Category Archives: Poetry
Let’s go ahead and assess this damage.
Left foot meets right foot and I bow forward. Already I feel a pull in my lower back. Continue to weigh my torso so that my arms sink along the side of my legs, hands planting onto the floor. Definitely a strain. One more measure: bend the elbows to sink deep into the back leg stretch, ass high in the air. I freeze at the sensation of a red hot poker blade dragging itself from top of thigh to the center of my lower back.
That’s not a strain, ladies and gentleman, that’s a muscle tear.
With that I lower to the ground, fan my legs, and extend a stretch to the right then gingerly to the left. The damage is officially from the right waist to the back of the right ankle. I’m an expert at fucking up my body.
I harness Bobby to include Bear’s Texas A&M dog tag (to signal we’re friendlies in the OSU/OU territory) and with bottled water in hand, we head down the street.
Middle America is quiet at 11:13 am CST. Cloudy and breezy, a welcome after a bitch of a heat wave over the weekend. The neighborhood I’m staying in is quaint, provencal, and proudly maintained. Every house a little story, every yard an expression of self-worth. The large diesel commercial trucks parked in the driveways likely cost more than the houses. I imagine the person who drives that truck to work is enjoying a few days, maybe hours, of respite before he takes off, back to the fields.
What are the wives of roughnecks like? By garden alone, you can tell she’s a proud Oklahoma woman, growing rosemary, sage, cactus, purple-tipped sawgrass. Nothing exotic; a botanical expression of Midwest culture – familiar, comfortable, native. As we continue down the street I note the various license plates representing nations: Cherokee. Choctaw. Osage. Texas.
A man in a wide-brimmed straw hat driving a black beat up F-150 offers us a wave of greeting as we turn down on 25th street. Bobby’s being serenaded by the local dog community, all stir-crazy that the little black boy bops freely down the middle of the street while they tug helplessly on their chains.
My skin warms as the approaching noon sun lifts centerward, and I start to feel my hip slip. Now I’m very concentrated on the intensity of this injury: the tear in the muscle interferes with my ability to comfortably propel forward; it feels as if my hip is slipping out of position. The spirit is always willing, but today, we’ll cut this walk short.
Bob and I turn up onto the main road back to our street and we are eyed by a very bothered, obese Jack Russell terrier. She frightens me as she tears across the busy street to defend her home from an unsuspecting Bobby. She nipped at him lightly, but Bob took it as a greeting, wagging his tail with delight. Her owner soon recovered her and we had a short but comforting exchange – all is fine, Bobby’s fine, I hope she’s okay.
We are welcomed back to our street by a cacophony of curious dogs, and I enjoy watching Roberto Tiberius promenade down the center of the street, panting towards his subjects, one black paw after another trotting towards his familiar truck and house.
Meanwhile, I actualize the severity of my damage and decide to stay here in the land of the roughnecks until I’m fully healed.
As in ‘go’, as in ‘green light’…clean ups on every page. Especially check out my I Blew Up Juarez tab…did I answer your questions satisfactorily? Think I covered ‘what is the book about?’ and ‘where can I find it?’ as succinctly as possible. And please do Like the page, but only if you mean it ;)
You know how you look at a thing too long you don’t know if you’re done? I’ve updated two of my Pages, “All About Von” and “Make Contact”. Well if you could just dance through those, offer edits where necessary, so I can stop looking at this, I’d really appreciate it!
Going to walk away and shower while you do that. Maybe eat lunch. Yeah, lunch…
For my art, I prefer to be paid food first, then cash, then weed. So when a fellow poet and dear friend sent me this text, I was too happy to oblige:
In an ironically super useful way, this project aligned with a current project I’m doing for a horror anthology; the main character volunteers at a hospice! This commission would be good practice in translating my terror into fantasy, like I’m trying to do with Millie.
When I poet, I first deliver a freestyle, then I apply the technical aspects, and finish with honing and planing the poem to its essence. Well…the commissioner’s time schedule and mine weren’t in sync, so I hadn’t gotten to the technical phase when she asked for the poem. Guiltily, I scrambled to clean up the freestyle and submitted it. I emphasized it wasn’t my best work and, had I managed my time better, her patient would have his poem.
