Hello Write Queeners,

Take a look at my post on Clarice Lispector for The Operating System's 30/30/30 - 30 Poets talking about 30 Other Poets in 30 Days. Such an honor to be featured on here, especially to talk about one of my greatest influences(still think I babbled a lot though). Click on the picture to get the site.

Phases

I am
purple drums
beating to the 
smirks of opening
acts that have nothing
to do with the play,
a forward of Ara
humming Dawn Richard
while meeting you
in panties, converses
and breasts, loaded
pistol to the hips.

I am
the teacher with 
the ranch-styled
house, cat, bicycles
in driveway,
bananas on counter,
canned corn next
to the sack of potatoes
and ham for dinner,
switching on ABC 7
for Grey's Anatomy,
tweeting quotes
from my iPhone.

I am
a jug of Water mixed
with nitrogen,
a long and lingering
secret love in
Helvetica Bold
under autumn leaves
in Queens,
a cup of tea
tucked between
a stack of literary
magazines and
poetry by Amber Tamblyn.

Hello Poetry fiends,

Last Friday, I was at an event for the Deep Tanks series in Staten Island. I've never been in the borough and was already fascinated, but creeped out about being in an unfamiliar place. At some point, I was getting ready to send a text message several times, but backed out of the inbox many times. 

When I was finally ready to write the message, I saw that there was text already there. I started to delete it, thinking it was something I copied and pasted from earlier when I realized that none of it made sense. I really wished that I didn't delete part of it. But I do have the rest. 

Guess the poetry gods said that a poem was going to be written one way or another that night. Check it out:



The elders about the hunger walk please call 130 we Chicago Days global lending day honey red willow gave by pipe in about 10 gray yellow bile text das West lifted and pray your ride home 



Guess everyone is a poet, including the iPhone. Probably won't be going to SI for a while if this is what happens!

Hello my lovely readers,

I realized that I have take a few workshops in the past year, but I haven't shared my poems. 

I'll be sharing some throughout the rest of this journey, on top of lines from the bone pile (which you'll have to wait for a few posts before I get to that).

So without further ado, some poetry!:

Alone

11:45 p.m.
glow of television
outlines
cup of rice pudding
rice
congealed in cinnamon,
milk -

no name brand

representing
thousands of
Latinas and
lips,
looking for
satisfaction
late night calls
for,

stretching
toes on the side
of bed
no one sleeps
in,

TV falling into a
buzz as I scrape
last lumps
sticking
to the bottom of
cup.

Hey Haiku Lovers,

If you like haiku and being on your phone, you can do both with the Heyku app. With Heyku, you can write each line according to a prompt the app gives or write in your own. Then you get to share it as a lovely little note with the Heyku community and on your social networks. Take a look at some of the screenshots below to get a feel of the app.

You can visit the Heyku website and download the app for free for the iPhone from there.

Sometimes the poem and the brain need assistance in meeting. Something to jog the memory of a line waiting in the bone pile of the tongue.

Cognitive Constructs is an app for the iPhone that does just that. You click on words and form phrases. This app includes the ability to type in your own words so if you are jolted by what you create with what is given, you can add on to it with whatever comes to mind.

I use this app as a tool for creating poetry. Check out these screenshots with an example of what you can create. 

To download the app, you can go here: iTunes.  

I recently made an e-book of the same name of some of my creations. You can download a copy at Payhip or visit The Write Queen Store.

From A Wedding In Hell by Charles Simic.

Sometimes you meet a poem that renders you senseless because that's exactly how you feel. Experienced this in Barnes and Noble the other night. This poem is by Louise Labe.

This is to someone who just doesn't know...

He begged her 
to 
keep it 
on 
paper 
because
cuts heal.

The memory
of 
the spine 
of 
her hands 
won't.

Her shaky hands

handcuffed in ransom notes

holds on to bridges.