I'll be the featured poet at the January 3rd episode in this ongoing monthly series.
Check me out from 9:30-10pm.
Sunday, December 30, 2007
I'm doing a reading/performance @ 1919 Hemphill on Thursday, January 3rd
I'll be the featured poet at the January 3rd episode in this ongoing monthly series.
Check me out from 9:30-10pm.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Poem #352 of 365
The lessons have found me unprepared,
as a student without a manual,
and I am skidding as best I know,
learning how to maneuver mayhem.
I have lost so many kin, and
have attended more funerals
than weddings, yet the way and means
to handle the pain is something
that befuddles, eludes me still.
So when I walked over to the New Books section,
at my workplace tonight,
it took me by surprise when I laid my eyes
on a relevant new book:
Grieving for Dummies, the title read,
and I thought to myself--how insulting to me!
I would not care to share this
with a mourning family member, as if I thought her dumb.
But I thumbed through the pages and
found advice that could help us,
one and all,
and felt less a dummy than a smarty,
though sad as sad can be.
(Grieving for Dummies was written by a guy with a Ph.D in bereavement counseling, so it ain't no joke.)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
as a student without a manual,
and I am skidding as best I know,
learning how to maneuver mayhem.
I have lost so many kin, and
have attended more funerals
than weddings, yet the way and means
to handle the pain is something
that befuddles, eludes me still.
So when I walked over to the New Books section,
at my workplace tonight,
it took me by surprise when I laid my eyes
on a relevant new book:
Grieving for Dummies, the title read,
and I thought to myself--how insulting to me!
I would not care to share this
with a mourning family member, as if I thought her dumb.
But I thumbed through the pages and
found advice that could help us,
one and all,
and felt less a dummy than a smarty,
though sad as sad can be.
(Grieving for Dummies was written by a guy with a Ph.D in bereavement counseling, so it ain't no joke.)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Monday, December 17, 2007
Poem #351 of 365
that cookie tasted awful,
like refrigerator--
but then, i smell like carport
and my cat smells like coal mine.
then to the parked car,
neglected and undisinfected.
i sniff and tell:
the backseat, of oranges and brake fluid,
and the floorboard, of moldy vanilla.
i have a sharp nose,
its sense of smell
propels me to the kitchen
to see what now
i’ve burned.
blackened skillets,
streams of smoke,
i hold them out the window,
see the vapor get took.
and the backyard takes
one great whiff.
you bet i can cook,
you bet i can burn,
when i feel it in
all of my senses.
well done.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
like refrigerator--
but then, i smell like carport
and my cat smells like coal mine.
then to the parked car,
neglected and undisinfected.
i sniff and tell:
the backseat, of oranges and brake fluid,
and the floorboard, of moldy vanilla.
i have a sharp nose,
its sense of smell
propels me to the kitchen
to see what now
i’ve burned.
blackened skillets,
streams of smoke,
i hold them out the window,
see the vapor get took.
and the backyard takes
one great whiff.
you bet i can cook,
you bet i can burn,
when i feel it in
all of my senses.
well done.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Poem #350 of 365
I pay ten dollars
once a week
to speak with
a man from
another nation.
He is quick to
smile, and bless
my day. He speaks
of lands with color
I cannot see.
We travel together,
show our worlds
and world perspectives
in the few minutes
I've paid for this.
His skin is sometimes
burnished brown,
with accent thick
as my strong morning
coffee, but stirred in
with sweet caramel
of kindness.
One man recited couplets
of Shakespeare, one
told me not to worry
about Darfur, and today's
man told me that every
single day is a beautiful day.
I arrive at new thinking,
new conclusions, but the
same destination, when I
ride with them. They are
my immigrant international
taxi drivers and they are
my Sunday morning teachers.
For the lessons, I tip them well.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
once a week
to speak with
a man from
another nation.
He is quick to
smile, and bless
my day. He speaks
of lands with color
I cannot see.
We travel together,
show our worlds
and world perspectives
in the few minutes
I've paid for this.
His skin is sometimes
burnished brown,
with accent thick
as my strong morning
coffee, but stirred in
with sweet caramel
of kindness.
One man recited couplets
of Shakespeare, one
told me not to worry
about Darfur, and today's
man told me that every
single day is a beautiful day.
I arrive at new thinking,
new conclusions, but the
same destination, when I
ride with them. They are
my immigrant international
taxi drivers and they are
my Sunday morning teachers.
For the lessons, I tip them well.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Poem #349 of 365
The six dollar
Bombay Sapphire
gin and tonic
stirred my muse
6 times.
With a fine point
red ink Sharpie.
For those of you
who are readers, not writers,
that is the equivalent
of 6 orgasms
on a hard wooden chair.
