Extroverted Introspection
by Brian "Seuss" Mosher
The delicious ambrosia of differences astounds me;
This bouquet of uniqueness has come to pique my interest
Much like the scintillating spectrum that abounds and surrounds us
That weaves the tapestries of our dreams while making miracles manifest.
That said, during our waking life, we dazedly dream,
And in our dreams, we wander around in wonder.
It’s a wonder that we exist in this, yet know not what it means
to be a being amongst beings casting all the spells we’re under.
This deluded illusion does not have to be a plague!
The keys to a life of elation aren’t that subtle or vague.
All you need to know of control, you already knew;
Shakespeare said it also: “To Thine Own Self Be True”.
Now I have heard it said that we’ve reached the “End of Days”.
I’ve been implored to batten down and be regretful for my sins,
But my sins have been my teachers, I’ve lived many different ways,
So let the days pass into sunset, and let evening begin.
Tuesday, November 30, 2004
Monday, November 29, 2004
Sight
For Ronny Kraft
the problem with trying to see the world of the 21st century
is that it’s gotten so complicated, so enormous
that in order to compensate
we’ve condensed, concentrated, consolidated, cultivated, confined, refined,
abridged, purified, and focused our surroundings
to the point that we’re not sure if what we see is reality anymore
we’ve put contact lenses on our world view
without realizing that any clarification, by design,
produces a distortion
but we weren’t ready for one on this scale
and the human race has been at this so long
we’ve forgotten what reality looked like when we started
when we turned open savannahs into urban jungles
we stopped adapting nature to fit us
we turned other species into products and figured out how to exterminate the
competition because capitalism isn’t an economic policy- it’s genetic
we cut up the landscape and sold in pieces to the suburbs
we spread 18-hole golf courses across prime real estate
and prosecuted children for trespassing when they built castles in sandtraps
we built million-dollar mansions in the shadow of red rocks so we could get
away from it all
unfortunately, it came with us
because we can’t escape our history
we’ve spent so much time trying to figure out what makes human beings tick
that we’ve relegated human nature
to a mixture of chemistry, physiology, numerology, astrology, biology,
cosmology, psychology, and neurology
to the point that we accepted ourselves as nothing more than the sum of our
parts
but we’re more than “-ologies”
we’re human
but when we’re locked in a jihad over which group has more right to occupy a
piece of Middle Eastern real estate
or we’re stuck with the dogma or born-again apathy teaching us to love a name
2000 years dead rather than love each other
or we have to endure the pretentions of self-righteous New Age shamans selling
reinvented spirituality and self-help books then you can see why it’s so easy
to give up hope
now we’re waging a war of attrition where we’re the enemy
and we’ve been on the losing side for a long, long, long time
because we’ve given up hope that we’re still worth saving
it’s not that we lost our purpose
it’s just that we forgot we had to find one
without help from Oprah’s Book Club or a made for TV movie
but here, now, we can end this civil war
by refusing to settle for this restructured reality
we can take out these contact lenses we’ve used to see
rejoin Nature as a member, not it’s master
we can tear down the illusions we’ve constructed to make us forget
that race, creed, color, nationality, ethnicity, belief, sex, age, and
orientation
doesn’t matter when we’re dead
because we’re all just ashes and dust renting space
we can remember that knowing what we are
doesn’t matter a damn
but knowing who we are while we’re here
is a purpose always worth dying for
the problem with trying to see the world of the 21st century
is that it’s gotten so complicated, so enormous
that in order to compensate
we’ve condensed, concentrated, consolidated, cultivated, confined, refined,
abridged, purified, and focused our surroundings
to the point that we’re not sure if what we see is reality anymore
we’ve put contact lenses on our world view
without realizing that any clarification, by design,
produces a distortion
but we weren’t ready for one on this scale
and the human race has been at this so long
we’ve forgotten what reality looked like when we started
when we turned open savannahs into urban jungles
we stopped adapting nature to fit us
we turned other species into products and figured out how to exterminate the
competition because capitalism isn’t an economic policy- it’s genetic
we cut up the landscape and sold in pieces to the suburbs
we spread 18-hole golf courses across prime real estate
and prosecuted children for trespassing when they built castles in sandtraps
we built million-dollar mansions in the shadow of red rocks so we could get
away from it all
unfortunately, it came with us
because we can’t escape our history
we’ve spent so much time trying to figure out what makes human beings tick
that we’ve relegated human nature
to a mixture of chemistry, physiology, numerology, astrology, biology,
cosmology, psychology, and neurology
to the point that we accepted ourselves as nothing more than the sum of our
parts
but we’re more than “-ologies”
we’re human
but when we’re locked in a jihad over which group has more right to occupy a
piece of Middle Eastern real estate
or we’re stuck with the dogma or born-again apathy teaching us to love a name
2000 years dead rather than love each other
or we have to endure the pretentions of self-righteous New Age shamans selling
reinvented spirituality and self-help books then you can see why it’s so easy
to give up hope
now we’re waging a war of attrition where we’re the enemy
and we’ve been on the losing side for a long, long, long time
because we’ve given up hope that we’re still worth saving
it’s not that we lost our purpose
it’s just that we forgot we had to find one
without help from Oprah’s Book Club or a made for TV movie
but here, now, we can end this civil war
by refusing to settle for this restructured reality
we can take out these contact lenses we’ve used to see
rejoin Nature as a member, not it’s master
we can tear down the illusions we’ve constructed to make us forget
that race, creed, color, nationality, ethnicity, belief, sex, age, and
orientation
doesn’t matter when we’re dead
because we’re all just ashes and dust renting space
we can remember that knowing what we are
doesn’t matter a damn
but knowing who we are while we’re here
is a purpose always worth dying for
The First Big Bang of the New Year
We could have gotten drunk together tonight.
Watched the moon come up.
Marveled at the colors we create.
Kissed away the old years' civilizations
Stood among the fools and sinners
artists, insomniacs, and insanities
dancing in the exuberance of ending time.
Watched the world tick one heartbeat closer to the next big bang.
Watched the moon come up.
Marveled at the colors we create.
Kissed away the old years' civilizations
Stood among the fools and sinners
artists, insomniacs, and insanities
dancing in the exuberance of ending time.
Watched the world tick one heartbeat closer to the next big bang.
No Through Street by David Ward
No Through Street
By David Ward
I can see the end of this road.
I can send myself down
rabbit-hole memory
and trace the faded double yellow
past the old house with the
broken shutters hanging like black eyes
and the ancient bricks starting to let
their hands slip because
the past happened years ago
and tomorrow happens overnight,
the old house whose edges ar
as blurry in my watercolor poetry
as they are in my recollection
of ever having lived there.
I can see the flowers growing in the
gravel beside this highway,
and I am not scared to remember
things I will see again.
I have walked this road
under skies with suns like fists
under skies like the breath mist in a mirror
under skies that are stretched too tight
and rip at the horizon.
I will walk this road
in days dark enough for moonlight
in days that fit without having to
crumple the edge
in days that come to early
and let the stars watch the first
minutes of dawn.
I can already feel the pavement
through the bottoms of my shredded soles
and there is no place to rest
in the orange glow of the tar tunnel
running like a worm-hole
through the heart of a mountain.
I can see where this road stops,
where it grinds to a halt at
some ocean's rough edge,
and I can wait there to be
broken by the breakers.
I can see the end
of this road.
It will die out with the
echo of my footsteps.
It will be reclaimed by the grass
that climbs up through
the unpatched cracks.
By David Ward
I can see the end of this road.
I can send myself down
rabbit-hole memory
and trace the faded double yellow
past the old house with the
broken shutters hanging like black eyes
and the ancient bricks starting to let
their hands slip because
the past happened years ago
and tomorrow happens overnight,
the old house whose edges ar
as blurry in my watercolor poetry
as they are in my recollection
of ever having lived there.
I can see the flowers growing in the
gravel beside this highway,
and I am not scared to remember
things I will see again.
I have walked this road
under skies with suns like fists
under skies like the breath mist in a mirror
under skies that are stretched too tight
and rip at the horizon.
I will walk this road
in days dark enough for moonlight
in days that fit without having to
crumple the edge
in days that come to early
and let the stars watch the first
minutes of dawn.
I can already feel the pavement
through the bottoms of my shredded soles
and there is no place to rest
in the orange glow of the tar tunnel
running like a worm-hole
through the heart of a mountain.
I can see where this road stops,
where it grinds to a halt at
some ocean's rough edge,
and I can wait there to be
broken by the breakers.
I can see the end
of this road.
