Poems

Exploding Seashells

Quaker-Oats-4321“CIA assassination plots included poisoning a box of Castro’s favorite cigars with botulinus toxin and placing explosive seashells in his favorite diving spots.”

The box of oatmeal broke apart
In my hands, the Quaker man
Decapitated, his smile
An unreturned greeting
Forever.

One wonders how chance
And plan intersect. I found
A missing earring when I bent
To scoop up the oats.

What if he had not been drawn
To the purple drupa
And instead reached
For the virgin murex? Continue reading “Exploding Seashells”

Events

First Friday Art Crawl: Take 2

rompcards2Last month, I spent the first Friday night in Tulsa’s downtown Brady district, on an art crawl, that involved art galleries, pubs, shops, studios, and much much fun. I’m going for round two, and maybe I will see you down there this time. It is a great time in a wonderful area of the city. I parked near the Cain’s Ballroom and headed south down Main Street, then east and made a big circle, ending up at the SoundPony and then back to my car at the end of the evening. Continue reading “First Friday Art Crawl: Take 2”

Events, Musings

The Poetry-Friendly Classroom: With 7 Hostile Verbs

ROMPstuffI was a high school and college English teacher for 24 years and littered the classroom with poetry as much as I could without causing epic upheavals and riots . . . though we did get close. Because I’ve loved and written poetry since I was young, I carried that love into the classroom, with mixed results, of course. I learned over time that being a stealth poetry teacher was the best mode of attack: Don’t let them know they are reading or writing poetry. Continue reading “The Poetry-Friendly Classroom: With 7 Hostile Verbs”

Musings

April Reeks of Poetry

DSC01705And then it was April, National Poetry Month. . . . the month of death breeding life, of life kicking off death’s pants, of daffodils and tulips and redbud trees and mockingbirds that sing incessantly, of the cradle endlessly rocking, the day endlessly alive with hope and warmer wind, of white legs and squinting, bees gearing up for the feast to come. Continue reading “April Reeks of Poetry”