Sunday, October 21, 2012
Friday, October 19, 2012
Tomorrow, Saturday, October 20th, at 3pm, inside the backroom of the Santa Catalina Branch of the Pasadena Public Library on 999 E. Washington Blvd., these Emerging Urban Poets will be featured in the 2012 Emerging Urban Poets writing workshop anthology publication party and reading:
FREE copies of the anthology will be given to all in attendance.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Many of the Emerging Urban Poets (Don Kingfisher Campbell, Michael J. Cluff, Mina V. Kirby, Deborah P Kolodji, Radomir Vojtech Luza, and Mary Torregrossa) will be performing tonight at 6pm inside the South El Monte Public Library on 1430 North Central Avenue. Call (626) 443-4158 for more information.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Don Kingfisher Campbell
FREEDOM TO DRIVE
a ton of steel and glass and plastic and rubber
on asphalt and concrete and metal road to reach
a windowed and tabled restaurant to gorge on
cow and pig and chicken and fish to fill belly and
get in car again to arrive at mall steel and glass
and rubber and stucco buildings of opportunity
to try on and plastic card or paper bill purchase
yards of cotton and polyester and rayon and
spandex then plant ass on leather and vinyl
once more to park wheels and chrome near a
convenience store of plastic and chrome counters
to buy a bunch of plastic and paper packages bags
and bottles easily tossed in either receptacle or
ground and subsequently re-enter a stucco and
rubber and glass and steel building wherein clothes
and food and electronics are stored in wood and on
carpet made to outlast flesh and bone occupants
The Post-Katrina Boogie
I got rhythm
See how it feels
I got it in my espadrilles
When these shoes
You're gonna get it too!
And bet your
You'll stomp that beat
Down the middle
Of Bourbon Street
Ain't no hurricane on the way
Looks like Mardi Gras!
Tweet the whistles,
Bang the drums
Honk them old
Til the dang dawn's early light!
Wind and water
Oil and fire
FEMA trailers of desire...
Shoot, that music never stops
And we forgot to care - so c'mon
St. Peter there
All the way to Jackson Square
Bon temps roulet
Down to that that
and you can lay down your care and woe
down by the riverside
study war no more...
Radomir Vojtech Luza
Fuck what they think
They laughed at my dancing
until they tried to dance
They tore-up my poetry before
they tried to rhyme pain and grain
They mocked my clothes
until they looked in the mirror
They sobbed loudly as saltwater ran down cheekbones
They could not move when
they heard me speak
They ran when they saw me bloodied and beaten
rise from purgatory
They laughed when they heard my monologue
until they realized their life was one
Christopher Luke Trevilla
Tender Oddities: Fabula y Realidad
Someone lost within
a something among us all
mirages walk in the light of day
gentle well meaning,
yet facades hide hearts in chains
while a homeless man screams
children and older folk turn and stare
with other worlds in between
sin cuidado alguno
Not a single soul
No one's there
Drink your morning cup
forget the sleepless night
lost in urban blight and suburban decor
treading and meandering
between two worlds
We swallow the bitter pill
and hold out our hand for more
each day the mundane ritual
We call home
In ages past...
Life was mythical and wondrous
now it is familiar and apalling
let's go back
recapturing the joy
of the messy and unknown
'See you soon.
No, never again.’
Small chest hidden in corner
of thrift store waits
for new owner to claim it.
Rescued from an empty house
and then a garage, the chest
hopes for a dwelling where
it can be put to good use.
Cobwebs hide in dark places
underneath its four legs,
while a whirlwind of leaves
gather beneath it.
Layers of dirt collect on its
mahogany body, while grimy
handles on three drawers,
leave residue on hands
that hope to find treasure inside.
Discovered underneath a fake plant,
the chest is joyfully taken
to a new place where its deep red wood
is cleaned of the black dirt hidden on it.
Shined with love, it is given
a new purpose in a new home.
Once hidden, I was covered
with the grime of sin until the Lord found me.
He cleansed me with the polish of righteousness
and cleared the cobwebs of confusion.
