Myth of Arrival

Travel. Sudden lightning flash in daylight.
A word others use. “So from today I'm
trav'lin' light.” As in atoms. The white
flash of a device going off. My grime
and bits settling down on your surprised
face. You. Someone had to plant these ghastly
boxes under this hill's skin. You surmised
there are hundreds. Children have already
stumbled on four. We. Travel with me here.
I want you here when I mess up. Just once.
Wave your hands. Call out my name. You can hear
the light. Count the seconds. The short distance
it takes to get to you. A blur. Crayon
red. I rise up and all at once I'm gone.

There are millions of unaccounted land mines scattered throughout most of our war-torn world. UN reports that, on an average, thirty children step on land mines each day. It also says that of those children, eighty-five percent will die before they reach a hospital.

For anyone interested I suggest the work of Japanese photographer Masanori Kobayashi who has documented the survivors of land mines as well as UNICEF's Impact of Armed Conflict on Children. Thank you.

Today I am shy. I know another
flood is coming. I have been a Noah
and an ark and even high, dry shelter
though I feel tongue-tied amid these dahlia
and rose and pansy. Do not talk dirty
to me, I'll run away. Save your vodka
and your cuttle fish for your wife. Come lay
with me behind this old stump. A new storm
will be here soon; such rage must then descend.
Take my hand. Waters fall and waters rise
but this secret life of mine is a warm
hut for you. You're so bold and dry, my friend;
and not shy, not odd, not a shy oddball.

On Valentine's Day ‹ Wednesday, Feb. 14th, 7 PM ‹ the Old Town Poetry Series will host a Valentine's Day Poetry Reading: an evening of love poetry guaranteed to take the chill out of the air and melt the ice around your heart. The event will take place at the Creole Gallery, 1218 Turner Street in Lansing's Old Town.

The event will include some of mid-Michigan's finest performance poets, along with an Open Mike session.

Poets include Zachary Chartkoff, Kate Butler, Rina Risper, Gianni Risper, Joyce Benevenuto, Tim Lane, Ann Andrews, Laura Apol, and Ruelaine Stokes.

Participants wishing to take part in the Open Mike should toss their names into the hat at the door.

Cost: $4 per person or $6 per couple.

Free refreshments. Parking available on the street or in the large lot at the intersection of Turner St. and Grand River Avenue.

Whatever way you look at it, Winter Blues have set it for many of us. Maybe even you? Fighting off the flu (or whatever I have) is a drag and having to look like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man when I go outside does not do wonders for my soul either.

So it helps me that I have friends who are far more talented than I am who don't mind letting me view their work once in a while. Call it "food for thoughts or flights of fancy." This morning I found an email from Shelley who was kind enough to send this drawing of hers to me. I love Shelley's art; it reminds me of Picasso's simple line drawings that make big bold statements all in the ease of half a dozen strokes, like this one, Acrobat. After spending some time staring at Shelley's drawing, what suddenly came to me, was what fun would be to have it framed and on my wall so I could look at it this side of this computer. Then, reflecting, I thought how I shouldn't be greedy and keep it to myself, I should invite other Seasonal affective disorder sufferers over. But why invite them to this drab room? What if I could be a really skeezy but fun room for all my friends? (what fun would that be, eh?) I want to be the kind of room you could always get a cup of tea and a good book and no one ever knocks on the door. While I was decorating my walls I thought of ol' Gustav Klimt. For those who are not familiar with Klimt's drawing Fishblood, I suggest you get a look-see. That would be another nice drawing to put next to Shelley's.

I am not so much a room. Permission
to be any room requires so much.
I am more a sub-let with one open
window (stuck) and a door painted "spinach
green" (you call it "puke"). I'm not a fashion
statement; no one will walk about and touch
things to remember. But lonely women
and men do find these walls with their old Dutch
grommets and Klimt's Fishblood soothing. The key
is for you to come and go. Fridge is stocked;
teas on the shelf. Wander about bereft
of clothes and passions. No one comes here. See
to your needs. I know they're few. We are shocked
we do so much with what little is left.