Great Expectations

Not only am I excited to hear Donald Miller speak tonight, I just submitted the last of three pieces to Alimentum's poetry contest. Good times ahead!

Donald Miller Event

Tomorrow evening I will hear New York Times best-selling author Donald Miller speak. Miller wrote Blue Like Jazz (a personal favorite), among others.

New Poetry Contest

This morning I submitted the first of three entries to Alimentum's inaugural poetry contest. You can be sure that I will post any good news I receive here!

(concert interrupt-)

concert interrupt-
ed by a sewage backup,
attendees aflush

(little did I know)

little did I know
that would be our last goodbye
no hug, no kiss, gone

(She either just cut)

She either just cut
the cheese or just unzipped a
REALLY big briefcase!

How My Sister Discovered That I Was in Love with Her Best Friend

"You would NEVER
do that for me," she said
in a huff, half shocked;
half outraged after learning
that I had treated J.J.'s
soup bowl like an underwater
hunting expedition --
navigating around the
diced carrots and potatoes,
green bean cuts, petite
peas, navy beans and
conchiglie to fish out
the kidney beans
that J.J. despised
so much. I shrugged
my shoulders, smiled
and stared at the floor
for a few seconds until
J.J. changed the subject,
wondering if we would
see snow that night.

(startled by twin burps)

startled by twin burps --
the secret belcher hidden
in his cubicle

Drawing for Limited Edition Newspaper Blackout Poem Print

If you'd like a shot at winning a signed, limited-edition print of one of artist/writer Austin Kleon's newspaper blackout poems, head over to his site and make a comment on the giveaway post! The deadline is Monday, Oct. 26, at midnight CT. I've already entered, myself!

Southern Festival of Books

Downtown Nashville hosts the 21st annual Southern Festival of Books this weekend. I'm especially excited about Alimentum's sessions, entitled "The Poetry of Food," to be held around lunchtime today and tomorrow. I recently discovered Alimentum, a fabulous literary journal that features poems and short stories that celebrate food (whether directly or indirectly). Rich, wonderful stuff, indeed. Join me tomorrow from 1 to 2 p.m. at the foot of the State Capitol, Charlotte Ave. and Sixth Ave. N.!

Spice by the Spoonfuls

The Hungarian mushroom
soup I had at lunch
today reminded me of
Till Midnight, the
tiny cafe across
the street from
my alma mater.
I went there
once or twice as
a student, unable
to afford more
than soup, dessert
and the spicy jazz fusion
piping through the speakers.

Fall Writing Workshop

Today I attended CWW's fall writing workshop, "The Unbridled Pen," featuring author Michael Martone and cowboy poet Peggy Godfrey.

(Schlep)

Schlep --
her mouth uses it in conversation;
her feet use it for transportation.

Hot Tomato Haiku Contest Entry #9

"Pick me," she whispered,
longing for his strong, kind hands;
flesh ripe for his touch.

Black and White and Re(a)d All Over

My winning haiku is featured in the Nashville Scene's Bites column today!

Hot Tomato Haiku Contest Entry #8

Alone and frantic,
Pinky scourers the dance floor
for his toe mate. Oh!

Hot Tomato Haiku Contest Entry #7

juicy red flesh begs
to be grabbed -- mouth-watering
romp in the garden

Hot Tomato Haiku Contest Entry #6

One look at Cherry,
and Redmond revs his V8
into fried frenzy.

Hot Tomato Haiku Contest Entry #5

summer garden
tryst
juicy red flesh ripe for the
picking --
hot lips ticking

Hot Tomato Haiku Contest Entry #4

Ruby moves her hips,
working hard to play catch-up
with the salsa beat.

Hot Tomato Haiku Contest Entry #3 - A Winner

I am humbled and thrilled to announce that I was named the winner of the Hot Tomato Haiku Contest's "Plum Humorous" category! Over 400 entries were submitted for the contest. Special thanks to BookFool.com, who sponsored the event.

My winning haiku:

Pastor Bruce Shetta
to marry Tobas Coe and
Miss Mary Nara

Tomato Art Fest - Today

Join me at the main stage (11th and Woodland) at 2:00 to witness the Hot Tomato Haiku Contest winners' ceremony!

Hot Tomato Haiku Contest Entry #2

provokes a smile:
empty ketchup bottle fart
at the church picnic

Hot Tomato Haiku Contest Entry #1

fresh tomato slice
memories from my childhood
a summer garden

Tomato Haiku Pieces in the Pipeline

I successfully submitted nine entries for the Hot Tomato Haiku Contest. If I am selected as a finalist, I will certainly announce it here! May the hottest tomato win!

