Ongoing work

A portion of a quilt that I am working on.  I expect that it will take several years to finish as I am stitching it completely by hand and I am hoping to have this be big enough to fit a queen sized bed.  Stubbs kitty likes it.

Kitty Yoshida City Girl collection.

Dream of Space

I love all-things vintage sci-fi, especially work from the 1950s and early 1960s. Much of my own writing is inspired by old sci-fi movies, books, and art.

Today, instead of posting a new poem I would like to share one of my favorite blogs.
Dream of Space is a beautiful collection of space-related print media marketed to children. The archives contain wonderful artwork about visions of space travel and adventures on other planets - some serious and scholarly, others pure flights of fancy. I hope that you will take some time to enjoy this blog.

Somewhat related...

At some point in the 1980s, I remember reading a futuristic short story about two children who find a book in storage. The children grew up reading on electronic screens and had never seen a book before. The story is about the children discovering the process of reading the printed word. It was written at the point when home computers were starting to become readily available - though at the time electronic transmission of information was still limited and it would be another decade before Internet access for the common consumer would be marketable. I don't remember the name of the story, but it still sticks with me today. Every time I see a Kindle or a Nook I think about that short story and I smile.

"The visions we offer our children shape the future. It matters what those visions are. Often they become self-fulfilling prophecies. Dreams are maps" Carl Sagan, 1994

blue

after that we
            talked about
        glossy lipstick
                              like revelation

      sitting on the
                     grass
           under the trees
        lining main street

                   he described
                            the formality
     of old town issues
                   and the tightness of
                                          good-byes

not that it matters
             when the scenery
          shines brilliantly
    under the blue glow
         of hotel neon lights

a little ditty

     i’m gonna drink this
              blue ribbon beer
and get zen

                   run around the
          kitchen table
                on newly-waxed floors
     in my bubble-wrap socks

gettin’ noisy while i
               march down to
             the rio and
                    move the borders

[play the A-Team theme]
                         reconquista
             for the new king

planning massive protests
      while cussin’ at the
                pinball machine
     in the corner

             the people here
are nice but sometimes
         they’re a little crazy

the feel of it

funny that it sounded
                   reverent
          gripping like stubble
    on a muscled jaw

this habit          upright
keeps silent so long
            then gives way
      to clicking on concrete

the rhythm of deep blue reason
                       and cotton-speak kisses
      lingering
                outside the community center

she was good
     she was very…

to say the least

shindig

i scribbled
           alligators
    on dirty white cinder walls
wrapping invisible bands
                     on the background
   like giants     but a bit less harmful

                   i nodded and tapped
           my foot on the waxed
                    cement floor
when the fighting broke out
         and i noticed that
      i couldn’t see my reflection
                              anymore

routine

he drew in
           another breath
and opened his eyes

                   focused and imagined
         expecting to see rain
    falling on the shoreline
                     absorbed by
                                    the tree
                  until it reaches the wind
                  and forms another cloud

               all he found
                          was noise
          the sort of refinements
that keep life from being
                                  polite
            ideas about things
                                    shouting
        chasing each other
               refusing to be
the first to stop
           and take notice
     when they’ve reached
               the place where there
                                       is no sound

In Search of Lofwyr

I went on a road trip to Crater lake yesterday for a birthday snowball fight. This is one of the many reasons why I love living in Oregon. I live within an hour's drive to awesomeness like this:

Note: Lofwyr is a dragon from an RPG called Shadowrun. In the game, he takes up residence at Wizard Island in Crater Lake.

religion

This is the church where I was baptized. It is being torn down to make room for an expansion for the parole/probation office.

what i love

don't say you love me
unless you really mean it
cause i might sweat it
like i sweat tuna melts
on a saturday night

i love to sit on the patio
and watch cars go by
basking in the fake
spotlight of scribbles
saying words like “peace”

broken for the oh-so
tragically hip trick
but let’s move on before
you figure out that
sentence made zero sense

i really love you like i
love animals and robots
but not necessarily
in that order and so you
end up with something
entirely sentimental

this is why you don’t
sleep with emo kids
and why you are supposed
to love life and hate kittens
and be happy all the time

this narrative is all about
love unlocking the truth
angsty like charles’s granny
but not his missus, at least
not that one in particular

sometimes i crave sushi and
knitted hats from grandma
which means i can’t be
naughty anymore, but yeah

i just imagine that the sun
could melt like snow and
then i would run to you
and flow into falsehoods
right out of the pages of
a teen romance book

Ed Versluis Memorial contest

I entered the Ed Versluis Memorial Contest at Southern Oregon University again this year and I placed first for poetry - second year in a row!

The poem is printed on the Cognito blog, which is run by students in the English/Writing program at SOU. All of the winning entries can be read by clicking HERE.

Congratulations to all of the finalists.

Currently Reading...

Fables, volume 6
Unwritten
Mr. Hyde
The Walking Dead

fun with photoshop

Currently Reading...

Locke & Key, Volume 2
Fables, Volume 3
Axe Cop

lingering

i drifted back
           remembering the way
      it had been before

                eyes that trusted
his breath on my cheek
          whispering promises

while the world
            crashed down
                the steps
         and littered
                   the gutters

i melted
               and slid
                 into the chaos

        boy pressed in and
brought me back
                  to the moment

them boots

girl was there
without her boots

couldn’t wait anymore
caressed the edge

scared that she
               might slide
      unstoppable
                    babbling on

but she was committed
to get on with it

knucklebones

silence hung over us
like the last rays
fighting to light the clouds

difficult to satisfy skin
when the need to
                            interlock

slips through the fingers
of cupped hands marked
by the ancestry of strangers

an hour to kill

boy sat in the corner
shook his head and
looked at the new information

he tended to forget
that he was the heir
to the whole story

he talked about doing--
a bus to San Francisco
painting children
or something like that

but he only had
an hour to kill
and no extra room
in the empty pages
of his book

lacking

         this is not a
simple habit
assuming safety         contradicts
           the pursuit of blood ties

orientation for the
                            horrible things
            moving from
                           sad to violent
discouraged by the challenge of
               restructuring tradition

       no one sleeps
                   in the settlement houses
          dreams lost in decades of paperwork
      love loses its hold
             to the dominance
                                of obsession

waves

       i missed the
                    easy chatter
soft hands floating across my face
        constantly changing
                like the
sun-shot water of
           azure sea
                     sheer panels
                                        in blue
        gliding over
         bare shoulders and perfumed hair
precious enough to
             walk the dangerous route
                  and risk death
     in hopes of
                   finding clarity