In an Irish pub.
In public.
Precisely,
well-written.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Bombay Sapphire
gin and tonic
stirred my muse
6 times.
With a fine point
red ink Sharpie.
For those of you
who are readers, not writers,
that is the equivalent
of 6 orgasms
on a hard wooden chair.
In an Irish pub.
In public.
Precisely,
well-written.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Now that the Wreck, Black Dog, & Metrognome are gone where do artists ART?
[a local painter who goes by the name of Semone (www.myspace.com/ssemone) sent along this invitation to an art show happening inside the Bar 9 Lounge tonight at 6pm - downtown FW]
[thanks to Gloria aka "glo (D-Tx)" for the following anuncio about a doc film screening tomorrow in the Bar of Soap laundromat, Fair Park area of Dallas, Friday, December 14th.]
Laura Tabor's documentary DFW PUNK will screen Friday at the laundromat area at the Bar Of Soap @ 10PM.
Bring a small chair if you like.
FREE TO KILL AGAIN goes on at 11:30 in the front window.
The address for Bar of Soap: www.barofsoap.net
3615 Parry Ave
Dallas, TX 75226
(214) 823-6617
[thanks to Gloria aka "glo (D-Tx)" for the following anuncio about a doc film screening tomorrow in the Bar of Soap laundromat, Fair Park area of Dallas, Friday, December 14th.]
Laura Tabor's documentary DFW PUNK will screen Friday at the laundromat area at the Bar Of Soap @ 10PM.
Bring a small chair if you like.
FREE TO KILL AGAIN goes on at 11:30 in the front window.
The address for Bar of Soap: www.barofsoap.net
3615 Parry Ave
Dallas, TX 75226
(214) 823-6617
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Poem #345 of 365
do you see what i see?
people in endless shopping spree
do you see what i see?
for cutting down tree is only time outside the city
do you see what i see?
some workplace parties are scenes for enmity
do you see what i see?
wives desire a lexus and husbands hdtv
do you see what i see?
advertising sets the bar for what is hard to really be
do you see what i see?
that we can be at war as we make merry glee
do you see what i see?
orphans can get a free toy but no one gives a family
do you see what i see?
we act so rich, but still so many are in poverty
do you see what i see?
the u.s. tries so hard, smile and sing in harmony
(in a moment of despair & disgust for rampant mass consumerism in wartime)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
people in endless shopping spree
do you see what i see?
for cutting down tree is only time outside the city
do you see what i see?
some workplace parties are scenes for enmity
do you see what i see?
wives desire a lexus and husbands hdtv
do you see what i see?
advertising sets the bar for what is hard to really be
do you see what i see?
that we can be at war as we make merry glee
do you see what i see?
orphans can get a free toy but no one gives a family
do you see what i see?
we act so rich, but still so many are in poverty
do you see what i see?
the u.s. tries so hard, smile and sing in harmony
(in a moment of despair & disgust for rampant mass consumerism in wartime)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Monday, December 10, 2007
Poem #344 of 365
It was a surprise
to me, too, but a
for different reason.
Three envelopes landed
in your lap from Chicago,
blew open your future
and blasted a snow globe
of dancing light upon
your plans to study art.
Money is possible,
and it is coming.
Three tears, one from
each eye, and another from
my heart of eternal sadness,
stirred as I felt the surprise.
I've known you now for less
than five years, but have
become sister and listener,
mentor and friend to
offer new roots for
the potential i saw
blossom in you.
So, tonight when you softly
shared the scholarship news,
and the world turned faster
with change, I felt a letting
go, and not just of
one-two-three tears.
I'm sending you on your way
to your dream, and am so
thrilled i've had some part
in your early life, the fort
worth phase, and cannot
wait for you to become
the woman you've
sketched out on the
drawing board
in your mind.
I've glimpsed her in you,
that potentiated art-chick,
the one who'll be learning
the answers to all those
questions you've been
directing my way.
Find your answers
when you find yourself,
my friend, and then
please paint them onto the world,
your canvas spectacular
of a million confident strokes
in bold vermilion oils.
(adelante and good luck to Andrea G, who heads off to the Institute of Art in Chicago in less than a month!)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
to me, too, but a
for different reason.
Three envelopes landed
in your lap from Chicago,
blew open your future
and blasted a snow globe
of dancing light upon
your plans to study art.
Money is possible,
and it is coming.
Three tears, one from
each eye, and another from
my heart of eternal sadness,
stirred as I felt the surprise.
I've known you now for less
than five years, but have
become sister and listener,
mentor and friend to
offer new roots for
the potential i saw
blossom in you.
So, tonight when you softly
shared the scholarship news,
and the world turned faster
with change, I felt a letting
go, and not just of
one-two-three tears.
