Poetry Reading Monday Night at Jazz Estate in Milwaukee

Come on out to the Jazz Estate Monday, September 24 for some poetry, with your host Bryon Cherry. I’ll be reading alongside A.J. Binash, Sunshine Ramel Crayton, andMario the Poet. Complete details here.

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Tiny Poem Thinking About Isadora Duncan

Yesterday I nearly had my own Isadora Duncan moment while riding over the Hoan Bridge in Milwaukee. Two wheels not four.  My immediate thoughts following became this brief poem. If it makes you curious, I’ll leave you to do your own research about Isadora Duncan.

Short Little Poem

There’s an old adage about never trusting a skinny chef. I guess that same train of thought led me to this little poem fragment. Now if I could only find those glasses I never wear…

 

Community Gardens: A Poem About Plants in Nature

I was at work the other day, asking about planting strategies with a very experienced land management specialist. He mentioned something, almost as an afterthought, about how forbs need root competition to flourish long-term. Otherwise they grow too large and collapse on themselves. I found this interesting and ended up writing a poem about it. We published it on our Blog at Schlitz Audubon Nature Center. It’s pretty fantastic that I’ve got a job where I’m invited to write poetry about nature.

Go here to read Community Gardens, a poem about how plants depend on one another.

A Poem About Men Talking

I typed this little poem quick on my phone while working. I kept overhearing these guys and it struck me, these men talking to one another candidly and without any sort of concern. How they felt their families, their jobs, their futures. Admirable.

Thoughts on Poetry, Writing, and the Trades

Poetry. Sometimes I admire carpenters (for example). People sit within their work, share dinner on their tables, sleep inside of their houses. Imagine being a plumber and someday knowing that thousands of people can bathe or brush their teeth or cook pasta because of your work. That’s noble; changes lives. I wonder if that’s a satisfying thought. Ever heard of a poetry outage? “The poetry is backing up – better call a type writer?” Do people worry? Does it make people evaluate their survival skills? Question their gardening abilities? Nah. I admire the trades, their necessity. Poetry is like garbage collection – apparent sometimes only in its stinking absence.

Cheerful Death Poem

I’ve always been fascinated by how we’re generally so bad at dealing with something we all do. I was in a contemporary literature class and some facet of death came up during the lecture, I don’t recall what exactly. I thought of this poem and started typing it during a break in the lecture action. So if someday somebody wants to put me in a cement-lined designer velvet casket – you know what to do.