.) justine -- james ralph kimball (second marriage?) =Kaaren V Kimball justine -- john francis z (second or third marriage?) =Justin Alan Z  *~* Justin -- Mary Kay (first marriage) =Jessica Helen

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-60398017943226619412011-04-11T14:46:00.000-06:002011-04-11T14:46:11.115-06:00

"It matters that there are holes in a family history that can never be filled, that there are secrets and mysteries, migrations and invasions and murky blood-lines. These stories speak of human history". -Eleni Sikelianos, The Book of Jon he was neither there nor not there. superimposed. an impression. a double exposed photograph. where first there are the trees, then he is there among them

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-6730300519645785422011-03-19T10:17:00.000-07:002011-03-19T10:17:18.293-07:00

dear, it is so quiet lately. i haunt my own days.

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-58302947306147998752011-03-19T10:09:00.000-07:002011-03-19T10:09:30.518-07:00

i have been in albuquerque for the past few days. i needed to get away. the change in seasons has me all riled up. angry. so i am here, a slower speed, to re-vision. to look at myself. other things are on hold until i return to my home computer. decisions about this space are on hold. while i re-envision my written expressions. but keep dialoging with me. what works? what do you like? egg me

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-11567088973885197492011-03-12T14:52:00.000-07:002011-03-12T14:52:16.815-07:00

* strongly thinking about deleting all, or mostly all, old posts. * then, begin the blog over again with new posts and new themes. * i am very interested in revisiting some work i had done in grad school. we studied the personal journal as a public work, and i'm thinking i would kind of like to try that for this site. * there would be photos. photographic journals to post. especially as i begin

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-46752172341909869672011-02-02T15:00:00.000-07:002011-02-02T15:00:18.169-07:00

1. days roll on. i lose track. though the remnants pile up around me.   1. earrings dangle from the light sconces   2. an open pack of cigarettes, wallet, pocket lint, few coins collect on side tables   3. piled clothing removed from the bed, to the chair, from the chair to the floor,   the hamper too full, socks and such strewn about the bathroom floor.   4. eye glasses, neglected water glasses

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-49290393305559695452011-01-20T11:51:00.000-07:002011-01-20T11:51:19.339-07:00

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-46971141716932727042011-01-18T12:37:00.000-07:002011-01-18T12:37:35.163-07:00

1. tomorrow. tomorrow i will ... tomorrow i can ... tomorrow will be ... 2. now. what will i do? now? 3. i am very good at procrastination. 4. and 5. not accomplishing 6. my very long list of ideas and projects. (7. for example this blog. and my book.)

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-18091464790931110012011-01-09T14:47:00.000-07:002011-01-09T14:47:21.405-07:00

1. i would fill your mouth with eagle's feathers.  watch you feather your nest. 2. each of your possessions tucked in , ordered and organized , intentionally unintentional and carefully careless. 3. except me. 4. i will myself to ignite. 5. dear man , 6. you tried to hold me.

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-24687303854922071372010-11-11T17:22:00.000-07:002010-11-11T17:22:55.487-07:00

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-61890751906398492782010-11-06T21:25:00.000-07:002010-11-06T21:25:49.185-07:00

1. dear, if you're up 2. sometimes 3. i think i have slipped into something quiet and tight 4. like heartache 5. come join me in the place beyond all thought, concept, fear 6. we'll do an album. we can put a picture of a bird on the cover.

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-79943870851061138342010-11-05T21:53:00.000-07:002010-11-05T21:53:46.559-07:00

1. the nook 2. big spoon 3. little spoon 4. doze doze 5. coffee 6. harriet 7. slim slow slider

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-84426593372029108692010-05-27T16:24:00.001-06:002010-05-27T16:24:58.631-06:00

I sat for decades at morning breakfast tea looking out my kitchen window, one day recognized my own world... more

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-35999957927194850142010-04-07T13:35:00.000-06:002010-04-07T13:35:42.218-06:00

i. a rash of cicadas scratch at the night - ; chew at insulting leaves - mother bent patching - a buckled peice of wall - ii. shifting foot backandforth to lull - the chewed up insults spat at the night - a boot landing - a wall seizing - ; to lull to lull to lull to sleep - shifting foot backand forth - whispers a thousand men to fall at your shore.s - a thousand more to leave on the bones of

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-44420159373041504242010-03-09T15:54:00.000-07:002010-03-09T15:54:43.135-07:00

