tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57959192009-10-16T19:58:48.690-07:00The soap opera journal of a poet who has set up household on the edge of Leona Canyon in Oakland, California where she creates meaning for herself from the vortex.webgirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07039675481266794193noreply@blogger.comBlogger234125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5795919.post-35196070365167535822007-10-29T12:43:00.000-07:002007-10-29T14:30:51.108-07:00

DOAEN 6: The Bottom LineI keep reminding myself to vist FemiMacus and write a check for the $25.00 that I owe them for last week's pedicure. Remarkably, they do not accept ATM or credit cards and I had no checks with me at the time, having finished writing all my monthly bills and since I do not subscribe to an online banking service, my last Luddite holdout because for some reason I am

webgirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07039675481266794193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5795919.post-33918090222519589542007-10-25T22:11:00.000-07:002007-10-29T14:37:38.145-07:00

DOAEN 5: Creating the LinksMaybe Jerusalem needs to wait. After all, I have to request time off from work, and then there's the Oral History Association that's having its 41th Annual Meeting here in Oaktown. Downtown at the Marriott where there are apples for the picking at the front desk for the asking you get a smile and directions up the escalator to where everything's happening in a

webgirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07039675481266794193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5795919.post-30639548079883568822007-10-15T15:02:00.000-07:002007-10-21T01:13:30.028-07:00

DOAEN 4: The Harvard Moon Does Not Shine on MeI need coverage as I duck between cars and hide from breaking news that rains over me in casualties and partial prisoner swaps. I'm roaming. From meeting to meeting I hear the same thing. It's falling apart. It's going to pieces. There's no hiding from media blab living here in corporate headquarters inside our own cubicles stocked with emergency

webgirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07039675481266794193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5795919.post-43588406703005749502007-10-13T14:01:00.000-07:002007-10-15T15:05:41.753-07:00

DOAEN 3: Identity TheftI sit on the couch reading books with the cats purring beneath the living room table as the dishwasher thrashes in the background, turn the page and realize I haven't watched television for a week. How long has it been? Open the refrigerator and there's several jars of pickles on the side door that face nothing else. I turn on the television, just to make sure I have the

webgirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07039675481266794193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5795919.post-4277356619350770642007-10-10T10:52:00.000-07:002007-10-10T10:56:51.981-07:00

Ballad of D.Q.Chorus:The pressure was real highwith the 2.0 release,meant to fix all bugs, or die,tech support would have some peace.Engineers worked day and nightstudying their code,product managers counted bytesin pizza-eating mode.And D.Q., the boy from Alameda,who put start-ups on the map,he grabbed a slice of pizzasaying, "Don't give me any crap."Until deadlines are met, he promised to

webgirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07039675481266794193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5795919.post-69811767150855379952007-10-02T19:34:00.001-07:002007-12-19T09:54:09.118-08:00

Partners in CrimeKids walk to school along the freeway overpass.I drive my car beneath them going to work.Jelly rolls of turf in a pick-up truck. Green spikes on a brown scalp to be planted somewhere.A bright blot outlines joggers around Lake Merritt.Their water bottles are catching sunlight.I can't tell anyone what you did to me last night.How you held me close and what you whispered in my ear.

webgirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07039675481266794193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5795919.post-87910070276483201042007-09-28T12:16:00.000-07:002007-10-01T17:15:18.242-07:00

DOAEN 2Almost an entire week has gone by since she's left for college, and today is payday with one of those virtual pieces of paper slipped beneath the door that says a certain amount of money has been deposited on my behalf into a bank account. What's important is that the money is there and not particularly how it got placed there, but even as I write those words I shudder as I hear the moral

webgirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07039675481266794193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5795919.post-85293872496141241882007-09-26T00:40:00.001-07:002007-09-27T16:09:46.851-07:00

Diary of an Empty Nester (DOAEN 1)I think writing with a typewriter or a pencil when I first started was a different kind of writing for me, more physical in its sensibility, while writing with a computer is another experience eliminating a tactile energy that goes into forming words by pressing a pen to paper or by striking the hammer of a keyboard; with the computer I hear the musical sound of

webgirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07039675481266794193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5795919.post-54092005278775633542007-09-18T22:54:00.000-07:002007-10-22T09:48:02.845-07:00

