Sunday, December 19, 2010

Focus in 2011

As a writer, I found my success in publication benefited from my project management skills - establish acheivable goals, define the tasks, set a timeline and frequent status checks. I've strayed from it because my real job (and real world) has been extremely time consuming. I spend the whole day on a laptop, iPhone and Blackberry. Therefore, at night I used a poetry journal beside my bed to scribble and unwind.

My first task is to get my product togehter. So, recently, I've been transcribing my poetry into my main document. It's insane that I have over 200 poems and 100 pages. Not everything is super, but I'm quite pleased with most of it.

And, these poems don't deserve to sit in a Word doc. They need to be shared. Therefore, my goal for next year is to get out my work to as many outlets as possible. And, I need to take it a step further and get the a poetry book published. I've got lots of stories to tell and lots of different creative ventures in mind.

My mantra at work is "one bite at a time." I'm applying it to writing - one poem at a time.

Saturday, September 18, 2010


If there's something I should be doing, it would be mediating. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to do this for reasons (or excuses) too numerous to list. Yet I recognize the benefits. Could writing about it be just as beneficial?


There’s a certain stillness
that one finds in the eye of the tornado
When you find it, you first have to raise your arms to the side,
then let them drop

You close your eyes
so you can listen.

There are sounds you don’t hear but
feel in your open palms.

Then you listen to your self speak
without opening your mouth.

There may be a brush of a an object across your cheek, but you don’t mind.
Just because.

The stillness is more critical.
It’s just for a moment that you can savor this.

In just a moment,
The twister will turn its course and you must follow.
And make your choice to seek the courage
to either follow the eye or stand?

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Spaghetti Love Dream

My mind is dazzled by
the twisted emotions I feel.
I want to loop and dip in the succulence.
I want to wallow in the spicy sauciness and
release myself from the rules.

There’s nothing I can do to control
the quiet entanglement on my plate, but
simply slurp all of it into me,
absorb the flavors and the delicious
desires. In my gleeful indulgence,
I let the last bit lash
against my chin
as a reminder of my guilty amusement.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Oh Jealousy

This was a writing prompt - write a poem that would be response to a song. One of my favorite songs is Natalie Merchant's Jealousy. I'm not trying to match the rhythm or anything, but just the emotional connection.

I’ve seen your photographs
inside the albums he
doesn’t know I’ve seen,
the ones he’s been meaning to change.
Even if he had,
a face like yours will always be
in his memory, cleaved deeply.

I smell your fragrance when he swigs
a glass of bourbon.
I hear your voice when he sings
a song from that island you saw together.
You are always here.

Do his nights with me match the ones
you created together?
Were there sparks in the air
as flames floated away from your bodies?

I know how he would’ve wrapped
his body around yours
because he tries with mine.
I feel the raw hunger,
a ravenous readiness
to devour
but it diminishes.
Yet his desire swells,
the desire to consume your body
as I am consumed by your ghost.

Monday, January 11, 2010

Sounds of Mumbai Morning

Not one simple sound performs the surya namaskar.

Awake are the birds with clear calls that spring into jigs,
and crows throwing husky shouts into the air like shotputs.
A melange of twitters turn into arias that
compete for a place in the open sky.

The brush of a straw broom as it grazes the ground,
sweeping the ever present dust and
pushes the fallen leaves aside to begin a clean new day


The sound that broke the universe
into its glorious self
breaks the morning as a neighbor prays.

The fruit seller strikes a bell and calls
a nasal ditty as he pushes his rickety cart,
laden with the weight of pineapples

A truck engine burps.
Cars honk their presence to the school buses.

The city brims with life
before the sun has fully stretched its arms over the sky.