Open Mic Poetry Night

I plan to participate in Landmark Booksellers' open mic poetry night tomorrow evening.

Hot Tomato Haiku Contest

I am preparing to enter the Tomato Art Fest's Hot Tomato Haiku Contest. The deadline is July 31st. Join in on the fun!

Snot Lover

She seems to have a love affair
with snot. She sits at her desk all day
and sniffs up the mucus that makes
its way down the halls of her smeller;
all the while a full box of Kleenex
sits beside her just begging
to be used. It's not the only thing
begging her to blow her honker...
Does she consider it a crime to
send that substance into a tissue?
Does she feel she needs a permit
to shoot the slime out? She has a strange
allegiance to that ooey, gooey
glop. She seems, in fact, to like it.
Does she enjoy the constant
companionship it provides
throughout her work day?
Does it bring her comfort as it
coats her nasal membranes,
drips down her schnoz, and
reminds her that it's still there
with yet another "hello, again"?
Whatever the reason, she loves
her snot and, while I, for one,
believe in the right of every
adult to freely choose whom
to love, SNOT is where I draw the line.
Blow the trumpet, sister!

(Slow work day -- where was)

Slow work day -- where was
this quiet during last week's
beastly project blitz?

Lovebirds

I felt as if I had walked in
on them in the bedroom.
They were beak to beak
as I pulled up the driveway,
the cardinal and the robin.
Before they flew their
separate ways, they looked
directly at me, as if to say,
"Can't you see we're BUSY here?"
I looked away quickly, a little
embarrassed; a little amused;
happy for the little peckers.

Thank You

Thanks to all of you who attended Women's Work last night. Special thanks to Ashley, Connie, Dawn and Randy for their support!

Live Reading This Sunday

I will be sharing some of my poetry this Sunday at the third annual Women's Work festival. Come and enjoy an evening of original poetry and spoken word presented by lovely lady poets!

Sunday, May 10, at 6 p.m.
Z. Alexander Looby Theater
Looby Branch Library
2301 Rosa L. Parks Blvd.
Nashville, TN
$5

For more information or to purchase tickets, visit the Tennessee Women's Theater Project online.

Women's Work 2009

I've been invited to present my poetry at Women's Work again this year on Sunday, May 10, at 6 p.m. More details to come!

Change of Plans

One of my best friends from high school, Adam Lee Crabtree, passed away Wednesday night. I will be unable to participate in the Read-Around Tennessee event tomorrow, as I am traveling out of state to attend services.

The Courtesy Flush

It's a simple solution
to a terrible problem.
Once the baby ruth
has been delivered,
send that puppy home.
Why some folks
refuse to flush their
refuse and spare
the rest of us
their putrid fumes,
I have no clue.
I submit that public
restrooms must be
outfitted with gas
masks to counteract
the air quality offenses.
To such offenders, I
have only one plea:
Don't let your poo
stew under you.

Read-Around Tennessee

Come and join us!

Local writers (and listeners) are invited to the Williamson County Public Library on Saturday, Apr. 18, at 9:30 a.m. for Read-Around Tennessee, a celebration which will be simultaneously observed in communities across the state. Coordinated by the Tennessee Writers Alliance, this fifth annual Read-Around invites all writers, published or unpublished, to share five minutes of their fiction, nonfiction or poetry. All ages are welcome. This event is co-hosted by the library and the Williamson County Council for The Written Word. Pre-registration is not required.

Dangerous Delivery

sitting on the john
startled by the noises
in the stall next to me
praying that I don't get
splattered by the
bazooka pooper next door

In Those Last Moments

What must it have been like
to know that you were about
to be torturously beaten and
brutally crucified? I wonder
if He reviewed His time on
earth in the Garden of
Gethsemane, flipping
through the slide show of
His mind. Did He think of
His family -- His father's
smile, His mother's embrace,
His siblings' laughter --
His favorite adventures,
His favorite foods, His closest
friends? Did He rub His hands
and feet, nauseous at the
thought of the massive nails
ripping their muscles and
snapping their bones? I wonder
if, in His mind's eye -- with the eye
of the Spirit -- He saw the faces
of those He healed and
delivered, and the faces
of all those yet to be freed.
Ultimately, in those last
moments, He saw the face
of God, the will of His Father.
He said "no" to His flesh and
His emotions and "yes" to the
Kingdom of Heaven, as
He knelt one last time and
said, in essence,
"Your Kingdom come.
Your will be done."

(lost my appetite)

lost my appetite
waiting for the elevator
outside the restroom

Except for Earl

Tea is subtle and understated.
It's quiet and underrated.

Except for Earl.