I'm sending you on your way
to your dream, and am so
thrilled i've had some part
in your early life, the fort
worth phase, and cannot
wait for you to become
the woman you've
sketched out on the
drawing board
in your mind.
I've glimpsed her in you,
that potentiated art-chick,
the one who'll be learning
the answers to all those
questions you've been
directing my way.
Find your answers
when you find yourself,
my friend, and then
please paint them onto the world,
your canvas spectacular
of a million confident strokes
in bold vermilion oils.
(adelante and good luck to Andrea G, who heads off to the Institute of Art in Chicago in less than a month!)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Record a message for loved ones behind bars--CALLS FROM HOME project--tomorrow, December 11th
I produced a community radio program called "Mandatory Prison Talk" in 1998-99 in Austin, and it was such an eye-opener. What I found, during that experience, is that community radio can be an easy way to connect the outside community with people locked up in jails, prisons, and other penal institutions of confinement. I received a few letters from prisoners who got to hear my show, and they were so appreciative of my dedicating time to disseminate info on the prison-industrial complex, prisoner abuse, and other topics not readily offered in the mainstream media.
KPFT (90.1 FM) in Houston features a Friday night program--run by Ray Hill since 1980--called simply THE PRISON SHOW. During the last hour of this 2-hour program, friends and family members can call in messages, love letters, and words of encouragement which prisoners within broadcast range can hear.
CALLS FROM HOME, a special project of the Thousand Kites organization, has the same intent as the KPFT show--except that
CALLS FROM HOME has the potential for nationwide impact and broadcast.
More info below, from the folks at Thousand Kites:
Dear Friend,
The Thousand Kites Team would like to ask for your support for a special radio project called Calls from Home. Calls from Home is a simple project. We open our recording studio's toll-free number from 2-10pm (Central Time) on Tuesday, December 11th and record calls from prisoner families and supporters from across the country.
We then broadcast the program on over 120 radio stations across the country and bring hundreds of voices (people singing songs, reading poems, and speaking from the heart) to hundreds of thousands of prisoners. We need your help in spreading the word and making the program as strong as possible. Here is how you can help us.
- Call in to the show on Dec. 11th from 2-10pm central time. Call toll free at 888-396-1208 and the Thousand Kites team will be there to take your call. We usually just say "Caller, you're on the air, who would you like to send a message to tonight?"
- If you want to call right now, you can leave a message on the answering machine at 877-518-0606.
- Spread the word to other people. Please pass this on and ask other folks to get involved. You can learn more at www.thousandkites.org
- After the show is recorded we put it up for free downloads. Download it and get it played our your local community radio station, play a section at a meeting, get it played at a church, class, or even in a prison and hold a discussion about incarceration in the United States.
Finally, help us spread the word on My Space. Please re-post this to your friends.
Peace,
Thousand Kites Team
email: thousandkitesproject@gmail.com
phone: 606.633.0108
www.thousandkites.org
KPFT (90.1 FM) in Houston features a Friday night program--run by Ray Hill since 1980--called simply THE PRISON SHOW. During the last hour of this 2-hour program, friends and family members can call in messages, love letters, and words of encouragement which prisoners within broadcast range can hear.
CALLS FROM HOME, a special project of the Thousand Kites organization, has the same intent as the KPFT show--except that
CALLS FROM HOME has the potential for nationwide impact and broadcast.
More info below, from the folks at Thousand Kites:
Dear Friend,
The Thousand Kites Team would like to ask for your support for a special radio project called Calls from Home. Calls from Home is a simple project. We open our recording studio's toll-free number from 2-10pm (Central Time) on Tuesday, December 11th and record calls from prisoner families and supporters from across the country.
We then broadcast the program on over 120 radio stations across the country and bring hundreds of voices (people singing songs, reading poems, and speaking from the heart) to hundreds of thousands of prisoners. We need your help in spreading the word and making the program as strong as possible. Here is how you can help us.
- Call in to the show on Dec. 11th from 2-10pm central time. Call toll free at 888-396-1208 and the Thousand Kites team will be there to take your call. We usually just say "Caller, you're on the air, who would you like to send a message to tonight?"
- If you want to call right now, you can leave a message on the answering machine at 877-518-0606.
- Spread the word to other people. Please pass this on and ask other folks to get involved. You can learn more at www.thousandkites.org
- After the show is recorded we put it up for free downloads. Download it and get it played our your local community radio station, play a section at a meeting, get it played at a church, class, or even in a prison and hold a discussion about incarceration in the United States.
Finally, help us spread the word on My Space. Please re-post this to your friends.
