The following poem comes from Read Write Poem’s prompt #81 – a picture of some sort of donkey-man looking quite glum sitting under a spindly umbrella. Dana Guthrie Martin, RWP’s resident maven, shared the image, which is brought to us by nwolc.

DONKEY BOY

This is how it feels to be kicked in the heart.

Worst is the hole left behind, and the bubble where ribs bulge back.

Last night, after a long round of such talk,
Sally said I should do a fire walk. I’d feel great,

better than all the therapy that hadn’t cured a thing.

If hot coals didn’t work then nothing would.

Just me and a few smoldered thoughts
with which to cross the threshold.

I’d know everything I needed to know
as soon as I tasted burn at the back of my throat.

Half way I’d see the beauty in the end of things.

How like cures like, what bows wrap shut.

None of which means much atop flame,
oxtail smoking nearby

for later when we’ll eat and tell stories of our lives made of flesh.

Portland-area poet, writer, and general all-around neat person Nora Robertson is about to unveil the New Oregon Interview Series, debuting this Wednesday, June 24th, at everyone’s favorite cafe, Urban Grind East.

It looks to be a really amazing monthly series of coffee-talk, starting with this month’s music-themed evening, when Nora talks with local luminaries Slim Moon, Mic Crenshaw, and Alicia Rose.

Nora conceived the New Oregon Interview Series to find out how Portland’s blossoming creative culture has developed and where it’s headed. As she so rightfully points out, “A lot has changed in the past decade. The best perspective comes from the artists themselves—and the designers, writers, chefs, and venues who make things happen here.”

Join in the conversation starting this Wednesday. Go here to find out more about the series and to say hello to Nora. The 90-minute event gets underway at 7 p.m.

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It’s time for another installment of everyone’s favorite public display of self effacing storytelling: BackFencePDX.

THE FACTS

WHERE AND WHEN: Get to the Mission Theatre (1624 NW Glisan) to enjoy some strutting swimsuits (with bodies in them) by 7:15 this Wednesday, 6/17 (the stories start at 7:30)

THEME: “Caught Red-Handed”

WHO: This month’s storytellers include stripper and author Viva Las Vegas, UX engineer Rael Dornfest, Saint Cupcake owner Jami Curl, playwright and ghostwriter Pema Teeter, geologist Eric Schniewind, comic artist Nicole Georges and preacher’s son Jeff Hardison.

BROUGHT TO YOU BY: Frayn Masters and Melissa Lion, the BackFence ladies!

BUY TICKETS: Go here.

ONE MORE REASON TO COO: It’s BackFence’s one-year anniversary show!

Today was day one of my self-imposed writing intensive at Writers’ Dojo. I’m essentially locking myself in their friendly confines for a few days a week for the next six-weeks with a stack of books, notebooks, pens, and other essential writing and research supplies (cold pizza; coffee; H20; blanky). The general idea is that sometimes a writer can be his or her own worst enemy in the face of progress and process. My garden is lovely, after all, and I can find about 100 things to do around my house – all of them justifiable – in lieu of getting down to business. Alas, Jeff, Rachel, and the rest of the Dojo family are happy to provide the necessary solace and needed creative space to step away from distraction and stay in the flow. It’s sort of like Ritalin for writers, without the toxicity and dependency.

If you live in or near the Portland area, and aren’t familiar with the Writers’ Dojo, check out their site, get in touch, and pay them a visit. It’s a great way to get away from everything else and get down to the word.

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The Weekly Flashback features “retired” poems, most of which I wrote between 2001 and 2002. They are pieces that, for one reason or another, I will no longer be working on. While I don’t consider them “finished” pieces, I’ve decided to share them in their “final” form.

MOOD MUSIC rolled out of my head in Milwaukee, winter of 2001/02. I was getting off of work in the morning, walking out of the restaurant I cleaned when I saw an old woman waiting for the bus. She smiled at me in a way that made me think I reminded her of someone. I got the sense that she’d lost a son some time ago, and that he was around my age when he died.

MOOD MUSIC

I woke to snow and some song
of losing love or death or both,

and thought of the last two funerals
I’d missed. Later, I swallowed some

of this melancholy in front of an old woman
at a bus stop who thought of her son

when I passed, the one who’d died
at twenty. She wore it in her eyes

and a trembling hand that snug
her coat collar tight.

She smiled when I smiled because no one
smiles at her much these days,

convinced I was an angel, had been sent
by one in the light of that day

to smile and share some warmth
before we all pass on.

I don’t mind a part in someone’s play
so long as results are fair,

and later she finds me waiting the way
she waits, takes me back

to my grandmother, buried,
the way she smiles hello.

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Read last week’s flashback.

Seattle’s own A.K. “Mimi” Allin, the Poetess at Green Lake, is curating another amazing poetry event this Thursday, June 11, in the Seattle Art Museum’s downtown galleries. What will you see this time around? How does 100 poets on escalators, in galleries, atop balconies, draped over the grand staircase whispering poems and creating impasses sound? To me it sounds like Mimi’s doing her magic again.

When: June 11, 8-9 p.m.
Where: Seattle Art Museum
Why: Because you love poetry, you love Mimi, and it’s FREE (with museum admission)

You can learn more about the event here. To find out more about Mimi’s work and words, visit her site.

Thanks –

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Check out Declaration’s Super-Short Summer Serial Challenge (S4C), which will be rocking through the month of July. I’ll be posting my story here during the month. Keep and eye out and write one of your own.

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The following poem, THE UNTHINKABLE, was something I wrote back in summer of 2001. I can’t remember the exact prompt now, nor am I sure to what the title alludes. I know that the only poetry I read back then was Bukowski, Ginsberg and Kerouac, which explains some of what’s going on in the poem (I think). All I know is it’s unlike anything I’ve written in the last four or five years – that’s not to say it’s worse (or better, for that matter), only that it sticks out as an older voice.

THE UNTHINKABLE

When sky falls,
earth shoots roots
toward morning,
air bends light
with sound,
migrant geese
make moans of whales
at midnight,
cabin doors in storms
flap from ends
of piers,
hands near fire
touch love’s lips,
taste flowers
near graves,
the wind, the essence
of ginger
and peanut oil,
pimples roused
by suggestions,
the life of first
and final moments
before
the unthinkable,
the spot of autumn
dying,
the moans of migrant geese
are whales
at midnight,
air bends light
with sound,
earth shoots roots
toward morning
when sky falls.

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Something I’ve been doing in workshops lately is asking business owners to write the haiku of their business. Why do I do this, and why does it matter? With regards to the content – the haiku itself – it doesn’t. The process, however, is another story.

You can read the entire article at Art of Cultivation, a site for business growth.

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