Monday, August 31, 2009
Friday, August 28, 2009
Now off to get that Pulitzer!
In other news, I have two bags of poetry books in the back of my car. I tried to give them away recently and no one wanted most of them. They are the kind of books friends give you because they know you write poetry and so therefore you would like a book titled 'One Hundred Greatest Love Poems" or some such.
Maybe the used bookstore down the street wants them. Or maybe I'll leave them at bus stop benches. I'm sure there are folks who need a poetry boost when waiting for the bus with their latte.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Melancholy, in spite of the tomatoes which have exploded all over the garden. Little yellow ones that taste like candy and were seeded from last year's garden. Lots 'o green and little tomatoes but candified.
A crow and drops of rain hanging from the telephone wires outside my window. After I moved upstairs, I face the street now and can behave like a properly nutty cat-woman watching garbage cans rolling in the wind and neighbors moving about, yelling into cell phones and going off to work.
Off to the dentist this AM. My dentist owns a hobby farm on an island, raises sheep and sheep dogs and chickens. I buy eggs from my dentist, cruelty free eggs. Twice a year. And I get a new toothbrush. We always gossip and make my appointment run over. She knows more about me than my therapist. Perhaps if my therapist were a dentist...
I think I will take out the ancient lilac. It keeps shedding parts of itself. I'll plant a new young tree in it's place. We chopped the rose bush right down yesterday. Eden says it will recover. I hope so. It's ancient. And makes bright yellow roses. And it has wicked thorns, wicked and huge.
I forgot to scatter Yogi's ashes when Eden was here. He's still on the piano.
I just found out that my tax guy is actually a professional trumpeter. Now I trust him. He's an artist. I have no logical reason to trust him but I do. Because he played with Ray Charles.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Today I am showing my mother-in-law apartment. How do you let a stranger into your house and live there? So far I've only had friends or acquaintances (except for one lady who decorated like it was a hotel room and she never lived there). Oh, and the house sitter locked herself out so she broke a window into the MIL (cuz she was naked and freezing) and before she could get the window repaired, one of the cats got in and peed on the bed. That renter was a wee bit angry. Oops.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Monday, August 17, 2009
the unfortunate bedtime story
proprioception all topsy-turvy
she licked blood from my ankle
how can you ask me to tell the truth
little blue lumps like monuments
I only wanted peace
someone to mist the hedges
when they threw the horse hair sofas on the garage
I was sure I had seen a calamity
her hands shaped like missiles
after the Air Force jimmied the lock
I took cover in the afterthought
my hair captivates this month
my shoes sparkle in glory
rest a while against the yellow carcass
peel me another Slim Jim
grease coats my palm wine
a rainbow was found the bassinet
it must be a fucking miracle
strangers think they know me
all because of the ball peen hammer
it grew in the garden next to the cabbage
I over watered
I make the same mistakes every year
forgive everything I ever fed you
I was only pretending to like you
even the part about tucking you in
no wonder you have bad dreams
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Monday, August 03, 2009
Then there is Doe Bay, a hippie resort with outside hot tubs and a huge sauna. We can sneak in at night and sit in the steamy water and look over the water and the trees and all those Northwesty things. Maybe we'll look for some herons, in honor of R.
I have several Leo's in my life and they are all excellent. Extremely important. If I could role them all into one person, they could rule the world. or at least Seattle and Portland. Or maybe they could just rule Powell's, the best bookstore anywhere on earth. Their poetry section is respectably huge. And it's not in the darkest dustiest (sp?) most far away back corner with only 2 books, one of them the "world's greatest poetry from the 14th century to the present day" with the 3 requisite women: Elizabeth Bishop, Emily Dickinson, and Muriel Rukeyser and 85 men. The other book is a Robert Frost collection.
Not that I'm bitter.