It will die out with the
echo of my footsteps.
It will be reclaimed by the grass
that climbs up through
the unpatched cracks.
Saturday, November 27, 2004
First Christmas Without The Children by Mary Heyborne
First Christmas Without The Children
By Mary Heyborne
I waken early Christmas morn
Aware that we're alone,
Grasping remnants of fleeting dreams—
Of Christmas with children home.
Christmas, when all of us were young—
Those "vision splendid" years
When our arms could circle everyone
And only joy made tears.
And now we graying lovers sleep
Alone in our tinseled house.
No midnight tappings grace our door,
No "Can we get up now?"s.
No pre-dawn bounding from our bed
To stuff the biggest bird—
We'll start our little fowl past noon
And eat with scarce a word.
The rhythm of your breathing breaks.
I sense you're thinking, too,
Of distant loveds—and how this year
There’s only me and you.
I turn to your beloved face
And see reflected there—
Midst longing for what used to be—
The joys we yet can share.
We'll build a fire and open gifts—
Make all the Christmas fuss—
Then find the children's Santa mugs
And raise some juice to us.
By Mary Heyborne
I waken early Christmas morn
Aware that we're alone,
Grasping remnants of fleeting dreams—
Of Christmas with children home.
Christmas, when all of us were young—
Those "vision splendid" years
When our arms could circle everyone
And only joy made tears.
And now we graying lovers sleep
Alone in our tinseled house.
No midnight tappings grace our door,
No "Can we get up now?"s.
No pre-dawn bounding from our bed
To stuff the biggest bird—
We'll start our little fowl past noon
And eat with scarce a word.
The rhythm of your breathing breaks.
I sense you're thinking, too,
Of distant loveds—and how this year
There’s only me and you.
I turn to your beloved face
And see reflected there—
Midst longing for what used to be—
The joys we yet can share.
We'll build a fire and open gifts—
Make all the Christmas fuss—
Then find the children's Santa mugs
And raise some juice to us.
Monday, November 22, 2004
We Call Him Papa
for Frank Leslie "Buster" Redfield
May 14, 1925 - Oct. 31, 2004
we call him Papa
and he could move mountains with his silence
he fathered a family of artists
who knew the value of labor
the efficiency of expression
if it is unclear, rephrase it
if it is unusable, remove it
if it is imperfect, rework it
until it is as much a part of you
as a limb
he never said this
but his life implied it
his stone eyes
edited lies from our speech
before we could speak them
his hands held me tight once
after I sinned
they held me soft
when my father translated himself
into a mythology
I've since ceased believing in
his hands were the tools
with which he spoke through his silence
he carved and crafted rifles
like Stradivarius made violins
and the first recoil
was a symphony
compressed to a split second
he brought wood to life
as though generations of forests grew
to make the right grain
the right feel worthy of his talent
he did not build airplanes,
he built aircraft with the precision of a heart surgeon
knowing a loose screw, one misaligned wire
could transform a craft of beauty
into a coffin
and wife like his into a widow
he made no widows
except one
he crafted art that soared like mechanical angels
and made us feel
how he must have felt with Grandma
even in his absence he scares me
because he was so much more
of what a man should be
than the men I see around me
than the man who fathered me
he was sometimes the machine moving me
he was sometimes the monster under my bed
keeping me from going gently into the night
without fighting the darkness
he was sometimes a giant
stretching hands from horizon to horizon
holding down the sun and moon
and dictating their rising
I am convinced that eastern Montana
is so perfectly flat
in awe of him
we call him Papa
and he could move mountains with his silence
I never heard him say he loved her
not in words
not in a way I could steal
not in a way that the cheap poet in me
could have plagiarized into a stanza
for some mediocre poem unworthy of his memory
I never heard him say he loved her with words
he said it with his eyes
he said it in the stories my mother would tell me
about how he would raise armies and wage wars
just to bring her flowers
he said it with the way he told me
about driving across New York and Pennsylvania every weekend
just to see her for two hours between college classes and curfews
he said he loved her by playing "waltzing matilda" on a harmonica
like he was asking her to dance for the first time,
even after all these years
he said he loved her
by showing us how good man
should love a woman right
we call him Papa
and he could move mountains with his silence
he is the poet
me, his eldest grandson,
I am just his microphone
May 14, 1925 - Oct. 31, 2004
we call him Papa
and he could move mountains with his silence
he fathered a family of artists
who knew the value of labor
the efficiency of expression
if it is unclear, rephrase it
if it is unusable, remove it
if it is imperfect, rework it
until it is as much a part of you
as a limb
he never said this
but his life implied it
his stone eyes
edited lies from our speech
before we could speak them
his hands held me tight once
after I sinned
they held me soft
when my father translated himself
into a mythology
I've since ceased believing in
his hands were the tools
with which he spoke through his silence
he carved and crafted rifles
like Stradivarius made violins
and the first recoil
was a symphony
compressed to a split second
he brought wood to life
as though generations of forests grew
to make the right grain
the right feel worthy of his talent
he did not build airplanes,
he built aircraft with the precision of a heart surgeon
knowing a loose screw, one misaligned wire
could transform a craft of beauty
into a coffin
and wife like his into a widow
he made no widows
except one
he crafted art that soared like mechanical angels
and made us feel
how he must have felt with Grandma
even in his absence he scares me
because he was so much more
of what a man should be
than the men I see around me
than the man who fathered me
he was sometimes the machine moving me
he was sometimes the monster under my bed
keeping me from going gently into the night
without fighting the darkness
he was sometimes a giant
stretching hands from horizon to horizon
holding down the sun and moon
and dictating their rising
I am convinced that eastern Montana
is so perfectly flat
in awe of him
we call him Papa
and he could move mountains with his silence
I never heard him say he loved her
not in words
not in a way I could steal
not in a way that the cheap poet in me
could have plagiarized into a stanza
for some mediocre poem unworthy of his memory
I never heard him say he loved her with words
he said it with his eyes
he said it in the stories my mother would tell me
about how he would raise armies and wage wars
just to bring her flowers
he said it with the way he told me
about driving across New York and Pennsylvania every weekend
just to see her for two hours between college classes and curfews
he said he loved her by playing "waltzing matilda" on a harmonica
like he was asking her to dance for the first time,
even after all these years
he said he loved her
by showing us how good man
should love a woman right
we call him Papa
and he could move mountains with his silence
he is the poet
me, his eldest grandson,
I am just his microphone
Nameless Daughter
she jumps on a trampoline
in a yellow sundress
barefoot and giggling
like every little girl
should be doing when they are 8 years old
she is my nameless daughter
and on nights like this one
I wonder where she is
what she's thinking
how much longer she will wait to see me
and what poems I will write
when her long dark hair
parachutes behind her
before she whiplashes back into the sky
I will speak a thousand poems in a moment
when see flies free
she is my nameless daughter
with tree branch bruises on her arms
grass–stained knees
sticky fingers of who–knows–what
and a way of telling stories with giggles
like my grandmother that gives me back
my 8–years–old eyes
she moves as though she is always dancing
and snuggles close to me on road trips
we speak a language her mother can not decipher
because the way she says "daddy"
has a hundred different meanings
she is my nameless daughter
and I am terrified to meet her
because I am not better than this
I am skin and flesh and bone
and the mistakes of my history
I am forgotten fathers
I am the lies to lovers
I am the nights when I should have been writing
instead of sleeping or drinking or fucking
I am all the days of my life
that I did not seize by the throat
and ride into the sunset
I am terrified to meet her
because this is the man I have become
and she deserves better
than this
she is my nameless daughter
and I am terrified to meet her
because I have known the men
who have held daughters in their arms
shattered by forces they could not control
I have known the men
who have tried to breathe back life
into hollow lungs
I have known the men
who would have given everything they had
just to stop the bleeding
I have known the men
who have had to bury a daughter
instead of being buried by them
I have seen the eyes of men
who have seen their daughters
for the last time
and their eyes can never be mine
she is my nameless daughter
she should not see the world I have
she should not learn the words I know
she should not live by the mistakes
of all the fathers before me
who did not know she was coming
she should have a father
who is better than the man I have become
in a world that is better than mine
she should have a world where everyone
is still 8–years–old
no one has last names
and the word "stranger" is meaningless
she is my nameless daughter
and I am terrified to meet her
because these are the only arms I have to hold her
these are the only lips I have to kiss away bruises
this is the only voice I have to scatter the monsters
from beneath her bed and out into the night
this is the only body I have to sacrifice
to keep her safe
she deserves more
because I am not enough
in a yellow sundress
barefoot and giggling
like every little girl
should be doing when they are 8 years old
she is my nameless daughter
and on nights like this one
I wonder where she is
what she's thinking
how much longer she will wait to see me
and what poems I will write
when her long dark hair
parachutes behind her
before she whiplashes back into the sky
I will speak a thousand poems in a moment
when see flies free
she is my nameless daughter
with tree branch bruises on her arms
grass–stained knees
sticky fingers of who–knows–what
and a way of telling stories with giggles
like my grandmother that gives me back
my 8–years–old eyes
she moves as though she is always dancing
and snuggles close to me on road trips
we speak a language her mother can not decipher
because the way she says "daddy"
has a hundred different meanings
she is my nameless daughter
and I am terrified to meet her
because I am not better than this
I am skin and flesh and bone
and the mistakes of my history
I am forgotten fathers
I am the lies to lovers
I am the nights when I should have been writing
instead of sleeping or drinking or fucking
I am all the days of my life
that I did not seize by the throat
and ride into the sunset
I am terrified to meet her
because this is the man I have become
and she deserves better
than this
she is my nameless daughter
and I am terrified to meet her
because I have known the men
who have held daughters in their arms
shattered by forces they could not control
I have known the men
who have tried to breathe back life
into hollow lungs
I have known the men
who would have given everything they had
just to stop the bleeding
I have known the men
who have had to bury a daughter
instead of being buried by them
I have seen the eyes of men
who have seen their daughters
for the last time
and their eyes can never be mine
she is my nameless daughter
she should not see the world I have
she should not learn the words I know
she should not live by the mistakes
of all the fathers before me
who did not know she was coming
she should have a father
who is better than the man I have become
in a world that is better than mine
she should have a world where everyone
is still 8–years–old
no one has last names
and the word "stranger" is meaningless
she is my nameless daughter
and I am terrified to meet her
because these are the only arms I have to hold her
these are the only lips I have to kiss away bruises
this is the only voice I have to scatter the monsters
from beneath her bed and out into the night
this is the only body I have to sacrifice
to keep her safe
she deserves more
because I am not enough
Sunday, November 7, 2004
Bush wins four more years. I'm buying a gun. No, seriously.