Although Earl Grey doesn't
bust down your door like his
cousin Joe, he does knock
pretty hard.

He tips his hat when you
come to the door and,
before you even say so
much as "hello," he's
inside your house
sitting on your couch
chatting about the morning news.

Earl is chipper, but serious.
He is a man of the world,
sophisticated, up to date
and timeless, all at the same
time. He's a philosopher,
a morning man.
He's the kind of guy
you want on your side.

Today Will Be Okay

I've come to depend on
my morning cup of tea.
I survive interstate traffic
and my own stringent
a.m. primping routine
each morning without a
single drop of caffeine.
When I finally get to
the office, I need to know
that this day is worth all
the effort it took to get
here -- moisturizer, makeup
and mousse, cleaning up
cat vomit and dodging
suicidal drivers and
scraping bubble gum off
of my heel in the parking lot.
I need to know that
everything is going to
be alright. I rely on that
first steaming cup of
comfort with a kick.
I need its warmth and
strength to focus on
the tasks ahead.
And each day I accept
the gift of the black brew,
I know that -- come paperwork,
paper cuts or pervasive
newspaper headlines --
everything is going to be
okay -- at least for today.

(After nearly three)

After nearly three
years of silence, a hello
left his lips today.

Poetry Open Mic

This evening I will participate in Landmark Booksellers' monthly open mic poetry night.

(leaving a bag of new books)

leaving a bag of new books
in the car -- almost as hard as
leaving your newborn at the hospital

(careful to savor)

careful to savor
the first Girl Scout cookie of
the season -- then more

(her name on the)

her name on the
distribution list for
her own death notice

(upon hearing that she has)

upon hearing that she has
metastatic cancer
frantically checking to see if her last
e-mail is still in my inbox

Steaming

spent four minutes
with a spoon and a knife
squeezing every drop out of
the stringless PG Tips tea bag
only to watch it plop back in the cup
in an instant
with a splash

Coffee by Domination

Coffee is a man's drink.
It is robust and hardy.
It's earthy and militant --
even when it's dressed up
with pumpkin spice creamer
and Sweet'N Low.
Coffee doesn't tiptoe like tea.
It busts down the door
and makes itself known.
It takes command and
shows you who's boss.
It drags you through the yard
or the office like a soldier
and takes you to the other side
of the mountain or your morning.
Coffee doesn't disappoint.
Whether it's a buzz or a BM
that you seek, coffee doesn't
let you down.
Coffee is a man's drink.

(driver making the car)

driver making the car
her makeshift makeup studio
and making us nervous

My on-Again, off-Again Bedside Companion

She doesn't like to cuddle
or be held.
She likes to be in control,
to call the shots.
She comes
when she's ready.
She comes
to get what she wants
and leave.
And she practices the most
peculiar positions.
She often prefers to rest her head
near my hips
and press herself against me,
begging to be stroked.
When I pet her in just
the right places,
she purrs with pleasure
and lets me know,
in no uncertain terms,
that she's glad to be
my pussycat.

(snacking on Brussels)

snacking on Brussels
sprouts and agua during the
Golden Globe Awards

(the elevator)

the elevator:
the only place the "code"
allows her to speak to me

A Rework of an Earlier Haiku

I think I like this one better:

first sniff:
got makeup on the
pages of my new book

First version:

got makeup on the
pages of my new book while
trying to smell it

(Christmas cat)

Christmas cat –
bedside greeting
begins with a pounce

Open Mic Night

Tonight I plan to participate in Landmark Booksellers' open mic poetry night, hosted by Victoria Clausi.

(prescription to beat)

prescription to beat
the blues: increase
daily musical intake

And Then There Were Five

Last week my friend Sam shared the goings-on of his recent winter jog and asked me to write a haiku about it. So far, I have five versions. Do you have a favorite?

++++++++++++++++++++

December jog
railroad crossing
eleven turkey vultures

++++++++++++++++++++

11 turkey vultures
1 deer
death = dinner

++++++++++++++++++++

1 deer's fall
is
11 turkey vultures' ball

++++++++++++++++++++

December dinner --
Eleven turkey vultures
dine on deer.

++++++++++++++++++++

fresh venison
feast for
feisty vultures

++++++++++++++++++++

(sampling of the city)

sampling of the city:
snaking post office line
10 days before Christmas

(still dreaming of Sep-)

(after discovering my dislike of Corona)

still dreaming of Sep-
tember – root beer instead of
ice cold Coronas

(dreaming of September)

dreaming of September --
ice cold Coronas on the
screened-in porch

(said a prayer for the)

said a prayer for the
accident victims, thankful to be
on the other side of the median

(Locomotive-like sounds)

Locomotive-like sounds
coming from the apartment upstairs --
Here's hoping it's the washing machine.

