weekend poetry reading

this weekend i will be reading my poetry at Greenwoods bookstore. all week i have been preselecting, then editing, removing and then preselecting {again} my poems. honestly i probably do not need a week to prepare but i like to know what i will be delivering to my audience.

i have done many readings over the years and it is similiar but different. like driving through the prairies... you can probably do it with your eyes closed but you keep them open just incase there is a slight bend in the road.

i luv listening to other poets. it is one thing to read a poem in the comfort of your own home, whether it be a book or on a blog but to listen to a poem is quite unique. each poet breathing life into their words. listening to them form sounds and shapes that dance around the audience. is inspiring!

i look forward to this weekend with great anticipation and exhilaration.

sandstone

i have noticed that it has been awhile since i did a blog post. this is not intentional... of coarse, it never is. there have been some things that had to come first. also i have been going through my five note books, that are 200-300 pages each, filtering and reworking ideas. i found this one and gave it some life.

SANDSTONE

i walked down to the ocean to find my special place. the one by the big rock. bending to my knees i started to silently collect the sand in my hands. allowing the sand to filter through my fingers like a sieve. until my hands and fingers were left with the earthly particles that stuck to my skin. not wanting to let go.

are we all little particles that stick not wanting to let go?

i decided to dig deeper into the sand. my finger nails embedded with the tiny grit and grain. digging like a pirate for the buried treasure. there is none to be had. the tide gently washes to the shore. creeping up to my special place. smoothing out all rough and ripped surfaces. the ocean spills into my footprints. the sand absorbs every drop. my footprints vanish. concealing my existence.

i stare beyond the horizon as the warm breeze combs my hair. brushing my cheek. whispering in my ear. it is easy to remember all the things loved and lost when i am out here. they have found a place beyond the horizon. beyond the sun.

© copyright written on January 21, 2010 by JAQ. publishing prohibited unless with the author's permission. photo by JAQ.

Melissa... is that you?

i wrote this awhile ago. call it a short story or call it the beginning of something bigger. i haven't decided.

MELISSA... IS THAT YOU?

i walked away. i had my reasons. i had a few. i needed sometime to think things through. to stop the mad race that kept replaying over and over again in my head. the words swarming at me like aphids in the backyard on a hazy summer evening.

she had to concentrate. allow herself room to breathe before everything... the walls, the floors and the books started to consume her. time can erase but all it takes is one reminder. one word that puts you back to that place. she saw herself trapped between December and whatever month it is now. looking blankly at the calendar. she had lost all track of time.

"where have i been"? she asked herself. trying to scratch the surface.

until the phone rang...

i didn't pick it up right away. i waited and picked up after the second ring but before the third ring for sure. i said "hello". the voice at the other end of the telephone said "Melissa... is that you"? it took a few seconds for the words to sink in. i paused and was about to answer but i caught myself. remember, all it takes is one reminder. one word. there i was back to that place. with all my energy i replied "no, you have the wrong number". i felt a little numb. not even waiting for a reply i pulled the phone away from my ear and hung up. my eyes shifted to the phone with a sinking stare.

"Melissa"?

do i sound like a Melissa"? the anger was swelling but not reaching the threshold.

"Melissa..........." the eyes tightened. the face blank. draining then wiped clean.

the silence was deafening. here comes the flood. the blood draining from her cheeks. the thoughts rushing. spilling out all over the floor. the flood she could not control but you could. your pretentious observations. your holier-than-thou ego. a martyr to your own lies. fragments floated throughout the house. down the stairs. down the hall. in each and every room. every crack oozed with the flood.

© copyright written on April 22, 2009 by JAQ. publishing prohibited unless with the author's permission. artwork by JAQ