Monday, August 15, 2016
This exhibit at Oklahoma City's beautiful gallery, Artspace at Untitled, will be up until mid September. We, eight poets, wrote poems with a hiding place in mind. Each poem was offered to a cluster of artists who used the themes and images to create a unique work of art.
I would love to hear what you find most compelling about this collaboration. Please send me your comments after you tour the show.
Thursday, May 19, 2016
|Drawing by Jefferson Vincent (Jake) LeForce|
Reciprocally, there was not much to love about Mr. A. When I saw him running in his sweats around the campus sidewalks in the snow he looked like Rocky played by Steve Buscemi. Like he’d lost something, he was trudging along eye on the old clock tower in case that slipped-away-thing reappeared on the hour, or off the hour.
Sunday, July 12, 2015
The next day l tried to get my eleven year old grandson to sing and dance and let me video him. Quickly it became clear that was not happening. Like a good director and sympathetic grandmother, I revised my request: read some of this Star Wars book and move rhythmically while doing it. This consisted of Desmond peddling on an exercise bike and reading to me about the clones, but it produced a lovely, random moment which spoke to me of time and youth and the “outer rim of”
Day three I had to go to work. I’m cataloging and building a database for Laura Warriner’s art books at Untitled Gallery. This work puts me into the most creative light/dark space while doing what I love, routinely. Before I left for the day I took a minute to film the bookshelves, the volumes holding their own among the treasured art. When the windows are open, as well as when they are closed, that loft has a sense of wide open spaces. “When prairie wind blows in the high gallery windows all the spines and skin and pigment turn toward the natural air. Kinetic everything. Everything kinetic.”
GETTING TO WORK
Here is it day five. Today’s minute-made movie is called, Preparing to Work, or Watch Out, You Might Get What You’re After which is really pretty boring because it's just me heading for my workspace to write while listening to Talking Heads. I think video art is not my forte, but the week was full of play and close looking. Hooray, I have drafts to work with. My notebook is happy. Thank you, Sandra Soli, and all you hard working poets who inspire me.
Saturday, May 16, 2015
If you do not want to order my new book from Amazon I will send you a signed copy directly from the homeplace here in Oklahoma City.
Email me at
You can sample it and see what others have said at
Local folks are all invited to the book launch/art exhibit at
at Untitled Gallery in OKC,
Thursday, May 28, 6:30.
Other readings to be announced.
Wednesday, March 4, 2015
SAVE THE DATE
Saturday, May 2
(and other fun ways to spring into poems)
- three different ways to generate a poem,
- three ways to enhance a poem
- three ways to offer a poem to the world
Tuesday, November 4, 2014
October, you did not leave me much to long for except, of course, more. Please come again, and wear that gorgeous mesa gown. We’ll be ever grateful.
Sunday, August 17, 2014
Ghost Ranch can be a bit short on creature comforts unless you are a rabbit, lizard, crow or burro. We compensate with luxury of view: mesa, juniper, chimney rock.
The Ghost House Poets had their matching owl socks, and like the owl they were wise to each other’s new writing, listening and questioning, opening and closing. In class, they indulged my assignments, drafting spontaneous work that lifted aloft those little paper exercises into double-fisted kites. I was constantly surprised. Once I thought: what a good teacher I am. Pedernal nearly fell down laughing. Burros brayed. Okay, maybe I was just happy to be in the company of poets making poems.
This group of five (plus all their alter egos and wild personas) mostly played in the afternoons but worked into the night willing to be discomfited, lost, pissed off, confused, or ghosted before they got to the dream state we call inspiration. When I saw them at breakfast, I could tell.
Together, they answered the unbidden call. They let fear into their poems. One gave us a tango demonstration. One sang a haunting song. We threw the dice. We took our numbers to the page and made them beautiful.
Woody Guthrie came one day. We rewrote the medicine cards. We gave each other lines. We broke them how we wanted. What a class. Really, what a tonic. Who says there are few creature comforts at the Ranch.