A Full Canvas

Unlike most compositions, newspaper blackout poems are created from a full canvas (rather than a blank canvas, page or screen). The goal is to "discover" a poem within the existing article(s) and eliminate all the unnecessary words with a marker (or graphic design tool). The articles above constitute the full canvas with which Austin Kleon's November contestants began.

Saucer Eyes

This is the "newspaper blackout" poem that Austin Kleon selected as one of three runner-ups last month. I will be awarded a free copy of Kleon's forthcoming book. Best of all, my poem will be published alongside his in the HarperCollins release, due out next September! I've included the text below for easy reading.

Saucer Eyes

Puzzling sauce

should be removed

from the table.

Anxiety lies

in her eyes.

A Runner-Up!

I just returned from my Thanksgiving travels to find that I was named a runner-up in the November Newspaper Blackout Poems contest! More on this later!

Newspaper Blackout Poetry

I submitted an entry for the November Newspaper Blackout Poem contest today. I'll let you know if my piece fares well!

On the M-I-C

Tomorrow I plan to participate in the open mic poetry night at Landmark Booksellers. The evening will be hosted by Victoria Clausi.

(driving into the)

driving into the
sunset to vote on a warm
election evening

(bathroom concerto)

bathroom concerto
simultaneous poopers
workplace harmony

Rock 'n' Roll Mama

When my hair dresser
was 13, her hippie mom
made her and her
9-year-old sister sign
an affidavit, vowing to
always love rock and roll.
Though she has kept her
promise all these 26
years, mane master
Melissa regularly
tunes her ears to jazz,
gospel and bubble gum
pop ditties, as well.
And every time she spins
a Martina McBride
disc, her mother cries.

(I look to the bottom of)

I look to the bottom of
my tea cup and wait
for the webcast to end.

Southern Festival of Books

I am planning to attend the Southern Festival of Books this weekend in downtown Nashville. The event is free and open to the public.

Joe and Lenny

A Jolt and a Jam

Friday mornings
are meant for
Lenny Kravitz tunes
and a good cup
of java. A
steamy, creamy
cup of joe and
Lenny's retro
rockers get me
bobbin' my head,
tappin' my feet and
sippin' to the beat.

Family Math

At one time,
the five of us
lived in one house.
Over the years,
one house
has turned into
five homes.
Now, a couple
of times a year,
we are all under
the same roof.

(Noisy people don't)

Noisy people don't
belong at state natural
areas. Quiet!

Workshop 'til You Drop

This weekend, I will attend an all-day writing workshop led by the "godfather" of creative nonfiction, Lee Gutkind (pictured above).

Last Minute Invitation Turned Inspiration

Today I attended a talk by fiction writer Michael Snyder entitled, "How I Got Published," where I received a free copy of his first novel, My Name Is Russell Fink. To learn more about Snyder and his work, please visit his Web site.

(provokes a smile)

provokes a smile:
empty ketchup bottle fart
at the church picnic

Unglued

Yesterday I repaired
the bracelet you bought
for my 30th birthday
with super glue.
That icy February day
seems light years away
from today's August steam.
If only our estrangement
could be resolved as easily.

Burgers and Blankets

After we finished our burgers and iced tea,
we stretched out on the floor with blankets
for a Fourth of July nap
in the comfort of family;
in the warmth of sisterhood;
safe within the unspokenness of knowing.

Modern (In)conveniences

There's nothing like waking up
to the sound of the neighbor's
car panic button. I have yet to
use the red button for actual
safety purposes, but I have
managed to inadvertently
squeeze the screaming
siren a handful of times
over the past year. I'm
sure the neighbors in our
tightly packed subdivision
have appreciated being
shocked awake at 8:15 a.m.
I cringe as I imagine my
unintentional interruption honking
its way into my neighbors’
peaceful mornings -- lipstick
lines veering north to a nostril
or a hammer hitting a hand
instead of a nail at the sound
of the unexpected warning bell.
Somehow the peace of mind
that the panic button promises
to provide me cost my neighbors
their peace of mind.

(two police cars on)

two police cars on
the side of the interstate
like beetles courting

Sounding Off Southern Style

We talk with exaggerated
southern accents for fun –
even though Tennesseans
consider us “Yankees.”
Sometimes when I’m on the
phone with my dad, mom, sisters
or friends, I get concerned that
someone may hear me and think
that I actually do sound like that.
The fear suddenly intensified
when I moved south of the
Mason-Dixon Line.

parking

two police cars
on the shoulder of the interstate
side by side
with lights flashing
like two lightning bugs
in love

(living the life)

living the life:
shaving my legs to the new
Coldplay album

morning tea

like the allegiance of a faithful friend
like the familiar hand of a lover
like the loyalty of a family pet

Support the next generation of poets!

