Christmas Time Is Here

'Tis the season, and with it, I've assembled my annual Christmas CD I share with family and friends.  Here are this year's selections-

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5OnbupKZeo4

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V3kkXzTQEUA

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KPEjYsq2vmY

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PIB1gbxRAB4

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QdMIns95ezM

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nQrdxtWgHbE

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9uLaIiP3n2o

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oYbmiXtWCas

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h46231asrlc

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qGLA3QNEyVA

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0a_Y1wAJ2MU

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J6xpe1fOi04

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-I1tOPoYiPU

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4baIHk7G5hY

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GGBzsRFoCgA

The Q Review

I just had 3 poems published with The Q Review today (http://qreviewonline.com/).

Check them out~ Scabies, Cyborgy, File Sharing

May May Be The Cruellest Month

Everything's fallen apart in these past few weeks; I had a bad bout of flu that I passed onto G, my poetry's sounded flat, my chapbook project feels like a hassle, work's deflated my ego in ways it had never before.  I'm a mess, and there isn't much to fix me up.  Little of my poetry's been workshopped this quarter.  My friends have mostly been depressed, breakups, shootdowns all tearing them apart.  I don't know what to do.  Confused,

Me. 

Postcards From Here to There

 

Madonna Della Strada's Echo

for Sarah Jenkins

She was meant to be seen, but not

Now – hidden within campus, beside

Blind waters, boulders, few boaters from far

Away harbors.  The Drive was to come

Across her edifice, she was to face

Thousands of men everyday and chime

Despite their blazing by, despite their rage

And soundproof barriers they caged

Themselves within.  That road never came.

So she gazes upon the lake,

Sings thanks unto its surface and hears

Her sole voice bounce back in refrain.

Postcards From Here to There

THE SCIENCE OF SWIMMING

For Christine Pacyk

Leaping from loved land, taken

long for granted, you enter the surf

like air with arms spread wing-

span, breath held momentarily,

soon to flutter kick and soar

through turbulent currents.  Feathers

were never needed to feel

like this before, slick, flying.

Postcard Poems

Our assignemnt this week for class will be to send each other postcard poems.  I think this'll be fun...  (we'll have to take into account Chicago's notoriously slow postal service, though)

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=9615598

POEM

POEM

Drown your eye in drops

of saline to draw

a lash from between

the crease of ball

& lid.  Blood shot

through veins begins

to curtail as you

curse at the sight of

sprigged lash slipping

down further, ‘round

the curve, beneath

the bend. Tucked under,

you grow restless

& wish you were King

Lear so you could

swipe a finger

through that hole

in your head without

regret, to not

worry about those

little pieces of oneself

from influencing

& inflicting the greater

you; unfortunately,

they always do.