“Fascism is an extreme right-wing ideology which embraces nationalism as the transcendent value of society. The rise of Fascism relies upon the manipulation of populist sentiment in times of national crisis. Based on fundamentalist revolutionary ideas, Fascism defines itself through intense xenophobia, militarism, and supremacist ideals. Although secular in nature, Fascism's emphasis on mythic beliefs such as divine mandates, racial imperatives, and violent struggle places highly concentrated power in the hands of a self-selected elite from whom all authority flows to lesser elites, such as law enforcement, intellectuals, and the media.”
- Benito Mussolini
"Not as tyrants have we come, but as liberators."
- Adolf Hitler, 1938, about Czechoslovakia
"We come not as conquerors, but as liberators."
- George Bush 2003
"I have a headache this big, with '4 more years' written all over it."
- Christopher Lane Nov. 6, 2004
"Government is not reason, it is not eloquence, it is force; like fire, a troublesome servant and a fearful master."
- George Washington
I'm buying a .45 caliber next weekend. God bless the second amendment. Fascists always go after the poets first.
- Benito Mussolini
"Not as tyrants have we come, but as liberators."
- Adolf Hitler, 1938, about Czechoslovakia
"We come not as conquerors, but as liberators."
- George Bush 2003
"I have a headache this big, with '4 more years' written all over it."
- Christopher Lane Nov. 6, 2004
"Government is not reason, it is not eloquence, it is force; like fire, a troublesome servant and a fearful master."
- George Washington
I'm buying a .45 caliber next weekend. God bless the second amendment. Fascists always go after the poets first.
Saturday, November 6, 2004
We Call Him Papa
My grandfather, Frank 'Buster' Redfield died Sunday 31 Oct at 11:00 a.m.
we call him Papa
and he could move mountains with his silence
he fathered a family of artists
who knew the value of labor
the efficiency of expression
if it is unclear, rephrase it
if it is unusable, remove it
if it is imperfect, rework it
until it is as much a part of you
as a limb
he never said this
but he implied it
his stone eyes
edited lies from our speech
before we could speak them
his hands held me tight once
after I sinned
they held me soft
when my father translated himself
into a mythology
I've since ceased believing in
his hands were the tools
with which he spoke through his silence
he carved and crafted rifles
like Stradivarius made violins
and the first recoil
was a symphony
compressed to a split second
he brought wood to life
as though generations of forests grew
to make the right grain
the right feel worthy of his talent
he did not build airplanes,
he built aircraft with the precision of a heart surgeon
knowing a loose screw, one misaligned wire
could transform a craft of beauty
into a coffin
and wife like his into a widow
he made no widows
except one
he crafted art that soared like mechanical angels
and made us feel
how he must have felt with Grandma
even in his absence he scares me
because he was so much more
of what a man should be
than the men I see around me
than the man who fathered me
he was sometimes the machine moving me
he was sometimes the monster under my bed
keeping me from going gently into the night
without fighting the darkness
he was sometimes a giant
stretching hands from horizon to horizon
holding down the sun and moon
and dictating their rising
I am convinced that eastern Montana
is so perfectly flat
in fear of him
we call him Papa
and he could move mountains with his silence
I never heard him say he loved her
not in words
not in a way I could steal
not in a way that the cheap poet in me
could have plagiarized into a stanza
for some mediocre poem unworthy of his memory
I never heard him say he loved her with words
he said it with his eyes
he said it in the stories my mother would tell me
about how he would raise armies and wage wars
just to bring her flowers
he said it with the way he told me
about driving across Massachusetts, New York, and Pennsylvania every weekend
just to see her for two hours between college classes and curfews
he said he loved her
by showing us how good man
should love a woman right
we call him Papa
and he could move mountains with his silence
he is the poet
me, his eldest grandson,
I am just his microphone
Frank Leslie “Buster” Redfield, age 79, passed away from natural causes on Sunday - October 31, 2004 at the Odyssey Hospice Medical Center in Chandler, Arizona. Services are planned for Friday – November 12, 2004 at 2:00 P.M. at the United Methodist Church in Opheim, Montana. Memorial services were held November 8 in Chandler, AZ. Funeral services will be November 12 at 2 pm at the United Methodist Church in Opheim with burial on the family farm. Bell Mortuary is in charge of arrangements. Pallbearers are his grandsons Logan, Cole and Chase Redfield, Jeremy and Ryan Thievin, and Zachary Cherry. Honorary pallbearers are Lanny Hanson, Tom Hanson, Larry French, Lowell Hallock, C.D. Markle, and his sons-in-laws Bill Elliott, Hank Sheer, Al Cherry, and Marty Thievin. Memorials may be made to the Opheim United Methodist Church or the Opheim High School Library. He was preceded in death by his parents and one grandson, Lane Redfield.
Frank Leslie (Buster) Redfield, Jr., 79, died October 31 in Chandler, AZ. He was born May 14, 1925 in Glasgow, MT to Mary and Frank Redfield, Sr. and attended school in Glasgow and Opheim. He served in the Navy on the USS Princeton and in the Army during World War II. He married Sylvia Slife on Dec. 6, 1947 in Atlanta, GA. They lived in Montana during 1948 and 1949 where their first child was born and then moved back to Georgia where he served on the Atlanta police force from 1951 until 1956 when they returned to Montana to farm with his father. He loved motorcycles and airplanes and was a spray pilot for many years. Since 1989 Frank and Sylvia have spent winters in Chandler, AZ and summers at home on the farm near Opheim. He was a member of the Opheim Methodist Church, the American Legion, the Masons, the Shriners, and the York Rite Bodies.
Survivors include his wife, Sylvia; three sons, Alan (Laurie) of Pray, MT, Les (Lisa) and Myron (Alice) of Opheim; four daughters, Georgia Sheer (Hank) of Louisville, KY, Lynn Cherry (AI) of Fayettville, NC, Sylvia Elliott (Bill) of Chandler, AZ, and Lisa Thievin (Marty) of Richland; 17 grandchildren, Erin Sheer, Jason and Zachary Cherry, Katie and Jodie Redfield, Chase, Tatum, and Haylee Redfield, Christopher and Nicholas Graham, Jessica, Danielle, and Kristina Elliott, Logan and Cole Redfield, and Jeremy and Ryan Thievin; one sister, Dorothy Fossum of Richland, and many nieces and nephews.
