gracious like summer

good sister smears
incomplete shadows
against the endless landscape
gracious like summer
singing faintly and falling
on turned branches

leaves struggling in the
moment unnoticed when
familiar bodies stretched low
push against tense skin
healing rapidly for
the glory of a living prize

poetry at work

I work overnight shifts at a youth shelter. Sometimes in my down time in the middle of the night I write poetry on the walls in the dining room.

Wednesday night's poetry included: Claude McKay, Bob Perleman, Rodney Koeneke, and Ron Padgett.

An ecclectic, but fun, mix of poems.

these hands

gracious hands
bring in the
detached wanderer
carrying light through
the saffron memories
of a dripping sun
melted together
with the pageantry
of city and sky

longing stretches
down beside the
familiar pictures
of golden explosions
but nobody wants
to contemplate
the rumbling

ginger sky

dark nectar on
branches brings
scent tingling faintly
upon glazed rain
leaving shadows on
bottomless memories
wax picture colors
stain strange hands
singing in flickers
of tangerine flame
rising the moment
starlings clang
in the ginger sky

Featured Writer: Lillian Short

This is the first of many upcoming featured writer/artist posts. As Sweet Lozey continues to grow, we will be featuring experimental writing and art from many talented women. I am thrilled to present Lillian Short as the first featured writer. Though young in age, Lillian's artistic ability is already recognized within her community. Her passion is painting and drawing but she is a talented writer as well.

Two (short) poems by Lillian Short:

...

delicious starlings are
only red plums

...

heavily red is stretched
among fire trucks where
iceboxes carry green people
across the sky and
endless heads drown

...

morning stroll

Women in Small Press Article

Lynn Alexander writes a monthly column about women in small press for the Literary Mary Newsletter. The June column is about Sweet Lozey (and me). You can read the article here:
Literary Mary Article

Lynn is an impressive lady and someone that I greatly admire. She is involved with many literary projects, including editing Full of Crow. I was really excited when she asked to write an article about Lozey. To learn more about Lynn, click here.

there’s more to the story

girl is moving
at the speed of light
whirled violently
and changes direction

got me to thinking
so i pulled up a box
and wrenched another
peach off the tree

she stared limply at space
speeding toward her
and considered the
possibilities of existence

but this isn’t the real story
it was pitched off
into the distant past
to be stripped away

we couldn’t travel there
she begged me to tell her
the story until there was
nothing left but hunger

what he does, he does well

the slowdown creeps
in the flickering shadows
like the grey fading grin
of rip van winkle

he impetuously packs a
scribbled hurry-up letter in
a box of roman rockets
and slips into the dark

flicker

muscles convulse
the system is perplexed

overcome by the madness
of unrelenting quiet

shouting inequities
across the widening universe

fire crackles like
shattered alabaster doves

in the shadow of
faded celluloid memories

sleep comes easy
but ransacks the soul

interpretations

we discovered truth
late one night
though you might
not remember it

hastily dragged out
and hanged in
the courtyard before
it could be recorded

we were close then
interpreting the prophesies
quietly spoken by the
captain of the guard

his revelations were
profound even if
they were screwed up
from time to time

virtuous women

girl never trusted
the slow
             comfortable
rhythms of
         my schemes

            even when i invented
explanations
              for scandals
               and shifted blame
       to virtuous women

                  girl protected what
           she wanted with
             energy from the
    tips of
                   her toes

she intervened when
               peace was
        torn apart
            and struggled to put it
back together again

A Day at the Beach

A Wrong Turn

      “Will you marry me?” The words echoed through Colleen’s brain as the corridor lights flashed by in a haze. Had she really heard those words? Did that night really happen? She was sure that it hadn’t. It was all a dream and she was going to wake at any moment and not find herself wheeling toward an operating room. Did she say “yes?” It didn’t really matter because it wasn’t real. She tried to convince herself that it wasn’t real.
      The pain in her side felt real. More real than any dream she’d ever had before. She couldn’t wake herself up. What if she admitted that it wasn’t a dream? What if it was real? It would mean he really turned and the car really crashed and he was really…
      No, it’s not real. It can’t be real. Something that starts out so beautifully isn’t allowed to end like this! It was a perfect night. The right spot with the right ring with the right words. Perfection isn’t allowed to end in a nightmare.
      She heard the words again. “Will you marry me?” They echoed through her brain as the anesthesia flooded through her body and she passed out.

I Bit Couch Boy

I am enrolled in a 4-week-long conceptual writing workshop that started this week. So far, some of the exercises have been really fun. I will post some of the more interesting projects on the blog to share with all of you.

There was a discussion on Oulipo this week. I anagrammed the first verse of “Ice, Ice Baby” by Vanilla Ice. Each line has the same number of syllables as it's corresponding line in the song. I also, for the most part, retained the aabbccdd... rhyme structure that occurs in the song. The result is titled "I Bit Couch Boy." The title was created from the left-over letters.

I Bit Couch Boy

Wannabe feel mighty or betrayed
Darling hit hypo lost to a mace babe
Trollop valid lethal spawn crack-head
Liberate the pesthole hotly and wasted
Ill check leeching filth caught in the soul
Kill two geishas and I stroll
The phony is shrinking heavily invented
Yeah negative rep kicked-over, maxed and melted
Months of puking in opium rooms
Down playing loopy on familiar robot tunes
Madhouse looks from a bitchy kiwi rind
Oh I'm putty like weevils with no legit mind
You obeyed yet I'm the only flogger
A legend known to hit home wittier
I'll get ready a vehicle you don't outweigh
No ill solos just an extravagant lay

zero volume

there didn’t seem to be
much point in faithfully
observing the rules
when they realized they
were trapped in a region
of space time on the verge
of gravitational collapse

they were not expected
to survive long enough
to reach the crucial
question about beauty
and the process of
random discovery

frustrated about treasure
visible through peepholes
while securely contained in
shallow theories they
faced the ongoing problem
but limitations resulted in
significant failure

Butterfly Garden

Log Cabin block quilt.  Hand stitched and quilted.

