Anis Mojgani performs Shake the Dust

April 12, 2014 § Leave a comment

In the spirit of spoken word, I’m sharing a favorite.


LA Times Festival of Books Poetry Reading

April 12, 2014 § 1 Comment

I was invited to be part of a small reading today at the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books.

It was a coming-of-age themed reading.

#nationalpoetrymonth « Read the rest of this entry »

Citrus Shocks

April 4, 2014 § 1 Comment

Citrus Shocks
by Genevieve Shifke

Over nineteen years spent between
Florida and California and
I simply couldn’t eat them.
The white part was too gross.
Stringy bitter bits of
cotton lining, the hidden
tangy meat underneath.
It’s called the pith,
which is a suiting name,
since it sounds equally as
unappetizing as it tastes.
One flat syllable
that makes the tongue
stick to the top of the
mouth, awkward and
unsure of what to do with
itself after suffering through
such an utterance.

Luckily, your tongue
knew how to fix it,
remedying the situation by
pressing little citrus shocks
against my taste buds,
giving them something else
to want to attach themselves to.

Darkness was on
pith’s side that day,
hiding from my eyes
the unsightly dandruff
the peel left behind.
The pounding in my chest
sped up when I agreed
to take the piece you
offered, my mind already
making my tongue recoil
at the thought of processing
such a horrid flavor.
But I bit down and
the beating stopped.
All I tasted was pulpy juice;
acidic sweetly sticky juice.
No bitter pith, just the same
citrus shocks my tongue
found on yours.
So I ate another piece.

Originally published in Adsum’s inaugural issue, April 2013.


National Poetry Month Day 4: somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond

April 4, 2014 § 1 Comment

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
by e. e. cummings

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands


National Poetry Month Day 1: Where the Sidewalk Ends

April 1, 2014 § 1 Comment

In honor of April being National Poetry Month, each day on Facebook I will be posting a poem as my status in an effort to spread poetic awareness and appreciation. I will also post a few of my ultra-favorites here, along with any I might write over the course of the next month, so if you follow by email, be aware that you might receive multiple emails in one day from this blog (sorry, dad). However, hopefully you will enjoy these poets and their work as much as I do and won’t be too annoyed.

Day 1:

by Shel Silverstein

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
and before the street begins,
and there the grass grows soft and white,
and there the sun burns crimson bright,
and there the moon-bird rests from his flight
to cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
and the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
we shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow
and watch where the chalk-white arrows go
to the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
and we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
for the children, they mark, and the children, they know,
the place where the sidewalk ends.

Where Am I?

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