Third Floor DormIn those last several weeks you let me tell younot to get home after midnight.You smiled without saying anything. We both knew it was already too late.I brought your old clothes stored in the trunk to Goodwill so we'd have roomto pack your things for college:an old soccer ball, tennis shoes, a pullover,nothing remarkable except you removed everything from plastic bags to reassure

webgirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07039675481266794193noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5795919.post-62822617627348213792007-09-15T08:34:00.000-07:002007-09-17T16:36:01.149-07:00

KedushatI am dressed in white linen to celebrate the New Year but know that in Japan, white is the color of mourning, the color of Hiroshima, while black contains all spectrum of possibility. I am feeling brown, not shitty, but filled with the mulch of my many years, as I throw in greens, aerating myself with hope in the event that one of these days things will turn out right. I can only wonder

webgirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07039675481266794193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5795919.post-53238751776196856302007-09-08T09:28:00.000-07:002007-10-21T00:58:38.645-07:00

Moon Draughtbalancing a cup of coffeewhite porcelain handle held between fingersdappled light from outside my patio windowin these moments beforemoon disappears and the boxcar of my dayrattles along its railsthe same way cats meow me out of bedfor their appointed bowl of food and fresh waterthey are hungry and can do nothinguntil I walk to the closet measure a cup of foodrefill their water bowl

webgirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07039675481266794193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5795919.post-76972942016554632582007-09-05T14:15:00.000-07:002007-09-06T11:59:01.297-07:00

The Summer of Love and Walter LowenfelsWhat I remember about the radical poet, Walter Lowenfels, was his vast generosity, and commitment to the word. He wrote a book entitled, The Revolution is to be Human, a slogan which has guided my life and work. He believed that change comes from young people and nurtured those friendships throughout his lifetime, encouraging new writers at the time like

webgirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07039675481266794193noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5795919.post-87424931067925111152007-08-28T16:16:00.000-07:002007-08-30T23:16:40.634-07:00

Empty NestEveryone's asking about my empty nest and how it came to beAfter 25 years of raising kids, this is what's in front of me –a condo with a futon, a cable TV, a computer on DSL,a kitchen with granite counter top and a litter box with its special smell.I'm not saying I'm lonely, or want my kids to move back in.I'm not saying the clock's ticking louder than it's ever been.I'm not saying I

webgirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07039675481266794193noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5795919.post-20593698624941273912007-08-26T12:06:00.000-07:002007-08-28T10:00:59.515-07:00

Party at Leona CanyonFlowers with whiskers mewl through the night,dance with leaves and by ten they're real tight.Some wear latex to fish for a catch,some want money to buy an eye patch.Some turn around and say squeeze my chin,pick up a rock and say stuff again.I was there when they crept to the stream,closed their eyes and scrolled through their dreams.

webgirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07039675481266794193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5795919.post-21175437670395899062007-08-23T12:21:00.000-07:002007-11-17T17:52:06.067-08:00

U.S. Soldier With Traumatic Stress Disorder Syndrome, Post Iraq Deeper down the tubes there's an out-of-box experience,a self-healing fiber optic ring that offers more response timeto whatever microbrew ales you ought to be in pixels.They removed guns pointed at our heads because we were from the same country where the weapons were manufactured,not because she was so good at polishing her lip

webgirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07039675481266794193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5795919.post-88297879892659957012007-08-12T22:08:00.000-07:002007-08-13T22:21:25.360-07:00

Winterwren SpringManzanita and red madrone where a reflection of water flickers on granite rock covered in its own mossy screen for an afternoon showing of Newt Time with catamarans of water striders floating abovethe stars two newts undulating their tails around each otherthrowing burbly kisses beneath a trickling stream;now I have no idea what they're doing but I can guessit's X-rated and none

webgirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07039675481266794193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5795919.post-40181141675723370772007-07-19T14:34:00.001-07:002007-08-07T08:21:05.279-07:00