Thursday, October 28, 2004
Breakfast Cereal
Incidently, my brother Nicholas turned 23 today. 23 was the roughest year of my life. I hope is goes better.
Breakfast Cereal
for Gretchyn Ryan Hays
I like you like breakfast cereal
choc full of goodness
because I want have you first thing in the morning
while watching cartoons
as a reward for being for being good
or really, really naughty the night before
I like you like breakfast cereal
because I feel all soft and soggy inside
when I'm around you
like a marshmallow
tender and squishy
I like you like breakfast cereal
you have green clover in your hips
and red balloons in your lips
I want to make love to you under the yellow moon
and let all the blue stars watch
and I find myself following purple horseshoe prints to find you,
tracing them with my finger back around to you
I like you like breakfast cereal
and I like feel that stupid rabbit trying to catch you
and I could put on silly costumes
and tell you long–winded stories
and try to distract you long enough to get just a taste of you
but tricks are for kids
and we promised to be honest
so honestly –
you have been part of my complete breakfast
ever since I saw you across the room
and tasted you with my eyes
imagining your flavor
my tongue gets twisted in fruit loops
I am so lucky, so charmed to have you
I like your packaging – simple but really pretty
I feel like a Cap'n in your arms
I am coco for your CoCo Puffs
you make me cheery oh…, so cheery
I think of you first thing in the morning
and how you have enough vitamins and minerals when you blush
to keep me healthy all day long
I want a bowl of you every morning
until I am too old to pick up a spoon
and have to have you though a straw
I will follow you to France and make toast
or Florida to squeeze oranges
or South America for bananas
but you don't need anything extra to make me like you
I could have you wet … or dry
quickly on a lunch break
at 2 a.m. all drunk and sloppy
on a camping trip
or while driving cross country in a Waffle House parking lot
you're satisfying anywhere
I want you three times every Saturday morning
when there's no school, no work,
and when we can play till Sunday
because your contents don't shift during shipping and handling
and none of your ingredients are artificial
you are naturally flavored
and so painfully sweet it hurts my teeth when I see you
I will like you until all my teeth fall out
Breakfast Cereal
for Gretchyn Ryan Hays
I like you like breakfast cereal
choc full of goodness
because I want have you first thing in the morning
while watching cartoons
as a reward for being for being good
or really, really naughty the night before
I like you like breakfast cereal
because I feel all soft and soggy inside
when I'm around you
like a marshmallow
tender and squishy
I like you like breakfast cereal
you have green clover in your hips
and red balloons in your lips
I want to make love to you under the yellow moon
and let all the blue stars watch
and I find myself following purple horseshoe prints to find you,
tracing them with my finger back around to you
I like you like breakfast cereal
and I like feel that stupid rabbit trying to catch you
and I could put on silly costumes
and tell you long–winded stories
and try to distract you long enough to get just a taste of you
but tricks are for kids
and we promised to be honest
so honestly –
you have been part of my complete breakfast
ever since I saw you across the room
and tasted you with my eyes
imagining your flavor
my tongue gets twisted in fruit loops
I am so lucky, so charmed to have you
I like your packaging – simple but really pretty
I feel like a Cap'n in your arms
I am coco for your CoCo Puffs
you make me cheery oh…, so cheery
I think of you first thing in the morning
and how you have enough vitamins and minerals when you blush
to keep me healthy all day long
I want a bowl of you every morning
until I am too old to pick up a spoon
and have to have you though a straw
I will follow you to France and make toast
or Florida to squeeze oranges
or South America for bananas
but you don't need anything extra to make me like you
I could have you wet … or dry
quickly on a lunch break
at 2 a.m. all drunk and sloppy
on a camping trip
or while driving cross country in a Waffle House parking lot
you're satisfying anywhere
I want you three times every Saturday morning
when there's no school, no work,
and when we can play till Sunday
because your contents don't shift during shipping and handling
and none of your ingredients are artificial
you are naturally flavored
and so painfully sweet it hurts my teeth when I see you
I will like you until all my teeth fall out
Friday, October 1, 2004
Thursday, August 26, 2004
Who the stars say I am
I've lived in Sedona long enough. It was about time to get my astrological chart done.
Rising Sign is in 06 Degrees Pisces
Very sensitive to your surroundings, other people's feelings become your feelings. Try to avoid negative people because your tendency to empathize with them will make you negative also. An idealist, you must believe in something beyond your normal everyday existence. A dreamer, you like to escape to a world of your own creation. As such, you are known for the vividness of your imagination and should try to share your inner visions with others. Very self-sacrificial by nature, beware of others becoming overly dependent on you or vice versa. Allow yourself to live for yourself once in a while -- you deserve it. Don't be so envious of those who are more aggressive than you -- your gentle charity and true humility are indeed wonderful gifts. on the tenth house cusp (MIDHEAVEN).
Sun is in 21 Degrees Pisces.
Extremely sensitive and emotional, you absorb the emotions of others (whether positive or negative) like a sponge. Emotionally vulnerable, you are easily upset and tend to cry readily. You are at your best when you can structure your environment in such a way that you are surrounded by positive, upbeat people. You are very helpful and understanding of the needs of others. Indeed, at times this can be a disadvantage, because you can be a sucker for anyone who needs help. Shy, dreamy, romantic in nature, you delight in retreating into your private fantasy world. Just be careful that you do not get lost in it! Trust your intuitions -- you may be quite psychic.
Moon is in 06 Degrees Virgo.
You tend to be serious-minded but cheerful for the most part. You need tasks that engage both your mind and your hands. A careful worker, you enjoy making things. You are neat and orderly, and are very concerned with good health habits. Fastidious to the extreme, you cannot tolerate messes and will immediately clean them up. Reserved, shy, and very self-critical, you tend to be very hard on yourself. You usually will go out of your way to be helpful and useful to others. Practical, reliable, efficient and conservative, at times you are a bit of a prude. You are known to lead a simple, uncomplicated, frugal, methodical and unemotional lifestyle. You are devoted and caring to those you love.
Mercury is in 08 Degrees Aries.
Very quick-witted, you are known for being an independent thinker. You love to debate and argue, and are excellent at repartee and battles of wits. At times, however, you act too fast on hastily formed opinions and thus waste a lot of energy defending your rash and sometimes incorrect conclusions. It is perfectly acceptable for you to defend your beliefs with your usual vigor, but try not to take the opinions of others as personal insults.
Venus is in 10 Degrees Aquarius.
You are a friendly and outgoing individual, but close relationships are difficult for you to maintain due to your fear that they will cause you to lose your freedom. You attract friends and associates who are exciting, different and sometimes a bit odd. You are popular with others and enjoy working within a group toward group goals.
Mars is in 10 Degrees Pisces.
Very sensitive and vulnerable, it is difficult for you to assert yourself. At times, you feel quite tired and you will require a lot of sleep in order to maintain your health and your strength. You are at your best when you act without your ego being important. You can be very unselfish and considerate of the needs of others. You get the most satisfaction by giving to others when you expect nothing in return. Beware of a tendency to want always to work behind the scenes or to become overly deceptive by doing things behind others' backs.
Jupiter is in 29 Degrees Cancer.
You must be emotionally secure in order to grow and develop. You are happiest when your family and community support and nourish you and boost your morale. Whether your childhood experiences of love and emotional dependability were positive or negative will set the tone for your emotional growth and stability as an adult. When you feel at ease with yourself, you are able to offer assistance to those who need a helping hand.
Saturn is in 09 Degrees Virgo.
Your life must be orderly and practical and full of known and familiar routines in order for you to feel comfortable with yourself. Be careful, however, not to let "order" become the be-all and end-all of your life, or you may become cold, crass and unfeeling. Doing useful, practical things boosts your self-esteem. Abstract concepts and reasoning seem frivolous and a waste of time to you. You are very critical of yourself (and others), indeed at times quite self-deprecating. Try to relax a bit and allow yourself the freedom to fail once in a while. However, you probably won't fail very often because you are such a perfectionist.
Uranus is in 20 Degrees Scorpio.
You, and your peer group, demand to confront life at its deepest and most meaningful levels. Very compulsive and obsessive in your approach to everything, you will avoid anything that is casual or superficial, especially when it comes to relationships. You will seek out and explore new methods of healing as well as different ways to deal with deep-seated emotional problems.
Neptune is in 20 Degrees Sagittarius.
You, and your entire generation, are heavily involved in investigating and idealizing foreign and exotic intellectual systems and religious philosophies. The most extreme ideals will be pursued with gusto. You will be at the forefront of humanitarian attempts to improve the lot of those who are in need of assistance. You will be comfortable with the concept of the "global village."
