I'm interested in starting a writing / workshopping group what meets and writes and reads. Huh - who'd a thought... I'm thinking poetry, prose, short fiction, and "etc." of course. Check my journal for examples of my style.
Portland Metro area.
The doves are acting strangely. They tumble before they fly.
In the midst of the thunderstorm, traveling home,
bursting with static heapings of electricity
worn and used like old socks and sweatshirts
dangling out of the window of a speeding automobile.
Exhaust pipe bleeding into some atmosphere
stratosphere, getting there a burden.
Familiar greens of life, shades of grey pummeling
down and down.
Viscous earth brown and traveling through dry crevasse and
fold of sun kissed skin, peach pleasures smoldered into
some sense of ground.
If only hands made holes of such width and
depth to feel full of young woman, wholesome girl
shrouded in green grey blue eyes brown earth
rebirth pummeling down and down.
Greeted with a shameless laughter
of thundering spirit, flash and too many
Heart beats drumming from the green sheets
traveling salt condensing down and down to her.
Not on Any Wall
Lines and shapes etched in a stark face of black,
Paper rubbings to take memories in tow.
Strong men stand with their arms on another's back,
One hand on the wall, and one on his brow.
Another made it out but never home,
Lost long ago to bloodlust, fear and hate.
The name is missing; my soul's left to roam
As the wall's reflection shines back my fate.
My eyes, unrecognized, react in shock,
And history's alarm takes me back alone.
Don't think. Don't dream. Don't blink. Shut down the lock!
My walls are stronger than any of stone.
They say I survived, but I know they're wrong.
My face is in the wall -- where I belong.
Although I did not know Sean Daly while he was alive, news of his suicide affected me deeply, as this sort of news always does. After fighting in Vietnam, Sean spent the next 30 years of his life working for peace, while trying to excise the demons that war left with him.
At the end of March, I was asked to come up with some spoken-word poetry to go with Samuel Barber's "Adagio for Strings" for an upcoming dance performance. I sat at my desk and turned on the music. The mournful, extended tones of the strings set an image in my mind of a beleaguered veteran at the Memorial Wall trying to find himself in the names etched in there, for he was certain that he could not be alive. With Sean's death so fresh in my mind, it was he who filled the shoes of that lost veteran -- that war casualty whose name will never be memorialized among the losses.
Perhaps I feel these losses so strongly because I knew of my father's pain. For more than ten years after leaving Southeast Asia for the last time, my father knew the time, date, place and method of his own death. It was to be soon after my graduation from college -- a "respectable" time after, I suppose. His plan did not come to fruition, however, because Agent Orange took him first.
This knowledge, combined with my own experiences, gives me a particular insight. Every death affects me: military or civilian, on the battlefield or in a garage, but the death from Terminal Post-traumatic Stress hits me to my core.
hey portland poets! this is a haiku thread. post a haiku *smile*
funny how tree does
ripple iron grating in
an ocean of brick
Many of you are probably DPers, but I was reccomended to try here and crosspost :)
I'm looking to a make a comic book. I just can't write very well at all :D I'm looking for someone (or maybe a couple of people :D) in the PDX area who might want to collaborate with me on a comic book. It won't be any superhero-xmen quality work, i do far simpler and cuter stuff than all that, but if anyone's interested, here's a link to my (quite out of date) Elfwood gallery. I'm currently making a deviantART account under my same screenname if any of you want to look me up there :)
I'll be delivering a poetry reading tonight at the First Unitarian Church, SW 12th & Salmon. The event is a memorial service for all the lives lost in the current wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. The program includes music, meditation and poetry. I will be one of a few poets reading our works for reflection.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
The Heart of Peace
First Unitarian Church
Salmon St. Sanctuary, SW 12th & Salmon
Living Earth is hosting a candlelight ceremony for peace as the third
anniversary of the US invasion and occupation of Iraq approaches.
So if you didn't go to the Robert Bly event downtown out of laziness then shame on you. If you were too broke or at work/school then you missed out hardcore.
The Independent Publishing Resource Center (IPRC)facilitates creative expression and identity by providing individual access to the resources and tools for the creation of independently published media and art.
Since its inception in 1998 the center has been dedicated to encouraging the growth of a visual and literary publishing community by offering a space to gather and exchange information and ideas, as well as to produce work. The IPRC is an Oregon 501(c)(3) Nonprofit organization.
IPRC 917 SW Oak Street #218, Portland, Oregon 97205 USA hours: Monday: Noon-10pm Tue/Wed/Thu: 4-10pm Fri/Sat/Sun: Noon-6p http://www.iprc.org ( IPRC News, Upcoming Events and Workshops, Oh my!Collapse )
Hey people, so I am new...
Dude, I went to this a couple weeks ago. It's defianately fun times. But the place gets crowded quick so come on time! And most definately bring your rhymes!
(actually it doesn't even have to ryhme)
DIS IS DA GOVERNUH OF CULIFORNIA, ARNOLT SHVARTZENAGGA WITH A MESSAGE FROM YOUR PORTLAND SLAMMASTAH!!!!
POETRY SLAM RETURNS TO COUCH GALLERY THIS FRIDAY JANUARY 27th AT 8PM!!!
Couch is located on 328 NW Broadway unit 117 (in the scenic Everett Station Lofts)
you got questions? we've got answers from not one, but TWO people
DIS IS DAH GOVERNUH AGAIN, GO TO THE SLAM TONIGHT!!!!!
GET IN DA CHOPPA!!! GO!!!! NOW!!!!