Category: poetry

don’t hesitate

disappeared in this
entanglement i wonder
how autumn fell out

a second early (or late)
this seedling fades in memory

Permanent link to this article:

No good?


a peak at lyrics from upcoming new music from Tom Waits.

Permanent link to this article:

Tree of Codes

I’ve had this on order at Amazon for months, but finally noticed in the reviews that Barnes & Noble had it in stock on their website.  In his latest work of fiction, Jonathan Safron Foer has literally cut out a new story from Bruno Schulz’s classic story The Street of Crocodiles (also known as The Cinnamon Shops).

The result is something beautiful…words from pages below peeking up into the current page…giving so many different ways to read each page.  Reading through front to back is quick, as there aren’t many words on each page…and each page is only one-sided.  But this is something I imagine you’d want to read over…seeing the different ways the words come together.

About the book (from Jonathan Safron Foer):

The making of the book (from the publisher):

Tree of Codes (Publisher’s Microsite)

Permanent link to this article:

Trying to Pray

Trying to Pray

This time, I have left my body behind me, crying
In its dark thorns.
There are good things in this world.
It is dusk.
It is the good darkness
Of women’s hands that touch loaves.
The spirit of a tree begins to move.
I touch leaves.
I close my eyes, and think of water.

— James Wright

Permanent link to this article:

A Presence

the presence of the
tree provides the nourishing
words the mushroom needs

Permanent link to this article:

Last Letter

From this Channel 4 news report

Jonathan Pryce reads a newly rediscovered poem by Ted Hughes where he imagines his wife’s last night before her suicide.

A devastatingly beautiful intimate poem, not originally included in his Birthday Letters collection (though I imagine it will be added to a new edition).

Permanent link to this article:

Humpday Haiku: LA Freeways

hit the brakes! avoid
the woman switching lanes
with me still beside.

Ah…driving in LA, always an adventure.  Do the holidays make us drive worse?  Today’s near miss was at least the 4th time in the past couple weeks where someone has attempted to change lanes despite the presence of my vehicle next to them.  Most of the time, they realize their blunder and quickly move back to their lane.  But the woman driving the Jeep today, just kept coming, completely oblivious (at least by appearances), never fully switching into my lane and cutting off the person who was in front of her in her original lane.  To be fair…I did this to a motorcyclist myself in the past couple weeks, but he was sitting in my blind spot splitting lanes.  I was driving the vanpool minivan.

Permanent link to this article:

Humpday Haiku: For Grandpas…

fall grieves the loss of
family covering earth
with tearfull leaves

ahh…the best laid plans.  I had intended to make this a weekly feature with the posting of the first haiku on Nov 4th.  But then I was called to jury duty and the past two Wednesdays were my only days in the office (and therefore quite busy).

This weeks haiku is inspired by Alicia’s grandpa, Stan, who passed away last week, my grandpa, Harold, who taught me what it meant to love (and passed away in August 1991), and my other grandpa, Mike, who is facing the upcoming second anniversary of my grandma’s death.

Permanent link to this article:

Humpday Haiku: A Foggy Day

fog filled mornings a
reminder so. cal. summers
do indeed relent

I’ve decided I need to get back to a habit of writing more.  Both on this blog and in general.  So to help kickstart this goal, I’m going to start posting a haiku every Wednesday on the blog.

Permanent link to this article:



Sweet Jesus, talking
   his melancholy madness,
      stood up in the boat
         and the sea lay down,

silky and sorry.
   So everybody was saved
      that night
         But you know how it is

when something
   different crosses
      the threshold–the uncles
         mutter together,

the women walk away,
   the young brother begins
      to sharpen his knife.
         Nobody knows what the soul is.

It comes and goes
   like the wind over the water–
      sometimes, for days,
         you don’t think of it.

Maybe, after the sermon,
   after the multitude was fed,
      one or two of them felt
         the soul slip forth

like a tremor of pure sunlight,
   before exhaustion,
      that wants to swallow everything,
         gripped their bones and left them

miserable and sleepy,
   as they are now, forgetting
      how the wind tore at the sails
         before he rose and talked to it–

tender and luminous and demanding
   as he always was–
      a thousand times more frightening
         than the killer sea.

            –Mary Oliver from House of Light

Permanent link to this article: