June 7, 2015
I have created another blog, Exhibit A as a place to catalog my published poems, as well as display the text of my video poems. My Vimeo site links to the corresponding poems at Exhibit A, and the posted poems have an embedded link to their videos.
May 30, 2015
Video poems, that’s what. It’s something I’ve wanted to do with my poetry for years, and now I have a way to implement that vision, wtth the help of Windows Movie Maker and stock footage sites like Videoblocks, Pond 5, and Videvo.
This is a truly gratifying way to give breadth and depth to a poem, and to reach people that may not consider themselves readers of poetry. They may discover that they are enthusiastic “watchers’ of poetry.
I have a few video poems up for viewing at my Vimeo site here.
March 24, 2015
Congrats to Caitlin Scarano and The Poet’s Billow for inclusion in the most recent Best of the Net anthology!
October 25, 2014
The pale horse
just got here.
His rider reassures
everyone there’s no need
People are transfixed
by the spectacle,
the headlines and next of kin,
the cortege and the parade,
the celebrated, the contaminated.
We’re to wait three weeks
for a fever.
I’m sure he meant well,
but I think that cowboy
was trying to sell us something.
August 10, 2014
A big “Thank You” to The Poet’s Billow for their nomination of “Generator” for inclusion in the Best of the Net anthology.
Thank you Rob and Michelle for promoting and publishing those of us who are trying
to write our way out of obscurity. It’s a tremendous boon!
April 12, 2014
Short-haired dogs don’t like the cold;
twiggy legs shake and shiver.
Put a fleece coat on that fellow.
He won’t ask for it; you should
just know he needs it.
April 12, 2014
Determined to scrub the film
from my skin, remove the unclean
stick of it, I impose detergent and might
against this shield that in fact keeps me clean.
Its very nature, viscous and stubborn, presupposes
that I’ll attempt to undo it.
I inhabit a wise design
that in the end always outsmarts me.
Bare-skinned and squeaky clean for
mere moments before the film slides
back over, like a mother’s infinite reach,
though I continually refuse the anointing.