Make Yourself Fortunate

“what if a dawn of a doom of a dream
bites this universe in two”
~ e. e. cummings


She shared bits of Clancy and Hansen and McEntire and cummings and Bass with us… and then invited us to poetize “What ifs…”. You need not use the exact words, she said to us. You need not provide answers, she said to us. So, I did (it felt good):


Dear me (who inks life
what should I do if…

…misfortune claims me
day and night and in between,
stealing the moon out of my dark
and burning the sun
out of my light?

What if…
…fate makes me
a plaything, stripped of self-
worth and desire
to be?

What if…
…my flesh morphs
out of my grasp, my wild-
spirit becomes a memory
in a stranger’s past,
and I stop
seeing anything
but bad, bad, bad…?

What if…
…everything makes me
misfortune’s puppet?


Dear me (who inks real
life), craft wild new ways
to show your teeth—
make yourself fortunate
again, again, again…


the visual poetry


Linked to Poets United.


Scars Are Lived Art

A scar can be art,
life written
on the body,
experienced art-

tales of flesh
warped living

in the street of the sky,
where heartbreaks are wormholes
forever warning the night
as she walks
scattering poems… … …

Scars are lived art
written on the body,

experienced art-tales
of flesh that survived the dark,
dark, dark.


the wee notes…
– the 3 blackout poems feeding this piece were crafted out of Andrea Hutton’s Bald is Better with Earrings: A Survivor’s Guide to Getting Through Breast Cancer. I’m not in the habit of using contemporary books for blackout poetry, but I just couldn’t resist this one. So, I went ahead and reached out to the author, and she was gracious enough to allow me to art her words. I plan to blackout the entire book. I shall share more on the book, and on why I’m so taken with its content, in a future post.

– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, where darling Sanaa invites us to write a poem using this ee cummings line as point of reference: “in the street of the sky night walks scattering poems”. Also, after I finished the blackout poems, I noticed that the middle piece contains the title of a novel by Jeanette Winterson.

the visual art