Pluto is in 18 Degrees Libra.
For your entire generation, this is a time of radical changes in society's attitude toward marriage and interpersonal relationships. There is a general fear and awe at the power inherent in making emotional or contractual commitments -- they will not be entered into lightly.
N. Node is in 17 Degrees Virgo.
You're usually quite at ease in leaving leadership roles in the hands of others. You would rather tend to the thousand and one details that need to be accomplished to keep any group going. Although you're very fussy and high-minded when it comes to choosing your associates, once your loyalty is given you can be trusted with many of the practical aspects of any project that is being undertaken. Usually quite unselfish, you will toil long hours in the service of any worthy cause that demands your attention. But be careful that your perfectionist tendencies don't get in the way of making real progress. (In other words, don't waste your time dusting clean shelves!)
Rising Sign is in 06 Degrees Pisces
Very sensitive to your surroundings, other people's feelings become your feelings. Try to avoid negative people because your tendency to empathize with them will make you negative also. An idealist, you must believe in something beyond your normal everyday existence. A dreamer, you like to escape to a world of your own creation. As such, you are known for the vividness of your imagination and should try to share your inner visions with others. Very self-sacrificial by nature, beware of others becoming overly dependent on you or vice versa. Allow yourself to live for yourself once in a while -- you deserve it. Don't be so envious of those who are more aggressive than you -- your gentle charity and true humility are indeed wonderful gifts. on the tenth house cusp (MIDHEAVEN).
Sun is in 21 Degrees Pisces.
Extremely sensitive and emotional, you absorb the emotions of others (whether positive or negative) like a sponge. Emotionally vulnerable, you are easily upset and tend to cry readily. You are at your best when you can structure your environment in such a way that you are surrounded by positive, upbeat people. You are very helpful and understanding of the needs of others. Indeed, at times this can be a disadvantage, because you can be a sucker for anyone who needs help. Shy, dreamy, romantic in nature, you delight in retreating into your private fantasy world. Just be careful that you do not get lost in it! Trust your intuitions -- you may be quite psychic.
Moon is in 06 Degrees Virgo.
You tend to be serious-minded but cheerful for the most part. You need tasks that engage both your mind and your hands. A careful worker, you enjoy making things. You are neat and orderly, and are very concerned with good health habits. Fastidious to the extreme, you cannot tolerate messes and will immediately clean them up. Reserved, shy, and very self-critical, you tend to be very hard on yourself. You usually will go out of your way to be helpful and useful to others. Practical, reliable, efficient and conservative, at times you are a bit of a prude. You are known to lead a simple, uncomplicated, frugal, methodical and unemotional lifestyle. You are devoted and caring to those you love.
Mercury is in 08 Degrees Aries.
Very quick-witted, you are known for being an independent thinker. You love to debate and argue, and are excellent at repartee and battles of wits. At times, however, you act too fast on hastily formed opinions and thus waste a lot of energy defending your rash and sometimes incorrect conclusions. It is perfectly acceptable for you to defend your beliefs with your usual vigor, but try not to take the opinions of others as personal insults.
Venus is in 10 Degrees Aquarius.
You are a friendly and outgoing individual, but close relationships are difficult for you to maintain due to your fear that they will cause you to lose your freedom. You attract friends and associates who are exciting, different and sometimes a bit odd. You are popular with others and enjoy working within a group toward group goals.
Mars is in 10 Degrees Pisces.
Very sensitive and vulnerable, it is difficult for you to assert yourself. At times, you feel quite tired and you will require a lot of sleep in order to maintain your health and your strength. You are at your best when you act without your ego being important. You can be very unselfish and considerate of the needs of others. You get the most satisfaction by giving to others when you expect nothing in return. Beware of a tendency to want always to work behind the scenes or to become overly deceptive by doing things behind others' backs.
Jupiter is in 29 Degrees Cancer.
You must be emotionally secure in order to grow and develop. You are happiest when your family and community support and nourish you and boost your morale. Whether your childhood experiences of love and emotional dependability were positive or negative will set the tone for your emotional growth and stability as an adult. When you feel at ease with yourself, you are able to offer assistance to those who need a helping hand.
Saturn is in 09 Degrees Virgo.
Your life must be orderly and practical and full of known and familiar routines in order for you to feel comfortable with yourself. Be careful, however, not to let "order" become the be-all and end-all of your life, or you may become cold, crass and unfeeling. Doing useful, practical things boosts your self-esteem. Abstract concepts and reasoning seem frivolous and a waste of time to you. You are very critical of yourself (and others), indeed at times quite self-deprecating. Try to relax a bit and allow yourself the freedom to fail once in a while. However, you probably won't fail very often because you are such a perfectionist.
Uranus is in 20 Degrees Scorpio.
You, and your peer group, demand to confront life at its deepest and most meaningful levels. Very compulsive and obsessive in your approach to everything, you will avoid anything that is casual or superficial, especially when it comes to relationships. You will seek out and explore new methods of healing as well as different ways to deal with deep-seated emotional problems.
Neptune is in 20 Degrees Sagittarius.
You, and your entire generation, are heavily involved in investigating and idealizing foreign and exotic intellectual systems and religious philosophies. The most extreme ideals will be pursued with gusto. You will be at the forefront of humanitarian attempts to improve the lot of those who are in need of assistance. You will be comfortable with the concept of the "global village."
Pluto is in 18 Degrees Libra.
For your entire generation, this is a time of radical changes in society's attitude toward marriage and interpersonal relationships. There is a general fear and awe at the power inherent in making emotional or contractual commitments -- they will not be entered into lightly.
N. Node is in 17 Degrees Virgo.
You're usually quite at ease in leaving leadership roles in the hands of others. You would rather tend to the thousand and one details that need to be accomplished to keep any group going. Although you're very fussy and high-minded when it comes to choosing your associates, once your loyalty is given you can be trusted with many of the practical aspects of any project that is being undertaken. Usually quite unselfish, you will toil long hours in the service of any worthy cause that demands your attention. But be careful that your perfectionist tendencies don't get in the way of making real progress. (In other words, don't waste your time dusting clean shelves!)
