Win up to $500 at museum's poetry slam - DETROIT

Here's how: Enter the Wright Poetry Slam Open-Mic Competition sponsored by the Charles H. Wright Museum of African American History on April 15, 2009, 7-9pm, by calling 313.494.5823 to provide your name, e-mail addy and phone number. This event has no admission fee and the museum is located at 315 E. Warren Ave., Detroit, MI.

Visit the museum's website for more information and while you're at the site check out the Current Exhibition I Have a Dream: An International Tribute to Martin Luther King, Jr., which runs from March 18 through May 3, 2009. The exhibition is organized by the Maricel Museum in Spain as a tribute to Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s philosophy of freedom and justice - for all. The Curator, Gabi Serrano, amassed 70 works created by artists around the world, all the works fall under the main theme, "the dream".

I want to make you famous, Marcee Lee!

This is a story written by Jacquelyne Smith (Bless her!), run in the Independent Florida Alligator. Marcee Lee Winthrop is the kind of woman that inspired Janet Leigh's poem Ode to Woman. Ms. Winthrop has what's called the "irrepressible spirit" of woman; she has courage, resiliency and a vision of how she wants to be seen. She sees herself as "poet," and she's even come up with the title of her first poetry book, Poverty Revolution Part 1: Skimming the Surface. Winthrop wrote her first poem as a part of a New Year's resolution to live up to her potential and improve her life. The poem was written based on her own experience living in poverty. Winthrop is raising her 13 year old daughter after being left on their own by her husband who left in early March.

Winthrop faces a number of obstacles in her daily life. Starting with a full set of teeth, she now has 3 left, all in the front, and because of this physical characteristic and her lack of job experience, she remains unemployed. The loss of her teeth has been personally painful and brings her much anguish and hurt. Unemployment rules out medical and dental care, leaving the dental work she needs to improve her appearance, out of reach. Nevertheless, she manages to get past the resulting insecurity of her appearance to take the stage to read her poetry at places like UF's Orange and Brew during open mic nights. She hopes to educate people through her poetry to the hardships of poverty and stir action to eradicate it. I love that she is taking this initiative to help others while helping herself.

Winthrop wrote her first poem, I am a Face of Poverty in America, to address her anger with the government which she feels treats her as an "expendable soul" because of her poverty. She says her experience trying to get assistance from the government is frustrating because, for one thing, she lacks transportation. Winthrop says many poor people feel like "a number," or "cattle wandering from building to building."

A neighbor, Edwin Luciano, has known Winthrop since she moved into the neighborhood several years ago and admires her for "stepping out and doing something special. It just goes into people's hearts and makes a difference."

May the stars be aligned in favor of Marcee Lee Winthrop's goal to "live up to her potential and improve her life" through publication of her poetry.

pssst... Winthrop needs a kind benefactor. From my lips to God's ear!

Poetry for an America yearning for awakening

Poetry by Uncle Sam for Uncle Sam is the catch phrase for a featured poet in the annual Los Angeles Times Festival of Books, which will run April 25 & 26, 2009 on the UCLA campus. Uncle Sam, in this case, is poet Sami El-Soudani who will be having a book signing at the Xlibris Publisher's Booth, booth #238, from 11am-12pm on Saturday, April 25.

What I like about this poet is his intention to shake us up with a message about a "great nation in sedation, presently subjugated to the point of being captive by its homegrown military-industrial-media complex, which is dedicated to the service of special interest groups and personally profiteering war advocates." Whew! That's a head full.

But wait! There's more. Sami Uncle Sam El-Soudani is sounding an alarm, long overdue, that America's sword is being turned, slowly but surely upon its own people, as America's preemptive war escapade has already been set in motion, wrecking havoc in the world at large, and unleashing the dogs of war, skillfully trained by wicked war kindlers. This war is given the misnomer title of "war on terror," but in reality it is being waged with a mindset aimed at capturing Islam, as "a clashing culture" as prescribed in a recipe for World War III per Samuel P. Huntington. With such a mindset, Islam is regarded as "a threatening warring civilization," just another buzzword title, with both references being as bogus as a witch's broom. People of America: Awaken!" Wow! This is serious stuff, eh?