Deep down I was saddened, knowing that meant I was out a meal. You guys know how much food means to me; it felt like I was dumped by a wonderful potential mate.
But then I get a text saying, he loved it! She had read him my rough draft after all! For someone who doesn’t enjoy violence or darkness she enjoyed the story. I appreciated hearing that, especially because she’s an artist who fairly critiques. So, I got my commission in the form of a great lunch at Community Cafe on Central Ave and I have another satisfied customer. Huzzah!
Here’s the commissioned product, very rough and yes, I could do better:
And for a bonus, the song I used to get into the mood:
So, while I was on WordPress hiatus, I:
Skinned my knee falling off the wagon
John Connor’ed my nephew
Violated my personal code of conduct and accepted a date…WITH A COP.
Received a growl from Bobby on his 5th born day
Forced a 1st grader to do math (related to #4)
Blew up eBay
Made like Mowgli and returned to my “people”
Decided to celebrate Christmas in July, Jack Kerouac style
Mastered the Nooky and fell in love with Scrivener a la HER
Went vegan for a vampire story!
Tell me via Comments which one you want me to elaborate on, and I’ll feature it in these week’s posts. For my new followers gained during the break, ♥THANK YOU♥ and enjoy these bears!
My blog buddies, I’m offline-ing the first two weeks of June to address projects requiring strict concentration. Hanging out with you is so fun, yet it distracts me from getting work done…shocker…
But shed not a tear darlin’, I’m gonna schedule a compilation during my usual Sunday-Wednesday cycle to tide you over. Now enjoy this 2013 gallery of me in swimsuits. See you June 15th!
This Mem Day Weekend I chose to tackle the leaning bookcase, see what we could alleviate from its shelves. Let’s discuss this stack that made the “donate the local library” pile (top to bottom):
1) Izzo, et al. – You can tell how much you mature as a person when you no longer feel the need to purchase books with titles including the word “guide.” Age-appropriate book, it’s geared towards the fresh out of undergrad chick population. This book provided me that most money of lines, “You can have a great job, a great boyfriend and a great apartment. But only two at once.”
2) Bank – This book was a reco by my first grad school roommate, a deranged, self-congratulating MFA student. I should’ve known the protagonist was a naive, vulnerable, indecisive retard desperate for a man to rescue her. Daddy issues out the wazoo, just like that asshole ex-roommate.
3) Moore – This is a shit book. Shit story, moves slower than molasses uphill. But I held on to it for so long because I bought it at Old Tampa Book Company off of Ashley Drive in Downtown Tampa. I kept a book to keep a memory of Florida, but now that I’m here, why the fuck do I still have this shit book??
4) McLaughlin, et al. – One of the few books I owned that made me laugh hysterically. Very fun, neatly self-deprecating, and just love how the protag earns her quiet victories. They made a movie of this, right?
5) Wood – Another Old Tampa Book Company find. This was a boner crippler. The title was a pull, the synopsis was intriguing, but once I engaged, it was dumb! The author had a great premise, had a great back story, but then slapped too much jargon in it in an attempt to demonstrate, I dunno, technological competency? with the consequence of sloppy story delivery. Glad I only paid a dollar for it.
UPDATED 05.19.14: Here’s my reaction to Sandy Henry’s challenge…enjoy!The air is thin where you are and yet I gasp for air grasp at stones climb higher ever higher to wheeze in a forever moment. You aloft in Prakriti laughing with your fellow demigods and yet I can see you there which means I can be there too. But how? But how? The climb up Babel has left me dizzy my heart lub dubs slower my skin blues with the surrounding sky. Oh let us know one another sweet lord You can walk in my space but I can’t seem to walk in yours what to drink? what to take? to transcend from this fake reality and join us for eternity? I know. I feel I know. Let the last bit of air leave me So I can finally breathe. -Von Simeon
Sandy Henry created this poem and performed it at a recent event. She then posed the challenge of creating a work, any kind of work, in reaction to her poem. I’m up for the challenge; how about you?
I’m gonna do a creative reaction and post it Sunday evening. Whatever you decide to do – photo, poem, prose, song, freestyle – send me a link to it. You can post it on your blog, just make sure to give me a touchback. ;) Sandy is looking forward to our activity.