Monday, June 21, 2004
Three Days From Now
for Daniela Jara's 20th birthday on 6.21.04
three days from now
she will rise up to the playground of angels
fighter jets and zeppelins
burst open the door
translate her body into an equation
of one–hundred twenty pounds moving
nine–point–eight meters per second per second
and tumble from heaven
because she wants to taste the sky
on her birthday
this is the part of the poem
where I should drop metaphors
about falling in love with her
or how she's already fallen from heaven once
or something about shooting stars
or glass ceilings
but this isn't a love poem
I said I would fall alongside her
stretch out fingers to find her
falling ninety miles an hour
doesn't scare me nearly
as much as forgetting her touch
the romantic in me said
if her parachute does not open,
I will not open mine
instead, I would rather impress myself
emboss myself into the earth
next to her
so that the soil remembers me following her
always
until the crater I create
speaks poetry without my body there
she called me silly
I said
if her parachute does not open,
there is no reason to open mine
she said that if her parachute doesn't open
she'll reach the earth first
and she wondered what it would sound like
I said that it would sound like a dream exploding
it would sound like all the poems in history
being read simultaneously
it would echo across the earth
making poets of every language weep
like a thousand hearts breaking in unison
she wondered if it would be more like a 'thud'
or a 'squish'
I said that if my parachute doesn't open
I would hit first
so she could hear the sound
and in the next life, moments later,
she could tell me
she said I would have to wait her lifetime
for that story
and how much it would suck
to get her car keys from my pocket
so she could drive home
this isn't a love poem
because three days from now
she will fall away from me
and she doesn't want me to catch her
this isn't a love poem
because she wants to fall alone
I know now
I've never been good enough for her
she knows now
that she never needed me in the first place
that our kisses were forgettable
that the press of our skins together beneath sheets
kept her warm some nights
but that anyone else would do
she's not the kind of woman
who will wait for anyone to follow her
even at terminal velocity
she wants to fall alone
which is why I write these love poems
three days from now
my heart will become a projectile
as she shatters herself through heaven
from the other side
to her
this isn't a love poem
it's just some crap to read
before she leaps from the door
and tastes the sky
alone
to me
only the sky knows
what this feels like
three days from now
she will rise up to the playground of angels
fighter jets and zeppelins
burst open the door
translate her body into an equation
of one–hundred twenty pounds moving
nine–point–eight meters per second per second
and tumble from heaven
because she wants to taste the sky
on her birthday
this is the part of the poem
where I should drop metaphors
about falling in love with her
or how she's already fallen from heaven once
or something about shooting stars
or glass ceilings
but this isn't a love poem
I said I would fall alongside her
stretch out fingers to find her
falling ninety miles an hour
doesn't scare me nearly
as much as forgetting her touch
the romantic in me said
if her parachute does not open,
I will not open mine
instead, I would rather impress myself
emboss myself into the earth
next to her
so that the soil remembers me following her
always
until the crater I create
speaks poetry without my body there
she called me silly
I said
if her parachute does not open,
there is no reason to open mine
she said that if her parachute doesn't open
she'll reach the earth first
and she wondered what it would sound like
I said that it would sound like a dream exploding
it would sound like all the poems in history
being read simultaneously
it would echo across the earth
making poets of every language weep
like a thousand hearts breaking in unison
she wondered if it would be more like a 'thud'
or a 'squish'
I said that if my parachute doesn't open
I would hit first
so she could hear the sound
and in the next life, moments later,
she could tell me
she said I would have to wait her lifetime
for that story
and how much it would suck
to get her car keys from my pocket
so she could drive home
this isn't a love poem
because three days from now
she will fall away from me
and she doesn't want me to catch her
this isn't a love poem
because she wants to fall alone
I know now
I've never been good enough for her
she knows now
that she never needed me in the first place
that our kisses were forgettable
that the press of our skins together beneath sheets
kept her warm some nights
but that anyone else would do
she's not the kind of woman
who will wait for anyone to follow her
even at terminal velocity
she wants to fall alone
which is why I write these love poems
three days from now
my heart will become a projectile
as she shatters herself through heaven
from the other side
to her
this isn't a love poem
it's just some crap to read
before she leaps from the door
and tastes the sky
alone
to me
only the sky knows
what this feels like
3rd Annual Arizona All Star Slam: 3rd Times the Harm
Round One
(poet, poem, score, cumulative score, rank)
Akua, 25.3, 8th
Don McIver, 21.4, 15th
Dan Seaman, 23.1, 13th
The Klute, "NASCAR Über Alles", 27.5, 2nd
Suzy La Follette, "Suzy Strap-on" 22.3, 14th
Cass J. Hodges, "Sushi", 25.1, 9th
Bill Campana, 25.0, 10th
David Rodgers Luben, "Weed" My lament for those who toke instead of at least having the dignity to do real drugs 24.7, 11th
Brent Heffron, "24", 25.8, 6th
Logan Phillips, "¿Sin Voz?" 25.5, 7th
Eric Larson, 24.4 (after -0.5 penalty for 3:19), 12th
Sharkie Marado, 26.7, 5th
David Tabor, "A.A.D.D." - Another rant about living in the times that I do, 27.1, 3rd
Christopher Fox Graham, "Spinal Language", 26.9, 4th
Aaron Johnson, 27.6, 1st
Round Two
Aaron Johnson, 25.4, 53.0, 6th
Christopher Fox Graham, "Three Days From Now", 28.5, 55.4, 1st
David Tabor, "Slugger!" - Written after braking yet another printer while working on a chapbook. After braking my car-horn a week earlier, inspiration strikes. 26.3, 53.4, 5th
Sharkie Marado, 27.8, 54.5, 3rd
Eric Larson, "Alpha Male", 26.2 (after -1.0 penalty for 3:26), 50.6, 12th
Logan Phillips, "Prescription", 26.3 (after -0.5 penalty for 3:15), 51.8, 11th
Brent Heffron, 26.2, 52.0, 9th
David Rodgers Luben, "Preposition Noun" "In Love" being the specious phrase in question 28.0, 52.7, 7th
Bill Campana, 27.0, 52.0, 9th
Cass J. Hodges, "Beautiful", 27.4, 52.5, 8th
The Klute, "Cereal Aisle Racist, 26.8, 54.3, 4th
Akua, 29.5, 54.8, 2nd
Round Three
Christopher Fox Graham, "I’m Not A Poet For Applause" 25.7 (after -1.0 penalty for 3:22), 81.1 4th
Akua, 28.5, 83.3, 1st
Sharkie Marado, 27.7, 82.2, 2nd
The Klute, "Love Letter to Private Lynddie England" 27.2, 81.5, 3rd
David Tabor, "The Poem About My Dad" - About 20 years of my having breakfast with Dad every Sunday. Summed up in 3 minuets. 26.3, 79.7, 8th
Aaron Johnson, 28.0, 81.0, 5th
David Rodgers Luben, "Fat Girl Fuck" Which, after over a year, still makes my mouth go dry with fear every time I speak it in public 25.4 (after -1.5 for 3:31), 78.1. 10th
Cass J. Hodges, "Waking Up", 28.4, 80.9, 6th
Brent Heffron, "Super Drunk", 79.0, 9th
Bill Campana, 28.2, 80.2, 7th
Final Rank
1, Akua, 83.3 $300
2, Sharkie Marado, 82.2 $75
3, The Klute, 81.5 $50
4, Christopher Fox Graham, 81.1
5, Aaron Johnson, 81.0
6, Cass J. Hodges, 80.9
7, Bill Campana, 80.2
8, David Tabor, 79.7
9, Brent Heffron, 79.0
10, David Rodgers Luben, 78.1
11, Logan Phillips, 51.8
12, Eric Larson, 50.6
13, Dan Seaman, 23.1
14, Suzy La Follette, 22.3
15, Don McIver, 21.4
"Major, major props for what I think was the best slam in AZ..." - The Klute