Astrophel and Stella-by Sir Philip Sidney Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show, That she, dear she, might take some pleasure of my pain,— Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know, Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain,— I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe; Studying inventions fine her wits to entertain, Oft turning others' leaves, to see

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-32459318443750746812010-03-03T16:54:00.006-07:002010-03-04T11:47:26.809-07:00

a serrated steak knife, hot bath, a rusted saw, hot bath. a serrated steak knife, rio grandé, the wailing woman, rio grandé. a serrated steak knife, gas oven, a head-on collision, gas oven. a serrated steak knife, throbbing headache, painkillers, throbbing headache. a serrated steak knife, car exhaust, tequila, car exhaust. a serrated steak knife, anorexia*, aconite, anorexia. a serrated

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-22662483373624151132010-02-18T17:21:00.000-07:002010-02-18T17:21:17.698-07:00

there is a lively debate happening here if anyone is interested. the general arch of the conversation is about multilingualism in poetry. where/who are those writers who write in multiple languages? do we translate the foreign text for our readers or not? how were you received in your classes? within the conversation the question of translation has emerged again, and some very thoughtful

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-11005437299494299512010-02-10T17:46:00.001-07:002010-02-10T17:47:47.434-07:00

some few scraps here. i wake in the morning to poems written in the night. (i really do.) i am a dream walker. a writer of poems in deadsleep. (something interesting to look into, should anyone be inclined is "wandering hun". i am told this is/was my affliction. personally, i find it pretty cool, but at the same time don't put much into it; i don't identify with it). lord, i am your bird & all

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-11114715379152154392010-02-04T17:40:00.000-07:002010-02-04T17:40:36.227-07:00

i'm thinking. i'm taking a deep breath. i'm taking a sip of water. i'm staring at the white page of a blogging screen. i'm curious about this thing called a blog, a web log, this web logging activity, this public journal, this space i occupy on the internet. i read many other blogs on a daily basis and feel fortunate to be given a glimpse into the life of an other. i feel fortunate to be able to

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-1647633076999112112010-02-03T16:30:00.001-07:002010-02-03T16:30:57.707-07:00

herein the outskirts where we pull dreamers stringsinto red sweaters, thought you were still asleep in your reclining chair. thoughthe was still in the backyard under the plum tree, smoking. thisis an empty scene- the house i stand in,here, inthe outskirts- in each nightly dream.

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-54018551746000804672010-02-01T17:36:00.002-07:002010-02-03T17:06:28.329-07:00

your sister launched ships from her bathwater after your birth. one vessel:     to reach the farthest shore. heaviest cargo; her silenced thrum.     that stretched canvas; heartdrum.         one other: to secure your passage through that dumb word; death. & gardenia veils.         the last: smallest vessel, richest in hue; daisies' gold. to sail her boldest soul.   to take her

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-5189590576034853912009-10-13T16:35:00.001-06:002009-10-13T16:37:13.982-06:00

you may see how my mind works.though possibly not clearly.

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-45786382059931522712009-10-08T11:10:00.003-06:002009-10-08T11:16:15.048-06:00

i hope you (who are you out there anyway? perhaps my own imaginary audience) will forigve me today, but rather than a post containing messy handwritten notes barely decipherable as i move through the expansion phase of my "what she carries" project, i'd like to point you (?) to a blog i've newly discovered and have quickly fallen in for. it's called harriet: the blog, and it can be found at the

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-46220683052674461242009-10-06T14:03:00.001-06:002009-10-06T14:04:39.726-06:00

revising. revisioning. relooking.

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-68278395107611899512009-10-05T16:17:00.000-06:002009-10-05T16:19:08.270-06:00

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-63671149153543566592009-10-05T16:10:00.000-06:002009-10-05T16:12:46.199-06:00

writing. rewriting. freewriting.

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-45045395527317443522009-10-01T10:28:00.000-06:002009-10-01T10:29:57.503-06:00

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-52006356229861997862009-10-01T10:26:00.000-06:002009-10-01T10:28:05.965-06:00

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-85594248061903580492009-09-30T13:53:00.000-06:002009-09-30T13:54:32.588-06:00

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-21972314349431650282009-09-25T13:36:00.000-06:002009-09-25T13:37:57.276-06:00

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-33740070592449927422009-09-17T15:50:00.002-06:002009-09-17T15:52:56.331-06:00

(an alba) (an other alba) (for him) (and not specifically him)1onset of morning & we tear awayeach from the other from each .moreme than you pushing back .reelingback into the bottle of wine , back into the nightthat has retreated to it’s corner for the while of day.2your arms fast from sleep find my face, mybreath, my wake & my lips .i don’t want thisnot this morning .not the kiss we

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-36299136583859546142009-09-16T14:47:00.000-06:002009-09-16T14:49:36.095-06:00

Jack Collom: on poethicsethics – Sanskrit – roots – self (How do you place yourself?)exerting oneself contrary to naturegoing against nature, but it is natural to go against natureDaisy Zamora: on poethicspoetry is the highest art because poets work with words. -most elusive tool – words -craft is to say the most with every word -we search for an organized world

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-62865157386676445582009-09-08T17:13:00.001-06:002009-09-16T14:44:20.261-06:00

i steal bone from your wrist , write itpoem . my harridan words .i take it while you sleep . i take itevery morning before the sunemerges from dawn . i replace ita fortune unused .

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-19929269745530900232009-09-02T15:58:00.003-06:002009-09-02T16:07:50.708-06:00

i am fascinated with typos. what do they say about our unconscious mind, or is it our unconscious mind attempting to speak? i make these mistakes all the time. and when i do, i wonder, what is the truth? is it what i'm writing, or what is trying to be written? i have a heavy editor's hand, so my typos don't usually appear. not in the poems anyway. in letters -well- they sneak into letters.i'm

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-12035613325553986722009-07-21T14:53:00.002-06:002009-09-16T14:43:48.750-06:00

from class: Visible Movement*how many times I have invented you tried to plant you , like palm leaves gathered on Sundays I don’t want. firecrackers under night , to gather the papered particles shed from eruptions. don’t want green poems , eyes pictures who we were then. don’t want) hematite stars worn to remind we have each do not braid strands of dark curly hair , sandlewood necklaces , white

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-58909878631712320062009-07-15T16:56:00.000-06:002009-07-15T16:57:47.696-06:00

Renee Gladman: Panel Discussion titled Exploring Cross-Cultural Themes in Fiction“being ruined is a beautiful thing because it leads you to other places.”Jerome Rothenberg: Poetry Reading“i only touch the ground on Sundays.”“i hold on to a name because it suits me but the voice behind it never was my own.”“i will not eat my poem much less be raped by it.”Patrick Pritchett:“all writing is already

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-44146640855279958422009-07-13T16:09:00.003-06:002009-09-16T14:41:59.667-06:00

written circa 2001“You say you had a father once: his name was absence.”Stanley KunitzI wake to the windrising only to leave its shriekagainst a windowand breathe into the house,swelling to fill spacesyou have left open.Did you knowme, then,twenty-two years ago,when you dragged a name to your lipsthe way you did your pipe,when you left just as easyas releasing a breath?If I come to you now,could

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-89039159109358418972009-07-10T16:16:00.002-06:002009-07-10T16:20:09.951-06:00

for Bruce You know what we, here on the streets,call knowledge? I know only that Boston holds you,like its subway musicians,inside its belly- undergroundlike a secret or a jewel. We call it jewels. But I found you in Harvard Squareoutside the CVS talking up Mondaylike it was an infant to be celebratedand shouting my name like it was a song. Let me give you some

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-81095656129704612002009-07-09T17:19:00.004-06:002009-09-16T14:39:33.551-06:00

* written on the eve of my 22nd birthday. feb 11. 2001.II learned not to praybut to listen,that my heart would whisperand in the stillness of morningbefore I opened my eyesgod would be there.IITonight it is the cityand the small sounds of midnightdraping the streets and onlythe traffic whispering.IIII learned how to breathefrom a monk wrappedin orange robe and turban.He folded his bodythe way I

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-6416069356389090172009-07-01T15:55:00.006-06:002009-07-02T13:20:50.206-06:00

you gotta be like a big bear laying out under a big oak tree on a fall afternoon. eatin' honey and dozin' through all time and space.yeah!!BIG BEAR! (i say it all the time!)BIG BIG BEAR____________(a conversation between little and big)

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-9243487404719544942009-06-29T13:49:00.004-06:002009-06-30T14:24:54.710-06:00

she tried,tried,triedto be big,big,biglike bigsky and brightmoon

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-80236622189787654672009-06-11T17:02:00.003-06:002009-06-30T14:20:56.585-06:00

in her eyes: ancient tides&blue&blueish&greengrey*and a crescent moonshape.windfull sails._______________________________*the imprisoned one and those behind :the named ones ,the waiting ones ,those lost ones ,

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-79937303616743228152009-06-10T15:06:00.003-06:002009-06-30T14:18:47.847-06:00

i pull petals from my own florid heart.he loves me . he loves me . he loves me .

