That's a Great Idea. No One Will Show Up.

Hello.

Yes, I know; it's been a while. What's new with you?

I've spent the last year and a half or so re-configuring Third Thursday Poets in one way or another. I know TTP has bounced around a lot; chaos and instability are part of the creative process. As is dedication.

TTP is nothing if not creative.

I am nothing if not dedicated.

Still, I did get tired of getting kicked out of places. We're poets for God's sake, not anarchists.

Well.

Most of us.

Not wanting another move for at least a year, I opened Brigadoon Books in the basement of The Reed Opera House in beautiful downtown Salem, Oregon.

A crazy venture during these times, I know.

However, the best way to combat crazy is with more crazy, only in a different direction. I am just the person to do it.

Plus, all of the poets and writers who have supported Third Thursday Poets for 77 READINGS need a place for their work in the capital of Oregon. TTP has been blessed with such an embarrassment of riches it's a crime to keep it all to ourselves.

This is a long way of saying I am resuscitating TTP's blog. Please check back often as I will post information about upcoming readings, TTPer news, my own poetry, etc.

And please, do visit Brigadoon. It's real.

Depression

I.
I'd better get up off the floor;
I'm starting to scare the cats.

II.
In a desparate attempt to feel better,
I cleaned the house.

III.
As soon as I started organizing things,
it all got so much messier.

Love Poem

I will keep you in the chokehold of my brilliance
until you acknowledge
that I am
The Other.

I will pour stars into your flowers
until you bloom
into the bliss
of our love.

I will lay at your feet
and wash away
the sins of the world
you carry in your heart.

I will sing your song
into your soul
until you forget the cruelty
and rejoice once again.

I will burn for you
long after the embers
of civilization
blow away.

I will walk in the snow
with holes in my shoes
happy that we are rich
in each other.

I will breathe every breath into you
until the last gasp
we take
from each other’s mouths.

Aplomb (Cat Poem)

It’s the way that they look at you,
as if where else would they be
but sitting upon the roof?

Flowers in the Kitchen

The checker at the grocery store
—also a widow—
remarks longingly
how she misses being brought flowers
as she fingers the blooms
I select for myself.

I tell her:
“I buy my own flowers,
rather than do without.”

She replies:
“He must have loved you very much.”

I had a boyfriend once,
who thought flowers an inconvenience.
He didn’t last long.

Still, he was my favorite.

On Organizing Poetry Readings

It’s always the lesser-known poets,
—the ones who were last published in high school—
who view us as quite privileged
to be hosting them.

It’s not that they lack talent
or insight
or rhythm.

It’s that their perception of their celebrity
far exceeds the reality of human capacity.

You know who I’m talking about:
the poet who wants a daisy in her lavender water;
or The New York Times notified of his participation.

in my poetry series
in my very small town
west of the Rockies.

Directions

Ever notice how “there goes nothing” and
“here comes something”
really mean
the same thing?