Remember the Time

There’s not much a poet who’s loved him since she was six can do with this one, the death of Michael Jackson. Maybe because the visuals of him far outweigh any words, positive or negative, that could be or have been written about the most electrifying American dancer ever to glide or moonwalk a stage. The blank journal pages just stare back at me.

The mainstream society that creates both social freaks and idols then destroys them can continue to say whatever it will about the personal trials of the entertainer, but the work he leaves behind is the true measure of an artist’s life. I’m glad that my own artistic talent fails to capture the devastation of losing that little boy who appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show when I was six, the one-gloved wonder who incorporated the sleekest classic dance moves and the sexiest city hip grinds into his unique style, and the guy who made white socks, loafers, and high waters look Bad! Words failing, I turned to youtube to watch him dance, hear his primal yell and jangling boots…and remember the first time I fell in love with a musician.

MJoneMJtwoMJthreeMJfour Now who’s bad?


My First Book

Man, the past six months of celebrating the publication of my first book have been wild. It’s impossible to predict how such an event will affect a writer’s life, for better or for worse. I’m choosing to focus here on the positives and thank the poetry fans who turned out to hear my featured readings and to buy every author’s copy of my book and then some.

Now that I’ve finished my last local reading this year, it’s time to focus on finding a publisher for book number two, making a dent in the novella that will someday finish the autobiographical trilogy I’ve been working on since 1996! and nailing down a steady day job for the Fall. (When I’m not trying to figure out why the blogroll is on here twice,) you can find me over the summer editing the online journals MoJo! and U.M.Ph.! Prose; otherwise, happy summer! See you in September.