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-55475578893204316132009-06-04T16:01:00.003-06:002009-06-30T14:19:22.005-06:00

all the better to see you with.(is that macabre?)

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-6763705960818680032009-06-03T14:53:00.004-06:002009-06-30T14:20:02.601-06:00

forgive the word's inability . forgive the clingy cliché , it’s not mine besides . forgive sentiment& desperate green in the eye (how it betrays) .

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-34352235902072498252009-05-28T12:07:00.003-06:002009-06-30T14:21:36.310-06:00

*let's see how this goes*for/from Nomena name , which , holds thismanyships all whiling dangerously along the harbor of her mouth , whatwill she say now ?____________________dear Helen, old that you are now. i took your name for mine when Justine did not fit.let’s don’t tell. i’m sure you see anything i could hide. andhow i am wrenched and leaving.not bound to love her, was never at her breast

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-32449372588078228852009-05-27T15:08:00.002-06:002009-09-16T14:45:06.747-06:00

the song of bird no bird seenin the tree above my head or,the chick fallen from the nest eating a welcome grape from my handwhile mother calls andcalls the chickcalls during sleep all the nightexcruciating pull at my breastmorning wakes and the chick does not.what of dismemberment?whenthe blood pulling with long arms the belovedtowards her towardsher. let me. notreach.

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-81821207493301491152009-04-28T17:14:00.003-06:002009-04-28T17:24:08.065-06:00

*this work is not suitable for children to read*tell me about dismembermentsomething borrowed : was it the groom? then from whom?something blue : it was the bride.tell me about dismembermentNatalie i want to write a memoir, but i don’t want to remember everything.tell me about dismembermenti misremember, am not remembered (nor thought of), am disassembledtell me about dismembermentflower in his

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-71206209919762710262009-04-21T16:21:00.003-06:002009-04-21T16:26:14.120-06:00

* i'm revisiting past work. i'm posting this with this caveat: it will be tinkered with per joe's assignment to me. (i appreciate assignments).* this looks especially better in its proper format. i'm happy to email it to anyone that asks.from Approximately Wednesdaywhat she carries:the pimple on her chin. Eyelash curler (that your love can make it better). Heartshaped box. Wooden. Containing

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-45048569991171979012009-04-08T15:12:00.001-06:002009-04-08T15:15:35.139-06:00

*i found this while cleaning up my files and folders. it was a little poem submitted to my group. never posted.i make mundane mygrief. a homemaker insideelegy. tidythe drawers, loop each ell inmelancholy, i. pull onthe softest most wornunderthings. unsexy. iam no writer now.not tonight. dear poem,you’ve been lachrymatoryall this long time, andthere are better vials forthese tears than the house

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-39617529675129047802009-04-01T15:22:00.002-07:002009-04-01T15:26:24.682-07:00

judgey wudgey was a bearand he had a little lovey.* * *lovey was a pretty little monkey,who preened her tail when (she thought) judgey wasn’t looking.little lovey was a little greeneyed monkey,a sensitive little monkey. she often became verklemptover silly such things as when judgey ignored her,preferring his boxes of crayons, orinks and paints. (or when he stomped about).lovey liked twinkly

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-54221389913828291252009-04-01T15:04:00.002-07:002009-04-01T15:19:23.753-07:00

i think i should clarify the section at the top right of this blog called, the Bits. i decided when i opened this blog that it would be about two things: the poetry, and the process. this blog's intention was to capture the poetic adventures of myself and my writing group. (though it is predominantly my work). what i value about writing groups is that process is very much an aspect of them. we

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-54273407552805202242009-03-16T15:31:00.001-07:002009-03-16T15:34:24.913-07:00

altar box: inside which two dolls made from bone;skeletons. he is dressed in silver softgreyandyellow.in his hand he holds feathers ;and strung to them theirbirds. raven & sun, owl & questions, her heart & dove. who?