Peace,
Thousand Kites Team
email: thousandkitesproject@gmail.com
phone: 606.633.0108
www.thousandkites.org
Sunday, December 09, 2007
Poem #343 of 365
Be your own hero,
feel like a champ,
layer up in wool and cotton
and pedal to work
after dark on a cool cold night.
Thrash the front wheel
in a single track mind
picking out the surest
way to get you there
less bumpy but fast.
Turn up the music
that beats a good pulse
to help you make
quick circles with your
feet and smile with
song and shivering.
Feel the warm air
between layers and
be thankful for sheep
and wool and wicking
ways on winter streets.
Leave that metal machine
behind, sitting in the driveway,
as you coast fuel-free
across the bridge spanning
the Trinity which sparkles
like a sheet of icy gems.
Squeeze out inertia through
your pores, keep the energy
of spirit in your chest and
hear your stunning laughter
blaze indelibly against
the blackness of the night.
Surge in triumph,
sweat like you mean it,
and ride ride ride
to cross all the starting lines
of your dreamy life
like the hero you
were meant to be.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
feel like a champ,
layer up in wool and cotton
and pedal to work
after dark on a cool cold night.
Thrash the front wheel
in a single track mind
picking out the surest
way to get you there
less bumpy but fast.
Turn up the music
that beats a good pulse
to help you make
quick circles with your
feet and smile with
song and shivering.
Feel the warm air
between layers and
be thankful for sheep
and wool and wicking
ways on winter streets.
Leave that metal machine
behind, sitting in the driveway,
as you coast fuel-free
across the bridge spanning
the Trinity which sparkles
like a sheet of icy gems.
Squeeze out inertia through
your pores, keep the energy
of spirit in your chest and
hear your stunning laughter
blaze indelibly against
the blackness of the night.
Surge in triumph,
sweat like you mean it,
and ride ride ride
to cross all the starting lines
of your dreamy life
like the hero you
were meant to be.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Saturday, December 08, 2007
Poem #342 of 365
in the metro tunnel
with gabriela
she rubs the lamp
while i click my heels
and the amused gentlemen
in the sports jacket
holding a broken flashlight
smiles gently as he watches
and the soot-smeared
face of the now-orphaned
child lights up as we smile
in her direction and reach for her hand
in the metro tunnel
with gabriela
she has remembered the radio
and i distribute the bread
and the shaken wife
whose blonde husband
is lost, asks to sit with
us and we quietly oblige
and the hungry teacher
with the frostbitten toes
thanks me for bread as
i put my gloves on his feet
in the metro tunnel
with gabriela
we have not rehearsed
for this moment,
we have instincts that
we trust in one another
the tunnel fills with warmth
and the voices begin to
hum with happier notes,
tenderness is shown
and i know we have brought
comfort without plan, and it
is the least we can do, our lives
have prepared us for this
in the metro tunnel
with gabriela
the light in our eyes
illuminates reality, but shines faith
in the future, bracing with hope
that uplifts the weak
in the metro tunnel
with gabriela
the sirens sound, but all i can
hear is the thump and
continuity of brave strong hearts,
loving in the darkness.
with gabriela
she rubs the lamp
while i click my heels
and the amused gentlemen
in the sports jacket
holding a broken flashlight
smiles gently as he watches
and the soot-smeared
face of the now-orphaned
child lights up as we smile
in her direction and reach for her hand
in the metro tunnel
with gabriela
she has remembered the radio
and i distribute the bread
and the shaken wife
whose blonde husband
is lost, asks to sit with
us and we quietly oblige
and the hungry teacher
with the frostbitten toes
thanks me for bread as
i put my gloves on his feet
in the metro tunnel
with gabriela
we have not rehearsed
for this moment,
we have instincts that
we trust in one another
the tunnel fills with warmth
and the voices begin to
hum with happier notes,
tenderness is shown
and i know we have brought
comfort without plan, and it
is the least we can do, our lives
have prepared us for this
in the metro tunnel
with gabriela
the light in our eyes
illuminates reality, but shines faith
in the future, bracing with hope
that uplifts the weak
in the metro tunnel
with gabriela
the sirens sound, but all i can
hear is the thump and
continuity of brave strong hearts,
loving in the darkness.
Friday, December 07, 2007
Poem #341 of 365
i can tell that things in your head
are coming to a head,
and i feel for you, believe me,
i am lighting a metaphorical
candle on your behalf,
slashing together wood for a raft
so you can float, escape the moat,
and have new & wider doors
open to your stride and
friendly posture
despite what pain and
sorrow it may cost you.
keep up the writing, channel your
inner tremors through some words,
it can really help.
welcome on-board, compa-bard!