As serious as Dr. Sami El-Soudani's credentials; "an aerospace materials scientist specializing in fracture mechanics and failure analysis and has been engaged for over thirty years in averting failures of aircraft structures. For the past twenty years, however, he has been conducting independent theological and sociological research prompted by regrettable world events clearly showing that failures of the human spirit are of far more devastating consequences than failures of aircraft structures." [emphasis mine]

Actor Jonathan Rhys Meyers will wow us with *his* poetry - after retirement

Aside from being one of my favorite actors, Jonathan Rhys Meyers claims he also writes "terrific" poetry (according to a newKerala.com item), and of this claim I have no doubts. Why, just look at how "terrific" this man presents himself. Then, think of his acting abilities! Surely a man who looks this good, writes just as well, no? All kidding aside, I will have to wait to pass judgment on his poetry at this time, however, I'll be an olde, fading raisin by the time Meyers retires.

"Maybe when I'm a lot older and I won't be so embarrassed, I'll publish it," he added.

Well, to this I say to Meyers, there's nothing to feel embarrassed about writing poetry; it's the language of the soul. And,, and - your eyes tell me a different story. You have the eyes of one who approaches life in a studious, meditative manner with great awareness and contemplation. Add sensitivity and stir. Voila! Poetry! Prove me wrong. Leave a poem here in Comments (and your phone number. Just kidding..:)

National Poetry Month kick-off!

What better way to jumpstart Poetmeister 4 Poets! after a longish hiatus than start off National Poetry Month with a shout out to all my favorite poetry sites & blogs, and then some! I've truly missed, over the past months, my usual blog-hopping forays; it looks like the dust is settling over our homestead at last which will allow me to resume my blogging

• I shall start things off by giving a high-five to Joe Felso, er, David Marshall, of Joe Felso: Ruminations, for his newest start-up blogs, Haiku Streak and Signals to Attend, which I'm just starting to "get to know." You may remember that Joe Felso/David Marshall is one of my favorite online educators and excellent writer of haiku! Welcome back to the blogging world, David! I'll be stopping in again soon to catch up with your comings and goings.
  
• You must go to Poets Who Blog and give some luv to Sara who puts in endless hours of superb writing on All Things Poetry - for a community of some of the most talented, unique, innovative poets in cyberworld. Poets Who Blog site has undergone a new look which really pops! Great job, Sara. Kudos to you for your tenacity and perseverance in providing the best information hub to the online poetry world!
• Don't forget to check in with these great blog sites, too; World Class Poetry, Billy the Blogging Poet, Blogsboro Poetry Club, Asphalt Sky , Glenn Buttkus' Feel Free to Read & Silliman's Blog!
  
• Rick Mobb of Mine Enemy Grows Older still continues to amaze me with his enormous talents and vision, and heart for social justice. Read Rick's newest poem, and now she's awake here. And Just Paisley continues to awe us with her poems & writings with their perfect complementary photo or artistic embellisment. Scot Young's Be Not Inhospitable to Strangers still rocks for me. Go give some luv - now!
  
• I'm totally taken by several new blogs I've discovered or been introduced to recently: Bryan Borland's SHAKE and David Rheins Blog.

These few highlighted sites ought to keep you busy kicking off April's National Poetry Month! At least until I return with more places to check out - and more poetry, of course.. ;>

An enigma - unto herself - it's what I love about c

I came upon a real treat tonight; surfing, surfing, surfing my sea of cyberfriends,, trying to catch up with the comings and goings, trials and tribulations and mental meanderings of soulful, provocative & sensate individuals - who enrich and inspire us all - to higher, rarer realms of thought and imagination.. ahh.. and how I love swooping in on All the Elbows: the bend of them, their grease, poke and of the tennis variety - all are welcome in the house of c.. she will bend your mind, grease your creaky heart, ..and poke you right where it hurts with her fine-tuned, fertile verbal ferocity which has the power to ferry you across vast expanses of feral fields of cerebral imaginings like a pioneer imagist seeking new and untenable frontier. c is for cosmos, coping, commentary, caring, stream of consciousness, control, life changes, clean and color - which make up the cornucopia known as christine. And, we certainly can't get enough of c, see?

