Month: April 2011
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Home and tired
The tree outside has red lollipops on the branches. The daffodils popped open like yellow parasoles while I was gone. More sprouts, more flowers, so many more than I even planted. There’s promise in the pool of water at the base of my tulips. Tomorrow in the 80s and then back down to the 60s,…
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Mediastorm.com
I learned about this site in college – mediastorm.com. Brian Storm the creator came to speak in one of my photojournalism classes about new media, how they were using new media to present stories. I forget to come here. And every time I remember and come back I’m moved in so many ways by the…
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AHHH
I’m taking Thursday and Friday off to meet my folks in DC. I’m going to go to big bookstores and markets and galleries and new restaurants and see cherry blossoms and all things city and city people. This is my mom and me or mom-me or me and my mom or the person I will end…
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Ebbs
I’ve been running around poems the past week. Unable to settle on one I want to sit with. It’s all feeling. Sticking your hand into murky water, waiting for a bite. In Oklahoma they call this noodling. I’m not a big beefy man with hairy arms and cut-off camo, but I still feel like I’m…
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High-class
The other night I had a dream I was back in school. It was a huge, all-encompassing school not broken at all by grades. The building was a warm caramel color, dipped in gold light. I passed the first building which I knew I didn’t belong in. And then I walked into a class I…
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Waiting room
This morning in the head-lady’s office, a young guy walked in with a dunkin donuts coffee, he smelled like expensive generic cologne and looked like he walked out of a ralph lauren ad with the white sailor shoes and the cream-colored wind breaker. He seemed too happy to be seeing a therapist and he wondered…
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My defenses were down – this one didn't even knock
Across a Great Wilderness without You by Keetje Kuipers The deer come out in the evening. God bless them for not judging me, I’m drunk. I stand on the porch in my bathrobe and make strange noises at them— language, if language can be a kind of crying. The tin cans scattered in the meadow…
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On the brink
The pearls of rain adorned on the telephone wires never looked so beautiful. Please don’t snow, please don’t snow, please don’t snow…