Song of the Rip TideYou ripped songs from my heart,and copied them over to yours.I've heard how you set them to play all.Don't you know that's not legal?You're not playing fair with me.Everyone I've known always leaves.Don't leave me now. See me standing on the corner with my laptop in my backpack?Don't leave me now.

webgirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07039675481266794193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5795919.post-51471977339642809462007-07-18T07:16:00.000-07:002007-07-28T09:26:02.625-07:00

Only Only in nothingness there is unity.Here the off-ramp loops around.Only beneath a glass does a butterflybecome a sepulcher of wings.Only in the quiet of my living roomdoes night air breathe pagan song.

webgirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07039675481266794193noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5795919.post-58106127319985949482007-07-16T09:24:00.000-07:002007-08-18T08:57:38.798-07:00

Ode to Norma LeftwichNorma, you who dared tell me what to do and knew I'd listen,girlfriend of 50 years since the first day of second gradewhen you tapped me on the shoulder to borrow a penciland I gave you one with an eraser.You were a half head taller than me with three braids,one that reached out of your forehead and over an eyebrowyou could arch into a Whitestone Bridge whenever we needed to

webgirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07039675481266794193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5795919.post-8070678187325893642007-07-02T19:54:00.000-07:002007-07-02T20:08:48.795-07:00

Lulu's StorySome kids have mobiles. I’d look up at the world through bars. What Grandmother did was to find an extra refrigerator shelf from a junk shop and put it over my bed like a lid. She said she didn’t want me to fall out.The shelf had not been well cleaned by the junk store owner. Yellow bits of dried goop dripped down toward me like so many stalactites, crusted over with ancient droppings

webgirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07039675481266794193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5795919.post-53615964482230983202007-06-29T03:46:00.000-07:002007-08-23T13:01:16.942-07:00

Since the moon humbled herselfSince the moon humbled herself to rule by nightThe universe decreed that when she comes forth,stars shall come forth with her,and when she goes in, they shall go in with her.Tonight stars have taken a break.They have been replaced by sound.I hear breath and cars below.I go no where. I turn inside my hollow.Moon and her consorts are mist.Striated bands of Jupiter are

webgirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07039675481266794193noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5795919.post-77746253017032625072007-05-26T22:36:00.000-07:002007-06-29T20:36:24.471-07:00

To Mischa on Her Graduation from High School,June 3, 2007What can I say my earthquake girlwho's about to put your first long leg behind youyeah, I can't believe it's happened so fast,that's what we parents all say...You grew up with your cheeks smeared with oatmealplayed with Barbies wanted to do arts and craftson the kitchen table, but never to pull out weeds in the backyard,smothered your cat

webgirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07039675481266794193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5795919.post-91580542840796062692007-05-21T23:36:00.001-07:002007-08-07T08:33:15.960-07:00

8Soliloquy Between Closed and OpenI go to the living roomwhere the tv glares,and decide whether to turn it off, or choose a book to read,when I hear a knock that disrupts the surface of the door.Here's a portal leading to the kitty litter boxthen to a geranium shiningin full red bloom.I've been dealt worse.Shut up, girl.Just open the door.

webgirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07039675481266794193noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5795919.post-75280229898353302892007-05-18T16:10:00.000-07:002007-05-22T11:37:50.233-07:00

Freedom of Speech7. Peace ProcessPerson 1: You said you were going to park your car over there and you didn't. Why do we even bother having these discussions?Person 2: I don't remember saying that. You must be confusing me with someone else.Person 3: Anywhere you get Linux clusters you're going to see scalable distributed storage systems.Person 1: I absolutely remember your saying that.Person 2:

webgirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07039675481266794193noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5795919.post-69961806762146641492007-05-13T23:29:00.001-07:002007-05-24T12:16:27.961-07:00

Freedom of Speech6. Take-out!Person 1: (Standing in front of a microphone.) Go on. Say anything you want. This is a free country.Person 2: (remains silent.)Person 1: The first thing that pops into your head. It's only a rehearsal.Person 2: (remains silent)Person 1: Really. Just open your mouth and say anything. Anything you want.Person 2. (opens his mouth and makes a brief sound.)Person 1: Good.

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