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
are coming to a head,
and i feel for you, believe me,
i am lighting a metaphorical
candle on your behalf,
slashing together wood for a raft
so you can float, escape the moat,
and have new & wider doors
open to your stride and
friendly posture
despite what pain and
sorrow it may cost you.
keep up the writing, channel your
inner tremors through some words,
it can really help.
welcome on-board, compa-bard!
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Buzzworms in the Backyard -- art exhibit opening at FW Community Arts Center on Saturday, December 8th
I have been invited to present a performance at this opening reception tomorrow, taking place in the back gallery @ the Fort Worth Community Arts Center.
Sound Culture presents
"Greed, Caution"
a performance ritual lament
w/ ramsey sprague, angelique, gabriela lomonaco, tammy gomez
featuring the photographic art of shannon atkinson
(7pm presentation)
open to all / no admission charged / rahr brews in the house -- OPENING IS FROM 6pm to 9pm!!
Please, nuestra buena gente, help spread the word about this serious issue, even if you cannot attend tomorrow.
=====
buzzworm n : a quaint, western euphemism for a rattlesnake 2 : an insistent, noisy vibration 3 : a warning sign 4 : a metaphor for a natural gas drilling rig.
Opening Reception:
Saturday, December 8, 2007
Fort Worth Community Art Center (Back Gallery)
1300 Gendy Street Fort Worth, Texas 76107
background
In 2006, Fort Worth, Texas, became the first large city in the nation to allow drilling for natural gas in densely-populated areas - as close as 200’ from dwellings. While relatively few may be enriched by this unprecedented event, many others are concerned about the negative impact and far-reaching implications of industrial drilling in their communities.
With drilling either underway or planned for nearly every neighborhood, issues such as safety, air and water quality, property values, destruction of natural habitat, and threats to neighborhood integrity are very real. Gas drilling companies are waging an all-out advertising campaign to win public support. Many residents remain skeptical and ill-at-ease. Many feel powerless and resigned.
Because billions of dollars are at stake, the powerful energy extraction industry, aided by political interests, are trying to control the debate. However, as drilling operations move deeper into residential neighborhoods and parks, many people are turning their apathy into activism.
In the grand tradition of political protest art, and participatory democracy, FWCanDo (Fort Worth Citizens Against Neighborhood Drilling Ordinance), is hosting this art exhibit as an opportunity for artists to publicly express their concerns about these important issues. It also encourages them, and the community, to take a closer look at the facts concerning gas drilling in Fort Worth..
Artists, from Goya to Picasso to Keith Haring, to Anonymous have played a crucial role in bringing awareness and expression to the injustices of their times.
http://www.fwcando.org
Sound Culture presents
"Greed, Caution"
a performance ritual lament
w/ ramsey sprague, angelique, gabriela lomonaco, tammy gomez
featuring the photographic art of shannon atkinson
(7pm presentation)
open to all / no admission charged / rahr brews in the house -- OPENING IS FROM 6pm to 9pm!!
Please, nuestra buena gente, help spread the word about this serious issue, even if you cannot attend tomorrow.
=====
buzzworm n : a quaint, western euphemism for a rattlesnake 2 : an insistent, noisy vibration 3 : a warning sign 4 : a metaphor for a natural gas drilling rig.
Opening Reception:
Saturday, December 8, 2007
Fort Worth Community Art Center (Back Gallery)
1300 Gendy Street Fort Worth, Texas 76107
background
In 2006, Fort Worth, Texas, became the first large city in the nation to allow drilling for natural gas in densely-populated areas - as close as 200’ from dwellings. While relatively few may be enriched by this unprecedented event, many others are concerned about the negative impact and far-reaching implications of industrial drilling in their communities.
With drilling either underway or planned for nearly every neighborhood, issues such as safety, air and water quality, property values, destruction of natural habitat, and threats to neighborhood integrity are very real. Gas drilling companies are waging an all-out advertising campaign to win public support. Many residents remain skeptical and ill-at-ease. Many feel powerless and resigned.
Because billions of dollars are at stake, the powerful energy extraction industry, aided by political interests, are trying to control the debate. However, as drilling operations move deeper into residential neighborhoods and parks, many people are turning their apathy into activism.
In the grand tradition of political protest art, and participatory democracy, FWCanDo (Fort Worth Citizens Against Neighborhood Drilling Ordinance), is hosting this art exhibit as an opportunity for artists to publicly express their concerns about these important issues. It also encourages them, and the community, to take a closer look at the facts concerning gas drilling in Fort Worth..
Artists, from Goya to Picasso to Keith Haring, to Anonymous have played a crucial role in bringing awareness and expression to the injustices of their times.
http://www.fwcando.org
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Chicano Luncheon TODAY! 12 noon - 1pm
[Thanks to Renny Rosas for the following anuncio. These biweekly luncheons are an awesome networking opportunity!