~ a little see of c ~

16/12

longer than not
together
i forget our separateness, was it ever
did i even exist before there’s only togetherly

you still melt me
in my belly like lava
and laughing and crying and
those times on our knees crawling

scraping and making
us
you me much forgiven
loved more than forgave less than adored

you’ve made me
beautiful
good good good man so good
saved me so good

so good to me you godgiven you

~c

bad penny

This is what I say when there’s that feeling in my chest-
cold, metallic.
Coppery like old dead blood.
Useless.
That’s why I say it.
Bad penny’s what I call it.
A bad place outside digging at our insides.
It spreads out slow and steady from that place we call heart.
It’s that place that is your heart literally:
life-giving blood muscle,
and that place we think of as our heart meaning the heart of our being.
Our quick.
It spreads out,
pushing everything aside and filling you up with bad penny.
You breathe deep.
You have to in order to fill that space,
to make it good again.
You breathe so deep,
so deep,
but can’t be filled.
There’s not enough air to dislodge it.
And when you got bad penny,
ever notice how on the exhale,
you’re shaky?
The breath trembles,
starts and stops on its struggle outward?
It’s a bad way, a deep hurt,
shock anger love hate.
That’s because Abe’s hands don’t want to let it go.
Abe’s hands want to keep the air and bend it,
make it sticky,
rusty.
And that sound!
Terrible sound that I can’t directly describe.
It’s not a cry so much as a tear,
a rendering,
wrenching and primal.
An escape-
desperate escape from the hollow where you once were.
Choking.
Choking up the bad penny is what I like to call it and once that sound comes out of you,
the bad penny begins to melt.
Molten copper filling,
then spilt from eyes and suddenly!-
there’s room!
So the bad penny’s tossed up upon the ground,
like so much nothing.
Worth something so worthless…

Like myself.

~c

autumn

i hear you whisper
what shall we wear this year

the classic look of course

golds reds browns oh you beautiful hands
resplendent and reaching
handing down cooled breezes to the forest floor
giving thanks in moonrise
reflecting warm light from the sun

ushering disguised children begging for candy
shading speckled fawns
bearing apples mmm the apples shapely pears

dappled walkways whirling dervishes tapping and miraculous
time for honey cake darling
scarves long nights brittling and starred
full of the odor of leaving short chilled days

and you
a sudden burst of color
banners of welcome only to disrobe in preparation for the season of rest

you
autumn trees
a dazzling show of dying

(copyright 2008 ) c A Hughes
09.19.08

.

The Tao of Laundry

*If you wish to comprehend the Infinite, consider Laundry.

*Like all things eternal- God, Time, Space- Laundry was, is and shall ever be.

*Laundry is something done that is never done.
Meditate on this and achieve enlightenment…

~c

regarding the stars

what do they do up there,
stars, winking like tipsy eyes-

they look down on us and make wishes



she floats above in her star spangled bodice
and collects eyes for luck

the ocean is her treasure box
and filled with them, with bones

nibbled on by white lobsters
smoothed and the salt of the sea



clumsy, falling
where do you land?

you don’t.
you disintegrate, become dust, vanish-

are forgotten.



thorny stars or we are dead?
a million years when your light is met-

in contemplation, study, an accidental happening
wish on our faces, wide and light as memory,

we are the dust

(copyright 2008 ) c A Hughes
07.14.08

me, in the only dress i'll ever wear

will you be my dress

and he is
and he looks good on me
clings to me
beautifies me

in him, i am a vision

his color compliments mine
he feels good on me
and i am aware of my hips
i move hard