Loud and Unclear

Her voice was unnecessarily
loud and obnoxious -- making
it hard to concentrate on the
book about nonreligious
thoughts on Christian spirituality
that I was reading in
the salon chair next to her.

Why is she talking so loudly,
I wondered to myself, irritated
that I was re-reading the same
paragraph for the fifth time.
Does she have any idea how
annoying she sounds, I thought,
noting that her stylist seemed
to be put off, as well -- assumedly
speaking only once in a while
to preserve her own sanity.

Before I did anything I would
immediately regret, I checked
myself. Why was I so perturbed?
It wasn't time for PMS and it hadn't
been long since my last meal.

Suddenly, it hit me like a hummingbird
plowing into a glass door.
She was insecure, I reasoned,
and unable to rest in silence, let
alone enjoy it. She had to fill
every moment with some sort of
blabber -- followed by nervous
laughter and a new batch of jabber.

She doesn't like herself, I
suspected. Has she ever
felt cherished and celebrated?
Does know that she was
created to be captivating
and valuable, even irreplaceable;
who is going to tell her the truth
about who she is meant to be?

I watched her hair dresser
finish her cut, then blow dry and
style the woman's strawberry
blonde hair out of the corner of
my eye, and noticed when she
walked toward the front
counter to pay her bill.

I felt as helpless as a hostage
in my chair. How could I
make a difference in an
absolute stranger's life?
I said a quick prayer, asking
God to bring someone into
her life to love and help her,
and went back to my book.

It was clear to me that she
needed to hear the truth, but
unclear as to how it would happen.
Part of me wanted to take off after
her in my salon frock and aluminum-
foiled hair to talk with her. The
other side of me felt like I do when
I see starving children from
Africa on TV -- hurting for them
but frozen in another land.

(Office breakroom zoo)

Office breakroom zoo --
is the workload so bad that
we seek solace there?

Ink on Ink

I have a problem
marking in a poetry book.
I can use a pencil, mind you,
to underline, applaud or question
a passage, line or word in a book
of poetry all day long. But I have
some kind of curious aversion
to doing so in ink – as if adding
my ink on the page would
somehow dishonor the existing
print on the page.
Stranger still, I have no problem
using a pen in a work of fiction
or nonfiction. But
a collection of poems
somehow commands a sort of
respect, a sacred care,
a reverent response – like
a sunset or the miracle of birth.

If Melody Is Nourishment, Harmony Is Healing

Do you ever wish you could
drink music – first in soft sips,
then steady swallows, and,
at times, greedy gulps?

I need consistent installments –
like doses of medicine
carefully measured out
by the hours, days, and
weeks of the month.

It moves me like the
majesty of a mountain,
the splendor of a sunrise,
the openness of an ocean;
like the moment you know
that you're home.

(By the time you finally)

By the time you finally
understand your job,
you no longer want it.

Matters of Intake

I have a friend who devours
poems like she devours
sumptuous chocolate cake --
with a feminine fortissimo,
speedily savoring each serving.

I, on the other hand,
experience poems like I
experience creme brulee or flan --
slowly, deliberately,
careful not to overdue it,
knowing that too much
of a good thing will ruin
the power of the moment.

I do not think either way
is superior -- only that one
approach is better for
that particular partaker.

Even now I am closing
a book of poetry,
instinctively knowing
when to say "when."

(sitting in a meeting)

sitting in a meeting
with no clue
dreaming of the beach

(excited to finish the book)

excited to finish the book;
sad to see it
end

(the cardinal)

the cardinal
sounding off
like the Fourth of July

with gratitude to Rebecca J. Davenport for a spectacular ending

(they lean in with)

they lean in with
eyes wide open and
mouths tightly shut

(a generous lark)

a generous lark
and her five fine, feathered friends
treated me to lunch

The Walk

We were like ducklings
following Mrs. Rempala
all the way from our
elementary school to
the nearest track for
practice. Our track team
was permitted to use
Riley Elementary's
facility for our workouts,
as our campus barely
had room for a jungle
gym. I remember walking
through the neighborhoods
between Kyger and Riley
and looking up into the
budding trees the springs
of my fifth and sixth grade
years. I breathed in the
April air and experienced
my first taste of independence,
responsibility and healthy
competition on that walk,
mentally preparing for
the 60 meter dash, my next
boyfriend and junior high.