"I'm more impressed with the talent level of NORAZ every time I come up the hill." - David Tabor
"As always it was a blast. I especially loved the fact that I did well and didn't feel obligated to do three greatest hits and instead of performing I did what I love to do most, which is writing crazy shit and reading it to a frenzied crowd. Until next time..." - Bill Campana
"I felt incredibly priviledged to be at the All-Star Slam, and it meant a lot to me to be on the stage with a whole carnival of poets who seemed truly to feel that the work and the chance to share it was more important than points and praise. People who seemed to know the shit from the shit. Shiny." - David Rodgers Luben
"Love to Mr. Lane too for the host-y goodness." - The Klute
(poet, poem, score, cumulative score, rank)
Akua, 25.3, 8th
Don McIver, 21.4, 15th
Dan Seaman, 23.1, 13th
The Klute, "NASCAR Über Alles", 27.5, 2nd
Suzy La Follette, "Suzy Strap-on" 22.3, 14th
Cass J. Hodges, "Sushi", 25.1, 9th
Bill Campana, 25.0, 10th
David Rodgers Luben, "Weed" My lament for those who toke instead of at least having the dignity to do real drugs 24.7, 11th
Brent Heffron, "24", 25.8, 6th
Logan Phillips, "¿Sin Voz?" 25.5, 7th
Eric Larson, 24.4 (after -0.5 penalty for 3:19), 12th
Sharkie Marado, 26.7, 5th
David Tabor, "A.A.D.D." - Another rant about living in the times that I do, 27.1, 3rd
Christopher Fox Graham, "Spinal Language", 26.9, 4th
Aaron Johnson, 27.6, 1st
Round Two
Aaron Johnson, 25.4, 53.0, 6th
Christopher Fox Graham, "Three Days From Now", 28.5, 55.4, 1st
David Tabor, "Slugger!" - Written after braking yet another printer while working on a chapbook. After braking my car-horn a week earlier, inspiration strikes. 26.3, 53.4, 5th
Sharkie Marado, 27.8, 54.5, 3rd
Eric Larson, "Alpha Male", 26.2 (after -1.0 penalty for 3:26), 50.6, 12th
Logan Phillips, "Prescription", 26.3 (after -0.5 penalty for 3:15), 51.8, 11th
Brent Heffron, 26.2, 52.0, 9th
David Rodgers Luben, "Preposition Noun" "In Love" being the specious phrase in question 28.0, 52.7, 7th
Bill Campana, 27.0, 52.0, 9th
Cass J. Hodges, "Beautiful", 27.4, 52.5, 8th
The Klute, "Cereal Aisle Racist, 26.8, 54.3, 4th
Akua, 29.5, 54.8, 2nd
Round Three
Christopher Fox Graham, "I’m Not A Poet For Applause" 25.7 (after -1.0 penalty for 3:22), 81.1 4th
Akua, 28.5, 83.3, 1st
Sharkie Marado, 27.7, 82.2, 2nd
The Klute, "Love Letter to Private Lynddie England" 27.2, 81.5, 3rd
David Tabor, "The Poem About My Dad" - About 20 years of my having breakfast with Dad every Sunday. Summed up in 3 minuets. 26.3, 79.7, 8th
Aaron Johnson, 28.0, 81.0, 5th
David Rodgers Luben, "Fat Girl Fuck" Which, after over a year, still makes my mouth go dry with fear every time I speak it in public 25.4 (after -1.5 for 3:31), 78.1. 10th
Cass J. Hodges, "Waking Up", 28.4, 80.9, 6th
Brent Heffron, "Super Drunk", 79.0, 9th
Bill Campana, 28.2, 80.2, 7th
Final Rank
1, Akua, 83.3 $300
2, Sharkie Marado, 82.2 $75
3, The Klute, 81.5 $50
4, Christopher Fox Graham, 81.1
5, Aaron Johnson, 81.0
6, Cass J. Hodges, 80.9
7, Bill Campana, 80.2
8, David Tabor, 79.7
9, Brent Heffron, 79.0
10, David Rodgers Luben, 78.1
11, Logan Phillips, 51.8
12, Eric Larson, 50.6
13, Dan Seaman, 23.1
14, Suzy La Follette, 22.3
15, Don McIver, 21.4
"Major, major props for what I think was the best slam in AZ..." - The Klute
"I'm more impressed with the talent level of NORAZ every time I come up the hill." - David Tabor
"As always it was a blast. I especially loved the fact that I did well and didn't feel obligated to do three greatest hits and instead of performing I did what I love to do most, which is writing crazy shit and reading it to a frenzied crowd. Until next time..." - Bill Campana
"I felt incredibly priviledged to be at the All-Star Slam, and it meant a lot to me to be on the stage with a whole carnival of poets who seemed truly to feel that the work and the chance to share it was more important than points and praise. People who seemed to know the shit from the shit. Shiny." - David Rodgers Luben
"Love to Mr. Lane too for the host-y goodness." - The Klute
Tuesday, June 15, 2004
Southwest Shootout Finals
Denver, 5 person group poem (Andrea Gibson, Ian, Eirean Bradley, Paulie Lipman, & Ken Arkind), 28.8
NORAZ, Logan Phillips, 12 Things You Need to Know About Mexico, 28.2
Berkeley, Mack Dennis, 28.5
Palo Alto, 4 person Group (Lee, Karuna Tanahashi, man, and woman), 27.0
Austin, Zell Miller III, 29.3
Palo Alto, Lee, 29.2, 56.2
Austin, Andy Buck, Janet Jackson's Tittie, 29.7, 59.0
Denver, 5 person group poem (Andrea Gibson & Eirean Bradley off-stage, Paulie Lipman, Ian, & Ken Arkind at the mics), Welcome to Suburbia, 28.6, 57.4
NORAZ, Christopher Fox Graham, The Peach is a Damn Sexy Fruit, 28.7, 56.9
Berkeley, Abdul Kenyatta, Fuck a Poet (with the line "I have a dream today / that Jew and Gentile / Black and White / Christian and Muslim / Lesbian and Gay / will spank a poet's ass tonight"), 58.9, 57.4
NORAZ, Eric Larson, Plea, 28.0, 84.9
Berkeley, Charles Ellik, 26.8, 84.2
Palo Alto, 28.5, 84.7
Austin, Christopher Lee, 29.0, 88.0
Denver, Paulie Lipman and Eirean Bradley, For the Survivors, 28.6, 86.0
FINAL SCORES
Austin 88.0
Denver 86.0
NORAZ 84.9
Palo Alto 84.7
Berkeley 84.2
NORAZ, Logan Phillips, 12 Things You Need to Know About Mexico, 28.2
Berkeley, Mack Dennis, 28.5
Palo Alto, 4 person Group (Lee, Karuna Tanahashi, man, and woman), 27.0
Austin, Zell Miller III, 29.3
Palo Alto, Lee, 29.2, 56.2
Austin, Andy Buck, Janet Jackson's Tittie, 29.7, 59.0
Denver, 5 person group poem (Andrea Gibson & Eirean Bradley off-stage, Paulie Lipman, Ian, & Ken Arkind at the mics), Welcome to Suburbia, 28.6, 57.4
NORAZ, Christopher Fox Graham, The Peach is a Damn Sexy Fruit, 28.7, 56.9
Berkeley, Abdul Kenyatta, Fuck a Poet (with the line "I have a dream today / that Jew and Gentile / Black and White / Christian and Muslim / Lesbian and Gay / will spank a poet's ass tonight"), 58.9, 57.4
NORAZ, Eric Larson, Plea, 28.0, 84.9
Berkeley, Charles Ellik, 26.8, 84.2
Palo Alto, 28.5, 84.7
Austin, Christopher Lee, 29.0, 88.0
Denver, Paulie Lipman and Eirean Bradley, For the Survivors, 28.6, 86.0
FINAL SCORES
Austin 88.0
Denver 86.0
NORAZ 84.9
Palo Alto 84.7
Berkeley 84.2
Saturday, June 12, 2004
Southwest Shootout
First Bout at the Harwood Art Center
Dr. Trans All Stars, Matthew John Connelly, 26.4 (after -0.5 penalty)
NORAZ, Logan Phillips, ?Sin Voz?, 27.1
San Antonio, RIAlistic, 27.0
Colorado Springs, Kevin 23.0 (after -0.5 penalty)
Sante Fe, Henry Vasquez, 25.9 (after -1.0 penalty)
Colorado Springs, Carol, 26.1, 49.1
Sante Fe, Danyem, 25.3, 51.2
Dr. Trans All Stars, 26.7, 53.1
NORAZ, Christopher Fox Graham, Spinal Language, 28.8, 55.9
San Antonio, 27.0, 54.0
NORAZ, Brent Heffron, Battle Cries, 26.1 (after -0.5 penalty), 82.0
San Antonio, 27.0, 81.0
Colorado Springs, Karen, 26.8, 75.9
Sante Fe, 27, 78.2
Dr. Trans All Stars, Taneka Stotts, 28.6, 81.7
FINAL:
NORAZ 82.0
Dr. Trans All Stars(a pick-up team) 81.7
San Antonio 81.0
Sante Fe 78.2
Colorado Springs 75.9
Second Bout at the Harwood Art Center
San Jose, Mighty Mike Magee (2003 Individual National Poetry Slam Champion), I like you a lot, 28.4
Albuquerque, Group poem with Cuffee, Libby Kelley, and Jazz
Palo Alto, Duo with Lee and Melissa Rose, 28.7
Westside, Big Poppa E, I Can't Dance, 28.1
Austin, 28.0
Westside, Jerry Mondragon, Radio of Life, 27.8, 55.9
Austin, Da'Shade, 29.2, 57.2
San Jose, Caroline Harvey, A Crooked Line, 28.2, 56.6
Albuquerque, Group poem with Tony Santiago, Don McIver, Libby Kelley, and Cuffee, 28.2, 56.3
Palo Alto, Duo with Lee and Karuna Takahashi, poem about a female Palestinian suicide bomber and an Israeli soldier, 28.8, 57.5
At this point, a homeless man burst into the venue, host Danny Solis went to handle it and Taneka Stotts, Danny's co-host took over, but got the order mixed up.
