Versions of Chai

With the pale light of morning, Christmas Day filtered into the chill of an Ogaki apartment. In a corner of the living room, lights twinkled on a small tree displaying a few ornaments that had eluded the reach of tiny, exploring hands. Beneath the tree lay a mound of Daiso gifts, purchased with an allowance of one thousand yen and wrapped with the truest of intentions. The family--a brother and sister reunited after months of separation along with their spouses and children--huddled around the kotatsu eating a Christmas dinner of ramen with chopsticks. After dinner, the brother pulled on a santa suit (unintentionally frightening the children) and passed out the gifts. Soon the festivities were punctuated with oohs and aahs at the treasures garnered from the Daiso. Once the gifts had been admired properly and the colorful wrapping papper cleared away, the family once again settled around the kotatsu. This time to watch A Charlie Brown Christmas . As the strains of "Christmastime Is...

The long awaited release of the Pet Milk Project has finally arrived! Conceived by Kelli Burton, this collaboration of writers, artists, and musicians culminated in a literary magazine, art exhibit, and CD that was unveiled tonight at the Arts Place in downtown Lexington, Kentucky. The event was well-attended. In fact, all the copies of the magazine and accompanying CD sold out before the end of the show. One of my poems--"The Stranglehold"--was included in the magazine and was the inspiration for artwork by Allison NeCamp (image above) and a song by Fanged Robot, track #3 on the CD. For those of you who were not able to attend the event or arrived too late to get a copy of the magazine and CD, here is the poem: The Stranglehold Callous hands around my throat choking out my livelihood I struggle and kick but they squeeze tighter only relenting long enough for me to gasp noxious fumes The people around do nothing to stop them Most rush past and pretend not to see shielding th...

Man created a monster, A mechanical beast intended to serve convenience purpose-altered to frustrate the hard-working masses and thwart efficiency. With feigned collation the beast begins a task and suddenly balks, pain stapled on its face, task lost within twisted entrails. So thoroughly hidden as to stymie even the most skilled technician, trained in the science of mechanical manipulation. The beast refuses to work until every whim has been met and once working, produces pages crinkled and streaked from effort. Man created a monster.

To Andi on Halloween In the beginning My world was orange with hope, Full of clementine promise. Thoughts sunny, I delighted in dreams of blazing The globe as an agent of change, Bringing fare to the starving, Strewing blossoms for the depressed. But the crush of hours and Minutes made my world vulnerable To black numbers creeping in Dispatched from those in whom good Was long rotten from inactivity. Their mounting instances of greed Pounded and squeezed, churning my Best intentions to marmalade-- Sweet, but sluggish. I could not withstand the dark digits That pierced my resolve and Peeled back resistance to ravage The sun-kissed fruit within. A million onyx boots trod My world to pulp, until the Ground ran with the juice of dreams And only a citrus tang in the air Remained of what had been. Or so I thought as I drifted In black chaos of disillusionment For months on end. Then a light scored the gloom, Illuminating a single slice of hope Encasing a seed--small, but enough To awaken the...

Like an addict I barter for a little more sleep Missing the dawn Finally awake But trapped behind glass I watch a cloudless landscape roll by Afternoon is Locked in a curtained house Listening to voices drone Deprived the feel of breeze And the smell of leaves Freed at last Sunset has long faded Into Autumn night Unwatched Too few, too precious These waning sunny days To be squandered thus This is the last day The last day of sunshine I will waste

Poets Against Greed was a success! Several poets showed up to read their work and we had an awesome night of poetry. Battling stuttering and nervousness, I managed to get through my first reading with dignity and now I can't wait for the next one. Eric Sutherland's performance was inspiring. I say "performance" because his poetry reading is its own art form. I'm so glad he was able to come down from Lexington and join us. One of the poems I read was just written today and is still in its rough draft stage. It is called "The False Savior." Yours is the wickedest deed of all Offering painted promises you reach out to the Hope-starved masses who search for a savior Your words inspire them Your face frames their dreams for the future Kindling hope Yet Your smile is sodden with the greed that drips from your brow like sweat If only they could peel back the promise-paint and see the empty husks beneath If only they could see beyond your mask to the pocke...

Lately I've been doing some research on excessive dreaming, something I have suffered from for years. So far I have found that it is probably a symptom of a sleep disorder and there's not much you can do about it. To some, dreaming excessively may not seem like such a bad thing. However, take it from me, a night full of dreams doesn't give you much rest. Here's what it is really like: Plunging into the deep from moment of pillow touch, I am tossed in the maelstrom of night, Turning in a vortex of images recent and forgotten. Three times I wrench myself from the Sandman's grasp Only to be lulled back by his sirens. At last, day finds me spluttering and crawling up the shore. Weary, I arise from my bed. My waking hours taste of salt.

When going through the set-up yesterday, I had to choose a name for my blog. I sat there staring at the screen unable to think of one. So I decided to look at some of the poems I had posted on myspace for inspiration. In the archived poems, I found what I was looking for and "Versions of Chai" became the name of my blog. "Versions of Chai" was born at Live Wire coffee shop (sadly no longer in existence) in downtown Richmond. I was there with my husband and sister to listen to a musician friend play that night. Each of us had ordered a different type of chai. As we sat sipping our drinks, my sister commented that we all had "different versions of chai." Right away I thought that sounded like a good topic for a poem. Here is the result: Cup in hand I contemplate the versions of chai While the musician plays my request, The one about the girl and the poem-- Her smooth facade. My version is hot and steamy Vanilla with espresso swirled inside Like the d...

After over a year of being wrapped in layers of mental cellophane, one of my good intentions will finally see the light of day. Next Tuesday night, August 12th, I am hosting a poetry open mic at My Time Coffee & Tea, a Richmond coffee shop. To the bewilderment of many, I am calling it "Poets Against Greed." Why the unusual sobriquet? First of all, I thought that "poetry open mic" was a little too boring. Secondly, I believe greed to be the root cause of most of the problems in our society and have made lambasting it the theme of a few poems. Lastly, I'm hosting it so I can call it what I want. It looks good on the flyer anyway.