night percussion

was it the rain drumming against your window
that woke me? water dolloping on courtyard tile
till the dogs broke

barked silver
into blanketed night

or was it the door? snake-rattling
in its frame, wind catching beneath its skirt

lifting

lift higher

let all passersby
steal a glimpse
of our pale bodies.

was it, or wasn’t it, the heat of your chest
burning moons into the small of my back
pocketing my water-logged body with accusations

                        waves
breaking against the blanket’s edge

or maybe
it was just the rain
after all

no one whispering betrayal but myself

mouth opening with the season
sky blossoming water in the dark

and the rain drumming

drumming against your window
washing what I’ve done away

deep into night’s percussion.

What Have We Done?

Did you mean it?
Did I mean
To do it?
Did I
Do it – do that?
Did I
Break.it?

Did
n’t you?
Already?
Did we even
Notice?
Did you feel
It – us
Falling?
Didn’t we didn’t
We agree
Didn’t I? I
Did

I still do
My Id
Chasing ‘we’
Around corners
Ego wandering
Hallways
Didn’t you
Feel
The shift
ing of pro
Nouns
As we’ drowned
Our ‘we’ ‘our’ ‘us’
In.ambiguity?

Do you feel
it was it
Worth it?
Did it
Even feel.good?
Do you
Feel.remorse?
Release?

Didn’t I ask
You.before?
Or, does it
Not matter?
It does, doesn’t it?

Don’t I?
Don’t I matter
Anymore?
Do I matter
Anymore?

Please.
Just (don’t)
Answer.

Please
Don’t answer.

Visions

I am on the edge of a moment,
Suspended,
Looking out at you
From across the chasm:

Division
Blossoming like pale, desert flower
Unfurling
In the stillness

Pushing

Into open mouth
Choke back
The shock of such vast, empty space
Between us

The precipice we created
Pulling
The earth down

Wind
Kissing my back

I tilt
Look up to see you stumble
Fall

And suddenly
We’re both right there:
Somewhere

On the outside.

 

Podcasting with Poet & Playwright Michael Magee

One of the best things about being a part of the Literally Tacoma podcast is having the opportunity to get to know all my favorite authors, poets, and artists here in Washington’s South Sound. This week, William Turbyfill and I sat down to interview one of my favorite poets, Michael Magee.

 

For those of you who aren’t familiar with his work, Michael Magee is a local playwright, poet, and world traveler after my own heart. In this podcast episode he explains all about his travels through Europe, his family history, and the evolution of his creative work. Before Michael left, William and I were able to snag a few copies of his coveted work:

michael-magee-bwCinders of My Better Angels: a full length collection of poetry exploring the author’s struggle with cancer, images of the body, and metaphors dealing with time and place. A few of my favorite poems in this collection are “Touched” and “Song for the Body Waking.”

Ireland’s Eye: An American Irishman’s Journal and Walking Papers: a shorter chapbook featuring poetry, philosophical musings, and short essays the author wrote as he traveled through Ireland. Read “Sixteen Miles to Skibbereen” to fold yourself into the narrative.

Poets Table Anthology: A  Collection of Poetry by Northwest Poets: includes a number of poems by Michael Magee, as well as those of nine other poets of the Pacific Northwest.  “Easter Rising” is a lovely poem worth reading and emulating, in my humble opinion.

Michael Magee also manages the Poetry Box at Freighthouse Square in Tacoma, WA, in addition to working with the Tacoma Public School System. He’s been known to haunt local poetry readings, as well. 

Happy reading (and listening) my friends.