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-60918059343974227072009-03-10T14:12:00.001-07:002009-03-10T14:14:18.647-07:00

dear muse , put out your cigarette .empty your pockets’ nests . i won’tbe looking .

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-12650052159681806722009-02-23T17:01:00.002-07:002009-02-23T17:05:27.183-07:00

left up to you ,you would fold the distance between Tuesday nowand Tuesday next. our time togetherwould not be governed , by the friction ofgears , the tension of the second handthe clamor of pendulum the cries of grandmother clocks.left up to me , youwould not touch me. your fingers wouldwilt like Sundays wouldleave my body like

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-84341831536143923142009-01-22T11:56:00.004-07:002009-09-16T14:47:20.514-06:00

mother,dear.take this heart from me.i cannot listen to it's galloping.instead,return it to desert.bury it under sand. turn it into prickly pear.wait for it to rain.

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-40766480618642758262008-11-13T12:32:00.001-07:002008-11-13T12:35:56.723-07:00

judgey wudgey was a bear.a not terribly grizzly kind of bear.when he trudged, and he sludged,and hated everything,he would snap his blond-haired jawand roar his hoarse throat, andshow his terrible teeth, and scratch his itchy scalp.he would be a little mean, too. to his lovey.lovey was a pretty little monkey.who primped her tail, while he smiledhis (softest) smile at her. and glinted his eyes

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-31899120108656507502008-10-29T10:58:00.003-07:002008-10-29T11:04:15.071-07:00

(there is this little story developing too. about a bear. for littlest ones.)judgey wudgey was a bear.he had blond hair.he trudged and sludgedand hated everything.(especially pointless collectiblesand glinty baubles that obstructedsunshine and developed dustin the teeny corners of his den).yet he had them everywhere.(because they were his treasures)(his favorites).his feathered nest.

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-16474025953469500292008-10-22T13:29:00.003-06:002009-06-30T14:22:29.561-06:00

in the beginning we grasp whatever we canthere was just a name pressing it’s vowels. and from his larynx he lit it ,as though a cigarette between his lips,over his daughter^_______________________________________^ and pressed that thorn down onto her headcollecting all of her years from her before she trained her legs to walk away  as Helen before her

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-20685393963071437982008-10-22T13:25:00.003-06:002009-06-30T14:22:03.485-06:00

sometimes your face launches a thousand sleeping ships from port. into a war that had lain quietly (wading it’s watersunhatched in a swan’s egg^______________________________________^ though for me you keep your face inside mirrors and do not even give it to photographs for my scrapbox. (they say i have your eyesare they?so unclearly blue now green as the day grows toward night? as mine?

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-5163480196651766952008-07-07T15:05:00.000-06:002008-07-07T15:06:20.566-06:00

heal saykiss harder.his lip: a naming. a ceremony. a bite.heated freckle. toothcut.something of blood, or bushel. call it emotion. call their bodies nomenclature. let us have names. conversation mired in what is with held. sentence fragments. they stare at limbs of the other’s tree. just her dirty fingernails. his long toe. most of the time [she]from nothing but fury [at each other]fingers on

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-59649550132699706742008-05-13T13:42:00.000-06:002008-05-13T13:44:14.182-06:00

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-36748162950960571272008-03-27T13:15:00.000-07:002008-03-27T13:17:16.474-07:00

where is home to you?home. hooome. hoooom. hoom.hom.in my body there is. in my body. there is just my soul squatting in a body mine for awhile. filling out the interior. making a home of vein and bone. of marrow and light. of darkness. expressing herself in discharges of tears, cervical fluid, snot and piss.home in my body. at home in my body. i wish i was.where is home to you?...where is home to

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-16629438444742081762008-03-27T13:13:00.001-07:002008-03-27T13:15:50.709-07:00

how are you? i’m paint-ed green. teal. i don’t like it.being green? no. teal.how do you like that? i would like to say something nice about face. because i never seem to have anything nice to say to her. i would like to trace the happy heritage of my nose,the Slovakian grandfather (with grey eyes) who brought it to me through new york, through mined beaches of world war ii, a photographed (in

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-32822895553369190742008-03-26T10:31:00.001-07:002008-03-26T10:34:33.653-07:00

we ate pomegranates. less than the way lovers might. we ate pomegranates at my grandmother’s yellow kitchen table. now mine. now mine in boulder Colorado. we ate pomegranates as winter began it’s cold months. his glasses and tongue arriving at the fruit’s pith. I wore spiderman briefs back then. because I was small enough. because they were fun. because they were sexy, and they turned him on.