My friend, Rick Leal, a producer for FW Community Cable Television, also told me that guest speaker Fajardo is here from Mexico City presenting his latest work--a documentary that he shot & produced about Russia in the 21st Century. He will screen part of the film at the luncheon. He is also interested in producing a film about the Chicano/Mexicano community here in North Texas.]
The Chicano Luncheon meets this
Thursday Dec. 6, 2007
Noon to 1:p.m.
La Trinidad United Methodist Church
1300 Gould Ave. (at Northside Dr.)
Fort Worth TX 76106
Our guest speaker: Raul Fajardo - Professor of Journalism, School of Performing Arts, Radio & TV
Photo Journalist & Documentary Producer
Please attend this informative meeting.
Everyone is invited.
($6 gets you a cheese enchilada plate and a slice of cake and iced tea.)
Gracias.
--
CIAO!
Renny Rosas
The Chicano Luncheon
817.924.8181 ofc
chicanoluncheon@gmail.com
My friend, Rick Leal, a producer for FW Community Cable Television, also told me that guest speaker Fajardo is here from Mexico City presenting his latest work--a documentary that he shot & produced about Russia in the 21st Century. He will screen part of the film at the luncheon. He is also interested in producing a film about the Chicano/Mexicano community here in North Texas.]
The Chicano Luncheon meets this
Thursday Dec. 6, 2007
Noon to 1:p.m.
La Trinidad United Methodist Church
1300 Gould Ave. (at Northside Dr.)
Fort Worth TX 76106
Our guest speaker: Raul Fajardo - Professor of Journalism, School of Performing Arts, Radio & TV
Photo Journalist & Documentary Producer
Please attend this informative meeting.
Everyone is invited.
($6 gets you a cheese enchilada plate and a slice of cake and iced tea.)
Gracias.
--
CIAO!
Renny Rosas
The Chicano Luncheon
817.924.8181 ofc
chicanoluncheon@gmail.com
Poem #340 of 365
i am drinking shiraz, white shiraz, late into the morning,
celebrating my rise, my shine,
my finally finishing the Final Report
to my funders at NALAC, who
bankrolled my play this year.
18 pages of narrative to describe
the results of the project, and a budget besides.
all the money is gone, well-spent, and well-deserved.
now i'm on to the saturday gig, and moving fast,
with a photo shoot yesterday with Shannon and Angelique,
and Ramsey practicing a song, and me slimming into my
dance skin clothes, as i bike to work everyday.
those who now sleep are dreaming their wishes.
and then there are people, like us,
up late at night,
fishing for dreams.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
celebrating my rise, my shine,
my finally finishing the Final Report
to my funders at NALAC, who
bankrolled my play this year.
18 pages of narrative to describe
the results of the project, and a budget besides.
all the money is gone, well-spent, and well-deserved.
now i'm on to the saturday gig, and moving fast,
with a photo shoot yesterday with Shannon and Angelique,
and Ramsey practicing a song, and me slimming into my
dance skin clothes, as i bike to work everyday.
those who now sleep are dreaming their wishes.
and then there are people, like us,
up late at night,
fishing for dreams.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Poem #339 of 365
Ryan the rescuer
fixed up my tire,
brought me a tube
from his old pick-up truck.
This is the story of
a Texas romance,
a tale that portends
the dovetail of a man
and a girl, a perfect
north texas courtship.
But this is only a favor,
a one-time howdy-doo help,
and the girl is grateful
and the boy feels useful
and as they part in the sunset
of so many beginnings,
they separate to different roads,
she on a gravel two-lane way,
and he on a bypassed heart path.
Such missed and sidestepped love.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
fixed up my tire,
brought me a tube
from his old pick-up truck.
This is the story of
a Texas romance,
a tale that portends
the dovetail of a man
and a girl, a perfect
north texas courtship.
But this is only a favor,
a one-time howdy-doo help,
and the girl is grateful
and the boy feels useful
and as they part in the sunset
of so many beginnings,
they separate to different roads,
she on a gravel two-lane way,
and he on a bypassed heart path.
Such missed and sidestepped love.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Sunday, December 02, 2007
Poem #336 of 365
Whizzing around my house is that flying thing
which you might call a bird.
But inside that bird, with its cardboard beak
and construction paper wings,
is another thing,
itself a flying creature
of smaller bulk,
and perhaps even that thing
is a facsimile of something
that it cannot ever be, and what lies within
is something smaller yet,
with wings of its own
that flap in darkness
and perhaps in light,
and it, that thing on the inside
of the inside
of that fake flying bird
in my house, is what i want
to identify
for what it could be:
The greatest creature of love,
or maybe
the strangest creature of evil,
or perhaps it is both at once.