Happily Ever After

      Listen to your mother when she says, "You're not getting any younger, Patty. No man will want you if you’re old. Find someone before it's too late."
     Remind her that you have plenty of time. Pretend that you secretly don't worry that she's right. Convince yourself that life will be good, even if she is. Alone doesn't necessarily mean lonely.

Y Y Y

     Panic slightly when your best friend gets married. Panic even more when she starts having children. Have a complete nervous breakdown when your younger sister gets married and gives birth seven months later. Do the math and realize why she got married.

Y Y Y

     Try not to feel rejected when your friends don’t have time for you because they have plans with their husbands. Convince yourself that you can go to the club alone. Sit at home instead and watch An Affair to Remember. Remind your self that "alone doesn't mean lonely." Question the sanity of the source of that statement. Remember that you are the source.

Y Y Y

     Meet a man at a bar. Decide you could marry him if he changed a few minor things. Is there any way to change his eye color or get rid of the skull tattoo on his forehead? Secretly tell yourself there is no one who could possibly make a worse husband. Openly declare that you love him just the way he is. Register for china and flatware three weeks after you meet him. He’ll learn to agree with your taste once you're married.
     Move in with him. Work two jobs and pay all the bills while he stays home to work on his music career. Believe that he could actually become a famous musician, even if he doesn't play an instrument and the deaf neighbor threatened to call the police if he ever sang again. Listen to your mother when she says, "He won't buy the cow if he can get the milk for free." Wonder if you should be insulted when your mother compares you to a cow.

Y Y Y

     Stay in the dead-end relationship for three years. Worry that you’ll be alone forever if you leave. Keep hoping that one day he’ll get down on one knee with a diamond ring. Realize that the only way you’ll get a ring is if you buy it yourself.
     Decide to not bail your boyfriend out of jail. He claimed that he had nothing to do with the llama and eggplant, but the video contains all the gritty details. Anonymously send the video to the D.A.’s office. Move to a new house and change your phone number.

Y Y Y

     Go through a series of random, meaningless relationships. Freak out if a guy shows any signs of commitment.
      Go to the doctor after vomiting for three weeks straight. Get angry when she suggests the possibility of pregnancy. Refuse to believe the doctor, even after the test comes back positive. Take two more tests. Wonder who the father is.
      Go out to a bar to try and drink away the problem. Feel guilty when the beer bottle brushes against your lips. Put it down and order a soda. Meet a man with the perfect shade of blue-green eyes. Choose not to tell him about the baby. Fall in love. Get your hopes up when he starts talking about marriage and family. Finally tell him about the pregnancy. Try not to be too disappointed when he walks out the door and tells you to never call him again.

Y Y Y

     Hide from your mother for the next four months. Ignore her phone calls, even when she resorts to leaving guilt-ridden voice messages. “Patty, sweetie, this is your mother. Normally I wouldn’t identify myself on the phone but I was worried that you might have forgotten what my voice sounds like. My voice. Your mother’s voice.” Hit delete. “Patty, honey, are you there? I wanted to come see you but you moved again and forgot to tell me. At least, I hope you moved. I met a woman with spiked purple hair at your apartment yesterday. Patty, are you a lesbian now? It’s ok if you are. You just need to tell me so we can fix it.” Hit delete.

Y Y Y

     Accidentally run into your sister at the grocery store. Try to convince her that you’ve just put on some extra weight. Bribe her when she threatens to tell your mom.
     Go home and find your mother sitting on your front porch. Mentally plan how to get back at your sister for giving her your address. Distract your mother with cute baby clothes when she asks who fathered the child.

     Give birth. Give your daughter your last name. Do everything you possibly can to avoid being like your mother. Swear never to compare your daughter to a cow.

Y Y Y

     Console your sister when she discovers that her husband has been cheating with your best friend. Console your best friend’s husband after your sister tells him about the affair. Fend off his advances when he swears that he is going to get back at his slut wife by sleeping with you.
     Do everything possible to keep your sister from self-destructing during a desperate attempt to recapture her youth. Avoid spending time with your sister and friend together. Wonder why your best friend’s ex-husband and your brother-in-law are now living together. Decide that you are better off not knowing.

Y Y Y

     Watch your daughter grow older. Record her first steps, first words, and first date. Attend her high school graduation. Drive over five hundred miles to take her to college. Insist that she call home three times a day. Settle her into the dorms and slowly walk away. Let loose the tears that you’ve been holding inside for years.
     Drive home. Unplug the telephone. Lock the door. Enjoy the quiet. Finally understand that alone really doesn’t necessarily mean lonely.

The End.

YYY

locker stories

the problem with the
skeleton king is that
he always takes over
and then crashes into
the corn field or the
pile of human remains

he gets distracted by
golems telling him
hard, dark secrets about
the farmer drowning
aliens and wearing
their dead, scaly skin

it’s better though
than before when he
sat around all day
ranting about advancing
hordes and spitting
seeds all over the ground

high resolution

i’m still shocked that he
made that jump over
Mango Falls even though
things like that are easy
for him and a first-place
finish was guaranteed

being with him was a
departure from my usual
close-to-home indie party
but he insisted that i
get easy with danger
and run through the
forget-me-nots to find the
king’s missing theory

stepping over paving slabs
scattered by the little girls
who dream of flat-footed
spontaneity i pushed forward
and kicked up dust particles
mixed with dimly lit fireflies