Tiny Details.

In the midst of National Poetry Month, and I am finding poetry in the tiniest of details. The other day, Ha and I were in Buckhead, driving around, looking at estate homes just to look;these are homes that usually begin in terms of price-point, in the double-digit-millions... At one address, there was an "Estate Sale" (what wealthy folks call a yard-sale)and I urged Ha to stop, to "let me look at the books; they are always pushed to the side,forgotten...." So we stopped. Sure enough, I spotted a few hard-cover, "coffee-table" cookbooks like "The Beautiful Cookbook of France", scattered on various shelves, for just ten dollars (this cookbook retails for $50.00 or more)and "Cuisine of France". I gathered them, and placed them together, on a table, and decided to browse. When I returned just moments later, they'd been bought by someone else. Which upset me, because I'd intended to gift someone special who loves French food, who just took a class in preparing French food. But the loss caused me to look at another shelf--one I'd missed--which had only a few paperbacks, and an odd, teeny-tiny box.I opened the box to find two baby shoes.I held them (they fit in my palm)and discovered they were inscribed with the child's name, and date of birth, on the bottom of each shoe. It was like holding a life, aloft, holding these two tiny shoes. Where was this child now? Did the parents forget? Did they leave these here, because it was too painful to take them along? I noticed the shoes were tagged with a $5.00 price on them, which made me want to cry. A pair of shoes an infant once wore, now abandoned in this enormous house, a house filled with fabulous paintings and great cookbooks (and Oriental rugs, it should be noted, that most definitely are.not.for.sale.). A house with a ceiling-to-floor-view of the Olympic-sized pool behind the house. A house where people once drank, and ate, and hung paintings, and sang Happy Birthday, to at least this one child. I want to know this child. Where are you, Maggie, born in April, 1991? Poetry happens when people move. It happens when people forget. It happens, to children. Peace, kids.

It's the Business part of Poetry I especially need to learn.....

So I'm sitting at home working on two poems to submit for consideration for a big show being held in Florida, this summer. My Best Friend Forever, Jeanne Adams, invited me to submit, so I'm going to give it a shot.
I've been really, really lame in not submitting poems and essays and short stories, more often. The bare truth is, I seldom EVER submit, unless I am "solicited". This lack of confidence/ lack of discipline/ fear of failure has to end. I know my writing has improved, because writers/poets who I deeply respect have told me privately, that it has. When I read my new work aloud, in a public setting, at an Open Mic, or as a Featured Poet, I can sense the audience is more "receptive" to my stuff, than years ago. So..... What am I doing typing away on my long-neglected blog? Why, I'm neglecting my duty to finish work on these poems; neglecting the work needed to complete my new short play, entitled: " The Taste of Shapes"; and leaving incomplete, my "The Book of O: The Orgasm Poems". sigh....
Aw, heck, back-to-work.
Enjoy your Tuesday, kids.
Peace, kids.

Dr. King, Civil Rights, and JOIN THE IMPACT!

I ALMOST POSTED U-2's "PRIDE".Yesterday, April 4th was the anniversary of the assasination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. I nearly posted that U-2 song that begins: "April 4th, shots rang out, in the Memphis skyyyy..."
I didn't, because just listening to the song, made me cry. I did not want anyone else to cry.
I want us to celebrate this man's life, his achievements--if it weren't for Dr. King, we would not have the leadership we have in this country, right now. And I don't mean only our esteemed President Barack Obama, but all the people who've ascended to political positions that they were never given a chance at, in the past.
Today is April 5th. National Poetry Month is just beginning, and I think a great way to honor Dr. King is to link him with poetry. The man who ably spoke in the most poetic of terms, and spoke of righteousness as a duty, said "Free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty, we're free at last."
He wasn't referring only to people of color--but to all of us--free to support the civil rights of all.
With this in mind, I've also become a member of Join The Impact.
Check out their website, below, and become a member--it will take about three minutes of your time--for the next round of Civil Rights we must all fight for.
http://jointheimpact.wetpaint.com/?t=anon
Peace, kids.