(copyright 200 ) c A Hughes
04.06.08

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Reading these few poems ought to make you drop everything and tear over to All the Elbows for a longer visit. You will be treated to good/honest writing in a genuine, down-to-earth from-bird's-eye-view voice. c is an excellent writer of prose and poetry; no topic is too tough or taboo - written from a very unique perspective by a very unique voice - unafraid to dig deep into your soul, grab your heart and squeeze or wring your mind like a mop head. You will think differently than when you arrived, you'll see things from a different perspective and you will definitely feel the passion and depth of c's emotion wrung out in every word she writes. Guaran-teed, indeed!

Drum as Love, Fear, and Prayer

This is one of my favorite poems by Sherman Alexie which resides over on one of my favorite poetry blogs, Feel Free to Read. Please do..:)

Drum as Love, Fear, and Prayer

1.

Drums
make everyone feel
like an Indian.

Drums make
everyone feel
like an Indian.

Drums make everyone
feel
like an Indian

Drums make everyone feel
like an Indian.

Drums make everyone feel like
an Indian.

Drums make everyone feel like an Indian.

2.

I have more faith
in drums

than I have in the people
who play them

I told her
and she said God

is a drum.
I have more faith

in a small drum
because I can carry it

everywhere I go
I told her

and she said God
is the smallest drum.

3.

She said, dance.

It is crazy, I know, how quickly I've learned to love
this dancing, this step-step across the floor

when I'd spent my whole life
without any music. I had promised never to dance

in the white way
if I didn't dance in the Indian way first

but she said dance
refuses color when we are broken down

and embraces color when we are built again
and I believed her

and danced when I heard the drums, the drums
the drums in her voice.

4.

If love is taken
in its smallest part
will there still be enough
to frighten me? Yes

and no. I mean, if love can be
reduced to a cut bead
then I am not afraid.
But if that cut bead is sewn

into a moccasin or purse, if
that bead is part of a chain
built larger and larger, bead
by bead, then I am afraid.

Here, she said, take this bead
with honor. Then she offered another.

5.

And if I choose to love
this Indian woman
partly because she's Indian

(drum)

and if I choose to love
this Indian woman
mostly because she's Indian

(drum)

then who are you to stop
this love between
and Indian woman and man

(drum)

and who am I, who is she, now
for both of us to make these decisions together?

6.

I have broken
bread with her.

We have prayed together in silent places
where we could hear each other breathe
and in airports and lunchtime restaurants
where nothing wanted to rise above it all

except a few lonely people
with their cigarette smoke.

These prayers have not been easy, how
do we say Indian prayers in English
and which God will answer? Is God red
or white? Do these confused prayers mean

we'll live on another reservation
in that country called Heaven?

7.

Then she tells me Jesus is
still here
because Jesus was
once here

and part of Jesus are
still floating in the air.
She tells me Jesus' DNA is
part of the collective DNA.

She tells me we are all part
of Jesus, we are all Jesus
in part. She tells me to breathe deep
during all our storms

because you can sometimes taste Jesus
in a good hard rain.

8.

And I want to say this (say it)
and I want to whisper (shout)
and I want to shake the doors of the house (church)
and I want to blow a trumpet (play a drum)

and I want to run (dance)
and I want to talk about laughter (pain)
and I want to count up all the losses (magic)
and I want to blow a trumpet (play a drum)

and I want to inventory my fears (joy)
and I want to hide beneath old blankets (grace)
and I want to feast (pray)
and I want to blow a trumpet (play a drum)

and I want
to play a drum.

9.

She danced alone
before she ever knew me

and she'll dance alone
though she loves me

but for now
she dances

with me.
I take her hand.

No.
I take her face

in my hands
and I tell her

how much I believe
in her, in her.







Sherman Alexie..........from The Summer of Black Widows
Photo courtesy of Standing Bear's Manataka Weddings