Let down my guard – split, shed my skin – Phoenix rise in my mind, no one sees. ~ Spring fever brain boil – thoughts drip moist (like) sweat from Tarzan’s breast – salt on skin. ~ “Nasty Man” (©️Gabriel Earl Music, 2017) (words and music by Joan Baez)
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108 Days of American Sentence – Day 18
Cold wet weight crushing old limbs already heavy with sap, springtime snow. ~
Read More108 Days of American Sentence – Day 1
“Oh no! I’ll eat the shit out of anything!” he blurted — and she smiled. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ When I think about America today – man, like I have no words. So I’m gonna make it simple, and maybe even mindful. For the next 108 days I’ll write at least one American Sentence a day. I don’t…
Read MoreBell Blue: Dial-A-Poem ~ A Call for Work
Dear Energetic Readers and Writers, This year I was lucky to be part of an amazing project that started right here in Flagstaff, Arizona. I recorded five poems for Elizabeth Hellstern’s project, The Telepoem Booth, after she put out a call to writers last winter. By spring, the booth was up and running (and one of…
Read MoreMaggie and Jack
Been thinking about Jack Kerouac and Maggie Estep today. Bad Day at the Beauty Salon And Maggie’s classic: I’m An Emotional Idiot. and: I’m Happy
Read MoreVillanelle – Pressing Against Chaos
Wish I Were the Earth Wish I were the earth could open my mouth and swallow the blur. Turn a wail to a purr in my warm dark house if I were the earth. A natural re-birth on deep stable ground if I could swallow the blur. Wouldn’t leave me to murmur my pain in…
Read Moresometimes you are helpless
Humid Breath is pulled from my lungs. My throat goes hollow every time a howling fire truck wails down the street. My throat goes hollow, I could swallow those anxious faces peering from the fire truck wailing down the street. It would be safer in my mouth— I could swallow those anxious faces peering, despite…
Read Moreriding the changes
While going through my things, I found this poem. I wrote it in 2005 while living in New York City. I made a couple of edits. It’s a play off of a poem by John Ashbury.
Read MoreBorn on a Thursday #47 – awake, alive
As I was cycling home, I realized that there are a lot of people who were pivotal in (saving) my life during that time (the 90s) in New York – and so many of those people who were important to my development as a writer and artist and loving human being, I will never see again. There I was, pedaling slowly up the mesa, into the sunset, with cars flying past me and tears streaming down my face.
I felt awake, and more alive than I have felt in a long while.
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