When it stops gliding over our heads,
when it makes a choice to land,
then we shall all know and recognize.
I trust that it is a good thing,
an honest animal,
which merely plays strange
under a sheath of paper and twine.
It is only teasing to be cute,
and hopes soon
to share in an amicable bond,
here in my parlor of laughter and passion.
I succeed at removing masks
from preening creatures,
who long to finally show
their true faces of love, of goodwill.
We will stare at length into
each other's blinking,
unadorned eyes,
as the windows open,
and there is a moment to spring free.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
which you might call a bird.
But inside that bird, with its cardboard beak
and construction paper wings,
is another thing,
itself a flying creature
of smaller bulk,
and perhaps even that thing
is a facsimile of something
that it cannot ever be, and what lies within
is something smaller yet,
with wings of its own
that flap in darkness
and perhaps in light,
and it, that thing on the inside
of the inside
of that fake flying bird
in my house, is what i want
to identify
for what it could be:
The greatest creature of love,
or maybe
the strangest creature of evil,
or perhaps it is both at once.
When it stops gliding over our heads,
when it makes a choice to land,
then we shall all know and recognize.
I trust that it is a good thing,
an honest animal,
which merely plays strange
under a sheath of paper and twine.
It is only teasing to be cute,
and hopes soon
to share in an amicable bond,
here in my parlor of laughter and passion.
I succeed at removing masks
from preening creatures,
who long to finally show
their true faces of love, of goodwill.
We will stare at length into
each other's blinking,
unadorned eyes,
as the windows open,
and there is a moment to spring free.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Saturday, December 01, 2007
Poem #335 of 365
i pull out the clipboard to which
i've fastened the quite lengthy
roll call of concepts to be developed
on the acreage of tract housing
in the cobwebs of your mind...
but what did you meme?
the vulnerability of desire PLUS
the schism between manual labor and desk thinking IN LIGHT OF
the campaign to hand wash with woolite BECAUSE
you need media storage when the memory fails.
breakfast before poetry FORESHADOWS
risk assessment in the dungarees AND YOUR
impulse to propagate in exclusivity DESPITE
my arguments that you must allow comments on your blog IMMEDIATELY.
(and i sincerely meme that.)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
i've fastened the quite lengthy
roll call of concepts to be developed
on the acreage of tract housing
in the cobwebs of your mind...
but what did you meme?
the vulnerability of desire PLUS
the schism between manual labor and desk thinking IN LIGHT OF
the campaign to hand wash with woolite BECAUSE
you need media storage when the memory fails.
breakfast before poetry FORESHADOWS
risk assessment in the dungarees AND YOUR
impulse to propagate in exclusivity DESPITE
my arguments that you must allow comments on your blog IMMEDIATELY.
(and i sincerely meme that.)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Greening X-mas
A great little article came to my attention via Christine Granados, who spotted a photo of my friend Donna Hoffman in last Sunday's New York Times (style section). Sure enough, Donna or "Ms. Demeanor", as she sometimes referred to herself when we were on the air doing KO.OP Radio stuff together in Austin, was interviewed for the article about folks who are divesting from the hyper-commercialism of christmas.
My mom gave me a cute little live tree last December--a Norfolk Island Pine--and I've actually kept it alive for a whole year now. It stays indoors year-round and I'll probably hang the same 3-4 holiday ornaments on it as I did last December. One christmas, my live-in boyfriend made a blatant commentary on how I threw my clothes on chairs instead of hanging them up or putting them away. I arrived home from work one evening to find a short stubby tree brandishing miniature holiday lights. Upon closer inspection, I found that James had taken one of my garment-laden chairs and merely thrown a string of lights around that. Hah, I got back at him by decorating a free discarded (y'know how some folks'll throw out their x-mas trees BEFORE the 25th) tree with his dirty tube socks.
One of my best xmas-es was the year, 1996 or so--when I took off for Mexico City on x-mas eve, but flaked out at the border. I returned to Austin, but told no one that I was back in the states. I wrote, meditated, strung fresh popcorn for the birds to eat, attended a jazz/poetry x-mas eve concert, and got drunk at the x-mas night karaoke at the Hole in the Wall down on the drag. I guess, for me, the better approach is to relax standards, be willing to embark on new (and different) traditions of celebration, and to detach from expectations.
Anyway, here's the link to that NY Times article: "JOLLY AND GREEN, WITH AN AGENDA."
*********
And, if you do feel like shopping this weekend, I recommend stopping by this year's version of:
the Annual Alternative Holiday Bazaar,
Sat./Sun., December 1st and 2nd,
at the First Jefferson Unitarian Church, 1959 Sandy Lane,
in East Fort Worth.
Homemade edibles, handcrafted gifts, and fair trade imports are all available--for reasonable prices, I might add.