Westside, Sonia Dragon, 27.7, 83.6
Danny Solis took over, explained the situation and said that his name tonight was "MC Protest Denied". Slam resumed as follows:
Albuquerque, duo with Tony Santiago and Don McIver, Johnny Cash, 28.9, 85.2
Palo Alto, Karuna, Peanut Butter (funny and erotic), 28.8, 86.3
Austin, Tony Jackson, Black Coat, 29.2, 86.4
San Jose, Eric Sanchez, 29.0, 85.6
FINAL:
Austin 86.4
Palo Alto 86.3
San Jose 85.6
Albuquerque 85.2
Westside (a pick-up team) 83.6
3rd Bout at the Blue Dragon
FINAL:
Denver
Berkeley
Albuquerque High School
Dallas
Houston
Tonight is the finals
the 5 teams:
NORAZ
Berkeley
Austin
Denver
Palo Alto
Dr. Trans All Stars, Matthew John Connelly, 26.4 (after -0.5 penalty)
NORAZ, Logan Phillips, ?Sin Voz?, 27.1
San Antonio, RIAlistic, 27.0
Colorado Springs, Kevin 23.0 (after -0.5 penalty)
Sante Fe, Henry Vasquez, 25.9 (after -1.0 penalty)
Colorado Springs, Carol, 26.1, 49.1
Sante Fe, Danyem, 25.3, 51.2
Dr. Trans All Stars, 26.7, 53.1
NORAZ, Christopher Fox Graham, Spinal Language, 28.8, 55.9
San Antonio, 27.0, 54.0
NORAZ, Brent Heffron, Battle Cries, 26.1 (after -0.5 penalty), 82.0
San Antonio, 27.0, 81.0
Colorado Springs, Karen, 26.8, 75.9
Sante Fe, 27, 78.2
Dr. Trans All Stars, Taneka Stotts, 28.6, 81.7
FINAL:
NORAZ 82.0
Dr. Trans All Stars(a pick-up team) 81.7
San Antonio 81.0
Sante Fe 78.2
Colorado Springs 75.9
Second Bout at the Harwood Art Center
San Jose, Mighty Mike Magee (2003 Individual National Poetry Slam Champion), I like you a lot, 28.4
Albuquerque, Group poem with Cuffee, Libby Kelley, and Jazz
Palo Alto, Duo with Lee and Melissa Rose, 28.7
Westside, Big Poppa E, I Can't Dance, 28.1
Austin, 28.0
Westside, Jerry Mondragon, Radio of Life, 27.8, 55.9
Austin, Da'Shade, 29.2, 57.2
San Jose, Caroline Harvey, A Crooked Line, 28.2, 56.6
Albuquerque, Group poem with Tony Santiago, Don McIver, Libby Kelley, and Cuffee, 28.2, 56.3
Palo Alto, Duo with Lee and Karuna Takahashi, poem about a female Palestinian suicide bomber and an Israeli soldier, 28.8, 57.5
At this point, a homeless man burst into the venue, host Danny Solis went to handle it and Taneka Stotts, Danny's co-host took over, but got the order mixed up.
Westside, Sonia Dragon, 27.7, 83.6
Danny Solis took over, explained the situation and said that his name tonight was "MC Protest Denied". Slam resumed as follows:
Albuquerque, duo with Tony Santiago and Don McIver, Johnny Cash, 28.9, 85.2
Palo Alto, Karuna, Peanut Butter (funny and erotic), 28.8, 86.3
Austin, Tony Jackson, Black Coat, 29.2, 86.4
San Jose, Eric Sanchez, 29.0, 85.6
FINAL:
Austin 86.4
Palo Alto 86.3
San Jose 85.6
Albuquerque 85.2
Westside (a pick-up team) 83.6
3rd Bout at the Blue Dragon
FINAL:
Denver
Berkeley
Albuquerque High School
Dallas
Houston
Tonight is the finals
the 5 teams:
NORAZ
Berkeley
Austin
Denver
Palo Alto
Saturday, June 5, 2004
Ode to Tarah Leija
Ode to Tarah Leija:
A silly little poem
oh Tarah,
for whom my heart beats
oh Tarah,
who art squeezably soft
oh Tarah,
with hair dark like midnight
and other poetical things that are dark,
oh Tarah,
the tarahlisciousness of thy skin makes me weep
weep like a little boy
a little boy with melting ice cream
and hands too small to enjoy the dairy joy on a cone
with chocolate sauce
oh Tarah,
you are the square root
of love
oh Tarah,
you are the kiss and oak tree gives a Jetta at 80 miles and hour
oh Tarah
may little girls want to grow up to be you
and little boys want to grow up to love you
oh Tarah,
who is so sexy,
she makes that final "H" in her name silent in shock
of her beauty
and makes it speak to the rest of us,
"H" (an exhale)
oh Tarah
tall enough to shatter skyscrapers
oh Tarah
whose smile still breaks hearts
from 151.67 miles away
I looked it up on Mapquest
of Tarah,
you are the comma (,) in this sentence
and the period at the end of this one (.)
you are still punctuating my poetry
with a smell of skin that I can't deny
semi-colon, question mark, exclamation point, exclamation point, ellipse
;?!!...
oh Tarah
why do you tease me so
by not marrying me?
oh Tarah
I would buy you dishes
with a great china pattern
that your mother would love
like she would love me,
the boy who loved Tarah
oh Tarah
if you were a Kangaroo,
I would watch you hop
oh Tarah
if you were the moon
i would build a rocketship
land on you
and hit golfballs in a spacesuit
just to make an MTV commercial
20 years later
oh Tarah
you are where my keys are
oh Tarah
lets hyphenate your last name
with mine
and say them together
every time we meet someone new
that's real love, honey
oh Tarah
your name means Earth
if it were spelled differently
and we all spoke Latin
but we speak English
and it's spelled with two A's
and a silent H
which is Latin for nothing
but not nothing
i mean nothing translates into Latin
from "Tarah"
which is how I like
to love you:
untranslatably.
Ode to Tarah Leija
Ode to Tarah Leija:
A silly little poem
oh Tarah,
for whom my heart beats
oh Tarah,
who art squeezably soft
oh Tarah,
with hair dark like midnight
and other poetical things that are dark,
oh Tarah,
the tarahlisciousness of thy skin makes me weep
weep like a little boy
a little boy with melting ice cream
and hands too small to enjoy the dairy joy on a cone
with chocolate sauce
oh Tarah,
you are the square root
of love
oh Tarah,
you are the kiss and oak tree gives a Jetta at 80 miles and hour
oh Tarah
may little girls want to grow up to be you
and little boys want to grow up to love you
oh Tarah,
who is so sexy,
she makes that final "H" in her name silent in shock
of her beauty
and makes it speak to the rest of us,
"H" (an exhale)
oh Tarah
tall enough to shatter skyscrapers
oh Tarah
whose smile still breaks hearts
from 151.67 miles away
I looked it up on Mapquest
of Tarah,
you are the comma (,) in this sentence
and the period at the end of this one (.)
you are still punctuating my poetry
with a smell of skin that I can't deny
semi-colon, question mark, exclamation point, exclamation point, ellipse
;?!!...
oh Tarah
why do you tease me so
by not marrying me?
oh Tarah
I would buy you dishes
with a great china pattern
that your mother would love
like she would love me,
the boy who loved Tarah
oh Tarah
if you were a Kangaroo,
I would watch you hop
oh Tarah
if you were the moon
i would build a rocketship
land on you
and hit golfballs in a spacesuit
just to make an MTV commercial
20 years later
oh Tarah
you are where my keys are
oh Tarah
lets hyphenate your last name
with mine
and say them together
every time we meet someone new
that's real love, honey
oh Tarah
your name means Earth
if it were spelled differently
and we all spoke Latin
but we speak English
and it's spelled with two A's
and a silent H
which is Latin for nothing
but not nothing
i mean nothing translates into Latin
from "Tarah"
which is how I like
to love you:
untranslatably.
Ode to Tarah Leija
Ode to Tarah Leija:
A silly little poem
oh Tarah,
for whom my heart beats
oh Tarah,
who art squeezably soft
oh Tarah,
with hair dark like midnight
and other poetical things that are dark,
oh Tarah,
the tarahlisciousness of thy skin makes me weep
weep like a little boy
a little boy with melting ice cream
and hands too small to enjoy the dairy joy on a cone
with chocolate sauce
oh Tarah,
you are the square root
of love
oh Tarah,
you are the kiss and oak tree gives a Jetta at 80 miles and hour
oh Tarah
may little girls want to grow up to be you
and little boys want to grow up to love you
oh Tarah,
who is so sexy,
she makes that final "H" in her name silent in shock
of her beauty
and makes it speak to the rest of us,
"H" (an exhale)
oh Tarah
tall enough to shatter skyscrapers
oh Tarah
whose smile still breaks hearts
from 151.67 miles away
I looked it up on Mapquest
of Tarah,
you are the comma (,) in this sentence
and the period at the end of this one (.)
you are still punctuating my poetry
with a smell of skin that I can't deny
semi-colon, question mark, exclamation point, exclamation point, ellipse
;?!!...
oh Tarah
why do you tease me so
by not marrying me?
oh Tarah
I would buy you dishes
with a great china pattern
that your mother would love
like she would love me,
the boy who loved Tarah
oh Tarah
if you were a Kangaroo,
I would watch you hop
oh Tarah
if you were the moon
i would build a rocketship
land on you
and hit golfballs in a spacesuit
just to make an MTV commercial
20 years later
oh Tarah
you are where my keys are
oh Tarah
lets hyphenate your last name
with mine
and say them together
every time we meet someone new
that's real love, honey
oh Tarah
your name means Earth
if it were spelled differently
and we all spoke Latin
but we speak English
and it's spelled with two A's
and a silent H
which is Latin for nothing
but not nothing
i mean nothing translates into Latin
from "Tarah"
which is how I like
to love you:
untranslatably.
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