Shining me with love, grace and mercy,
He blows new life into me after each layer
of dirt is found and scattered to the wind.
The Worst Day
Starting a new life
In a new world
Away from green mangoes
You never find here
The worst day of my existence:
The first day of school;
The new kid
During the middle of the year
I stood out like an elephant in the room
With polka dot shorts
The worst teacher spoke
And I couldn’t listen.
I met the children of ogres
They call me names
I’d rather not mention
The day was a kaleidoscope of wishless hopes
That ended with a chair
Wet from my own liquid
The stink was hard to remove
Thank God there was no facebook
Or my worst day
Would have been
The end of me
Do Objects Die?
I still use
the things I bought
many years ago
shirts and dresses
how many times
they’ve been washed
so many are
Amid cacophonous noises of war
someone’s child lies dead
by the side of the road
We listen to Mozart
and are having roast chicken
A Short Stay
pampas grass splays up along the coastline
like fireworks on New Years Eve
the surf in mid October reaches out with delicate frothy fingers
tracing lasting images in my mind
one reaching Big Sur I camp between five redwoods
walk along a river stream where a small girl with apricot hair
still dressed in pajamas plays hopscotch
on humpback rocks with a Saint Bernard
further along a group of young men in boots and warm flannel
drink beer and walk on flat rubber wires between the redwoods
almost back at the cabin mist becomes rain
funky folk music comes from a makeshift tent
the band motions me in
soon eight to ten of us
huddle, sing, sway and relive a time
we thought we could make a change
I don’t recall when we first spoke. But I remember how his tall frame ambled by my table that first time, and he stalled beside my chair, not knowing I could see his reflection in the glass across the room, and he looked down on my head and seemed to pause as I looked straight ahead and didn’t move. I could hardly breathe. His reflection was so gorgeous, as he was, for I’d had a good look at him, and the book he carried snagged my heart: Reading Lolita in Tehran, clash of cultures, one group loving the other from afar, from the shadows, loving the forbidden, fearing disaster and braving the chance of everything falling apart.
He didn’t speak to me then, no, not then, but after, much after, though I don’t know when. After days of pretending not to see me, and I feigning not to care. There, just feet away, always sitting near the window, where he could watch my face no matter where I sat in that cafe. And I saw the thick black coffee he preferred, the heavy pastries he held lightly in fingers slender and slow, watched him licking icing from scones, frowning in his coffee cup, as if deciphering how he could hear my breath, miles away.
Our fingers brushed together when we reached for napkins at the counter’s end. Reading Lolita, bent and dogeared, lay on the table by my hand. He blushed. My blood rushed and pulsated in my head when he spoke and broke the barricade we’d had. His heavy accent, bumbling words, deep red face and mutters—my stutters matched his lack of grace, but his face spoke the words that tripped his tongue. Love at first sight, love from out the shadows, through days of averted gaze, weeks of pretending we didn’t inhabit the same room. Love hidden in long silence, but, as it turned out, love so wrong.
He was alien, undocumented, illegal, criminal, a trespasser taking advantage of our nation’s largesse—or so they said. But how could those silken hands commit a crime? How could his liquid eyes instill fear and rage, the poems he said to me in darkness as we lay in shadowed rooms speaking simply of love, and forgiveness, and the beauties of sun and sky, and children’s breath, and the loneliness of death.
Love without papers can be hard.
nymphs in dark pools
lianas ensnare me
sea urchin needles
nuzzle my neck
pay no attention
I am alone
a single tomato plant
rooted but flowering
tries to free herself
a wave of fresh air washes me
off the canvas
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
EUP's CaLokie and Don Kingfisher Campbell will be featured in the 100 Thousand Poets For Change - World Poetry Festival reading on Saturday, September 24th between 5 and 6pm at Beyond Baroque's SPARC Stage on 681 Venice Blvd. in Venice. For the complete line-up of poets go to > https://docs.google.com/spreadsheet/ccc?key=0AnzpHegfoo5LdHQtcWZnUkJhM0N2MWZlSVFMN1BiZlE&hl=en_US#gid=0