My Recorded Poetry Series continues with,”Travertine”, the fourth of five poems originally published in The Writing Disorder.
I am sitting in my very quiet writing space, typing this in a state of simultaneous disbelief and total joy. I am thrilled beyond the sky to announce that my book, “Things My Mother Left Behind”, is available for pre-order, on Amazon. This is a life long dream come true for me, and I will be forever grateful to River Dixon; an amazing writer, publisher extraordinaire and founder of the incredible Potter’s Grove Press.
To pre-order the ebook version of “Things My Mother Left Behind” you can go here. To visit my Amazon Authors Page, you can go here. To explore the beautiful and diverse catalog from Potter’s Grove Press, you can go here.
I am so grateful for all of the love and support I have received from this incredible community over the years; it has given me a sense of courage I never thought I would feel, and helped a life long dream become reality.
It seems like ages since I have written about blindness. It feels so small, so insignificant compared to what the world is facing, but regardless of its weight in a moment or hour or day, blindness is always with me. Blindness won’t be ignored or cajoled away. It makes everything I do more challenging, and even in this time of global crisis, blindness refuses to sit quietly.
There was an incident recently, on the stairs, that I told Joe is a perfect physical manifestation of how my mind works. I hurt my knee and was walking up the stairs, very slowly, after helping walk the dogs for the first time in a while. I am trying to use my knee to get it back into working shape. I was close to the top of the stairs when it started to give out, so I grabbed the railing for support. My arm is also injured, so when I grabbed the railing, the pain shot through my shoulder and down to my wrist so intensely, I started crying and couldn’t hold on. I was wearing a mask, which is an impediment to my already impaired vision, and breathing heavy with tears, so my sun glasses fogged up and I couldn’t see anything, and then my aging body decided that it was the perfect time for a hot flash. And oh yeah, there is this virus thing that is killing people all over the planet, so I was trying desperately not to touch anything and get to the hand sanitizer so the virus couldn’t get in the house. If this is the physical manifestation of how my mind works, no wonder I am nuts. The truth is that it was painful and terrifying and I felt so incredibly helpless, but it also made me reflect on how lucky I am.
It has been a challenging time, but regardless of whatever challenges I face, I know that I am lucky. I am lucky to have a home to shelter in and an incredible husband to shelter with. I am lucky to be cared for and nursed through the injuries that come from being partially sighted, (and sometimes just clumsy and old). I am lucky to have neighbors who rally together during times of crisis. I am lucky to live in California where our Governor and mayors are doing the work to protect us and stop the spread of the virus. I am lucky to be able to read and write and feel the support of people around the world. I am lucky that people take the time to read what I write, that I have an actual book coming out into the world. I am lucky to have family and friends and so much love in my life. So, yes, I am blind and broken, I am the chaos on the stairs, but I am also incredibly fortunate and grateful.
First and most importantly, I hope all who are reading this are safe and well and home. I am, as ever so incredibly grateful for the support and presence of this community in my life!
Continuing with my recorded poetry series, today I am offering the fourth of six poems originally published in Chantarelle’s Notebook. I hope you like it. Video credit goes entirely to my husband, Joe Richardson.
It has been a turbulent year. I haven’t done a lot of writing and almost no submitting, but I did have a few poems come out this month. Right now, it is all I have to share.
I already shared the poem in Orange Blossom Review, but if you would like to have another peek, you can do so here. My poem “Wax” appeared in Fresh Air Poetry, a new publication from the former editor of Amaryllis, Stephen Daniels. I also have a poem in this months Burning House Press that you can read here.
Everything is so quiet and so very loud. Each step I take is labored, heavy and uncertain. I haven’t written much at all this year, or submitted or had much published, but today I opened my email to a lovely surprise. Issue 3 of Orange Blossom Review came out yesterday, and I am honored to have one of my poems in its virtual pages, amongst the work of so many talented writers. If you want to take a peek at the issue, you can so here.
“Lady Street Jesus” is the last of 3 poems that were originally published in The Furious Gazelle. If you haven’t yet checked out TFG, I highly recommend you do, and if submitting writing is your thing, definitely think about submitting to them.
If you would like to read all 3 of my poems in TFG, you can do so here. If you want to subscribe to my YouTube channel, you can do so here. And, please check out my website, designed so beautifully by my husband, Joe.
My energy is pretty zapped right now, my thoughts consumed with what is happening to my father. I feel sad and emotional. I feel so grateful for all of the kindness I receive here, and for the amazing writing that I get to lose myself in. But, right now, I am not reading much and certainly not writing much. I feel like a stone, slowly sinking as everything goes dark. I will get through this. I will meet the challenges that face me.
In the meantime, I have the last two poems from The Furious Gazelle recorded and will share those. In advance, I am sorry to post and run.
Lurking behind the thin
stained metal of a bathroom stall,
brazen and breathing gravel,
she waits for an audience.
I open the door to a greeting
that crackles with delight,
but the smell of her misery
crowds the room.
She steps elegantly from
behind the tin curtain and
bows to her reflection in the mirror.
Her hair is tangled and covered with despair.
She is searching for a song
that died with the starlets of Ragtime.
Lips that drip fire grasp at words
falling through blisters and cracks.
Her nose seeps with determination.
She smudges blood across her teeth
with a tremoring hand, burps,
and flushes herself down the toilet.
This will be my last post before I turn 50, and honestly, I may have the kind of hangover that takes a few days to recover from, so this may be my last post for a week or so. I am still undecided what the celebrations will look like. That said….
I am continuing my recorded poetry series today with a poem that was originally published in The Furious Gazelle. The Furious Gazelle is a super cool and eclectic journal, with editors whose artistic sensibilities have range, depth and flare. “Gold Lame'” is the first of three poems I was lucky to have published with them, along with a couple of essays.
My range as a writer may not be very expansive; I tend to write about just a few things. But, one of those things is my city, and in my city lives a wealth of characters to write about. All three of the poems in The Furious Gazelle were inspired by Hollywood…the real Hollywood.
Toothless ladies reign
over my Hollywood neighborhood,
holding court on street corners.
Gold lame’ and a slash of red lips,
she flicks you away like filth off skin
and barricades you from the
wreckage of her fortress.
She sits on a throne of fading glamour
and keeps watch over the tumble of
ravaged relics that house her memories.
She came to the city to be gild
and slathered in star light,
but settled for a crown of tin with
rubies made of glass.