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-24637125327496430572008-03-17T18:46:00.000-07:002008-03-17T18:47:39.042-07:00

he wears a beard over his chin. though his hair is mostly still brown, his beard begins to flower winterly. agedly and white.and he is jolly. exceptI’ve seen him cry, and he is too big to hold. he wears glasses over his almond eyes, whichmagnifies them and his wrinkles.(something about bisquick pancakes andbacon and eggs,rabbit coups andhow he follows after her all day – a daisy following

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-68618121032033765852008-03-17T18:43:00.001-07:002008-03-26T10:36:07.558-07:00

the door to the elevator is obstinately difficult to push aside and the building is manystoried and glass, thoughyou can not see inside.and the stories of the building are not numbered, notlike chapters. rather they are named for unremembered memories, things, maybe, someone else might remember like,feeding squirrels in the state capitalcigar box under the sofa, roachclipbonnet wearing naked

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-52958876510918647852008-01-08T10:11:00.000-07:002008-01-08T10:15:37.122-07:00

i’m afraid of children living in my hips drinking my breastschanging my name and yelling it all dayi fear i will be the kind of mother that yells at her children obviously impatiently and without apology. (i fear i apologize too much already)i’m afraid i will be the kind of mother who is angry at her own

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-89407751231166749282007-12-06T10:45:00.000-07:002007-12-06T10:50:09.996-07:00

dear,let’s give up these faces tonightpeel them ear to ear, remove all jewelryand blemish.we have no use of an angry face,or orchid tears. no need of lipsthat would cling to story or kisslet’s lay aside our eyes,they’re no lookers.dear, let usput our arms downfrom charade & shadow &flightlet us grow our hair and fingernailsput the clippers awaylet us flower (as flowers) let us beam (as beams)let

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-57089618733703830122007-12-04T10:51:00.000-07:002007-12-04T11:01:19.259-07:00

'Put off that mask of burning goldWith emerald eyes.''O no, my dear, you make so boldTo find if hearts be wild and wise,And yet not cold.''I would but find what's here to find,Love or deceit.''It was the mask engaged your mind,And after set your heart to beat,Not what's behind.''But lest you are my enemy,I must enquire.''O no, my dear, let all that be;What matter, so there is but fireIn you, in

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-80454647988526803042007-11-30T11:52:00.000-07:002007-11-30T11:59:36.640-07:00

dear ~what you don’t understand about that scar on my wrist was that the wound realized it’s own fear.that i prayed over each pearl drop of blood leaving my vein.that i thanked that little brown rabbit each night for hisability to biteback.youdear, need nothave threatened mymedicine’s life because of the teeth of his fear tearing at my flesh.to be torn at by spirit healing spirit, i’ll suffer. to

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-52951619236178976222007-11-29T14:30:00.000-07:002007-11-29T14:40:24.655-07:00

every week, i meet with a beautiful lot of women writers at my house; #1722. we come up with topics and assignments each week, and do our best to write each day. we share the results with each other, over chocolate and tea, and offer feedback, admiration, and suggestions.this blog is an homage to our group, a place for my own work to be made public, a place for me to do some writing (oh yes, i

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-35857752004097276702007-11-26T14:10:00.000-07:002007-11-26T15:00:03.149-07:00

deepchorded graon(heavyhinged door,the ether throat vibration) how are you feeling ? ?OHOOoooooooo [will not ask this] howwwlittle star shining shiningteach me how to shine, shineMMHhmmmmm tight breathconstricting chest inhalation.we do not breathe from our lungs, actually.

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-31008278255310762722007-11-26T13:18:00.002-07:002007-11-26T14:07:34.126-07:00

he had a mouth puckered like strawberries(i’m not allowed to eat strawberries, even if tiny and wild, and tart as august sun)but i do like strawberry juice, his lips, and i watched them wrap around each word of big brass bedhe puckered his mouth like sweet berries and laughed liquid sun on august nights while stars above us we walked the hills and mountains of el pasoholding hands though we were

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1842362962404828225.post-83264306220980987022007-11-26T13:18:00.001-07:002007-11-26T13:18:53.466-07:00

Fell off thE wings, today, of myfavoritE bird. Tomorrow, i’ll try flying solo.

Jeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836547686790244499noreply@blogger.com0