April 13 : holding by Jo Reyes-Boitel

All the poetry events in town, the search for found or rediscovered poetry and even my own application for graduate school have woken up the gutteral part within myself, that core chakra. It pulls out this possessive, compulsive part of me, this passionate part. Ay, that's enough, no? Here's a poem I wrote this last week. Most certainly a draft.

I’ll ask you straight up: what of yours can I keep
when you are so far away from me?

what can I get away with? stealing that will give me
a slap on the wrist, some should have known better glance?

what can I move a little of each day, in such tiny bits
you will not notice until finally it is in my pockets

and you realize, weeks later, it can’t be found
I keep it – rub it between my fingers,

hands in pockets, claiming I can’t recall? why
do I come up with these scenarios for taking you?

for the chance to acquaint myself with your tufted hair,
to call home your work smell cardboard and cinnamon

to have you say my name, to lift it from within yours
this is not obsessive love, this is ownership

as much as it is the story of your calling me over to you
it is all the same

April 12 : Jam by Karen Chase

Our love is not the short
courtly kind but
upstream, down,
long inside — enjambed,
enjoined, conjoined, and
jammed, it's you, enkindler,
enlarger, jampacked man of many
stanzas, my enheartener — love
runs on from line to you, from line to me
and me to you, from river to sea and sea
to land, hits a careless coast, meanders
way across the globe — land
ahoy! water ahoy! — love
with no end, my waters go
wherever you are, my stream
of consciousness.

April 11 : Postcard sent by Del Wieding

I got this postcard after seeing a friend of a friend just before I moved away from Austin (two years ago in February). I remember thinking I was lucky to get it in the mail before turning in my keys to the former apartment. When our mutual friend had get togethers in San Marcos, Del was always there with a kind smile.

Talk about "found poetry". I've since framed it and added my own touches with a three dimensional frame.


Dear Spirit
Beloved
Such a pleasure to see you and a joy
to hear your voice. A big hello to you
and your daughter. I wish good
days for you, happiness, truth, creativity.

April 10 : Poem #3 by Sonia Sanchez

I gather up

each sound

you left behind

and stretch

them on our bed.

each nite

I breathe you

and become high.

April 9 : Garabato by Virgil Suarez

One of my favorite poets - someone who knows how to chill, get deep, laugh and make you think. I miss the way we used to hang whenever he came through San Anto.


In the beginning was the hook like instrument
used to cut grass & sugar cane, made from the wood
of the guava tree. Depending on the creativity
of the devotee, it was painted or adorned with beads
& cowries. Ritual instrument of Elegba, Holy Child
of Atocha, whose domain is the Crossroads.

In Los Angeles, at the public schools, I drew
Chinese characters, or what I thought were

Chinese characters). Sometimes I copied
them down from the backs of Chinese fortune

cookies, to keep the bullies who beat on me
at bay. I told them I knew different forms

of martial arts, mainly Kung Fu & Karate. They believed
me at first, then grew skeptical over time & cornered

me outside in the hallways. I stood dumbfounded
& overwhelmed by the fact that I was about to get

my ass kicked. I‚d pray to Elegba & all the Orishas
that I wouldn't get my ass kicked--as I did on many

occasions. The elementals didn't work. My mis-
fortune cookies always came through: You will

make no friends. You will always be an outsider.
Not knowing the price, you will pay much dues.

Nothing has helped heal the mental blows, except
for this poem now & for all who kicked my ass

because I didn't speak English right or dressed
with the wrong clothes, or didn't comb my hair right,

I say this: this poem is my garabato. Con Safos.

April 8 : Self Portrait by Edward Hirsch

You can hear this poem read by the poet here.

I lived between my heart and my head,
like a married couple who can't get along.

I lived between my left arm, which is swift
and sinister, and my right, which is righteous.

I lived between a laugh and a scowl,
and voted against myself, a two-party system.

My left leg dawdled or danced along,
my right cleaved to the straight and narrow.

My left shoulder was like a stripper on vacation,
my right stood upright as a Roman soldier.

Let's just say that my left side was the organ
donor and leave my private parts alone,

but as for my eyes, which are two shades
of brown, well, Dionysus, meet Apollo.

Look at Eve raising her left eyebrow
while Adam puts his right foot down.

No one expected it to survive,
but divorce seemed out of the question.

I suppose my left hand and my right hand
will be clasped over my chest in the coffin

and I'll be reconciled at last,
I'll be whole again.

April 7 : Walk on the Water by Samiya Bashir

Featherstep dragonfly shooflyshoe.
Lightheart salmonleap waitingbear dodge.
dryeyed postsigh morningscalenoslippers.

Armswing synchronicity. Chinup.
Lookahead sunrayriding ripplesail faith.

Move.