My mom gave me a cute little live tree last December--a Norfolk Island Pine--and I've actually kept it alive for a whole year now. It stays indoors year-round and I'll probably hang the same 3-4 holiday ornaments on it as I did last December. One christmas, my live-in boyfriend made a blatant commentary on how I threw my clothes on chairs instead of hanging them up or putting them away. I arrived home from work one evening to find a short stubby tree brandishing miniature holiday lights. Upon closer inspection, I found that James had taken one of my garment-laden chairs and merely thrown a string of lights around that. Hah, I got back at him by decorating a free discarded (y'know how some folks'll throw out their x-mas trees BEFORE the 25th) tree with his dirty tube socks.
One of my best xmas-es was the year, 1996 or so--when I took off for Mexico City on x-mas eve, but flaked out at the border. I returned to Austin, but told no one that I was back in the states. I wrote, meditated, strung fresh popcorn for the birds to eat, attended a jazz/poetry x-mas eve concert, and got drunk at the x-mas night karaoke at the Hole in the Wall down on the drag. I guess, for me, the better approach is to relax standards, be willing to embark on new (and different) traditions of celebration, and to detach from expectations.
Anyway, here's the link to that NY Times article: "JOLLY AND GREEN, WITH AN AGENDA."
*********
And, if you do feel like shopping this weekend, I recommend stopping by this year's version of:
the Annual Alternative Holiday Bazaar,
Sat./Sun., December 1st and 2nd,
at the First Jefferson Unitarian Church, 1959 Sandy Lane,
in East Fort Worth.
Homemade edibles, handcrafted gifts, and fair trade imports are all available--for reasonable prices, I might add.
World AIDS Day - December 1st
Emanuel Xavier, from New York City, is a performance poet and queer activist/educator whom I met in Austin several years ago. He reposted the following poem on his bloga (yes, we Latino/Chicanos have decided that blogs are female) recently, and I thought to share it now with you--as a way to commemorate World AIDS Day 2007.
AFTER THE BALL
I search for laughter
down an empty Christopher Street
remembering innocent smiles
with every used condom
every vial
of crack
never looking back
but all the sisters are dying
all the legends are dead
our sanctuary closed
always living on the edge
Children floating by
on the Hudson
love is the message
still lingering
in their vacant eyes
Winds call out my name
but I will not listen
I will stay behind
© 1997 by Emanuel Xavier for Pier Queen Productions.
Taken from the poetry collection, Pier Queen.
(photo credit - by Greg Wharton)
I find it very interesting--and definitely disappointing--that many folks here in N. Texas aren't aware that December First is World AIDS Day. In Austin, the conceptual/performance artist Sally Jacques created the tradition of organizing "Body Count", a sobering and amazing interactive ritual that involved hundreds of people. The public was invited to lie on their backs, along the Great Walk (wide sidewalk leading to the front steps of the State Capitol), with flashlights directed below their faces. It was an eerily beautiful sight, but it was also mournful because these lit-up faces were suggestive of the numbers of people who have died from AIDS.
from the AVERT website:
"According to UNAIDS estimates, there are now 33.2 million people living with HIV, including 2.5 million children. During 2007 some 2.5 million people became newly infected with the virus. Around half of all people who become infected with HIV do so before they are 25 and are killed by AIDS before they are 35.
Around 95% of people with HIV/AIDS live in developing nations. But HIV today is a threat to men, women and children on all continents around the world.
Started on 1st December 1988, World AIDS Day is not just about raising money, but also about increasing awareness, fighting prejudice and improving education. World AIDS Day is important in reminding people that HIV has not gone away, and that there are many things still to be done."
____________
A few days ago, I was at the FWCAC (Fort Worth Community Arts Center), and Marla Owen--business manager--shared with me some information about an upcoming, month-long "arts intervention" that is scheduled to happen from:
May 10 - June 8, 2008
titled MORE LIFE: THE ART & SCIENCE OF AIDS.
From the save-the-date postcard:
"During the upcoming More Life Festival, more than 20
arts and science organizations will focus their energies
and talents on programs that increase the awareness
and knowledge of AIDS in our community."
I'm considering how I myself--along with some possible collaborators--might get involved with this month-long festival next May. (And you can get more info too by visiting the MORE LIFE website.)
I'll close off by sharing some lyrics from a Michael Franti/Spearhead song I've been listening to lately:
"...and how am I going to live my life if I'm positive, is it gonna be a negative? how am I going to live my life?"
live well/be safe!
AFTER THE BALL
I search for laughter
down an empty Christopher Street
remembering innocent smiles
with every used condom
every vial
of crack
never looking back
but all the sisters are dying
all the legends are dead
our sanctuary closed
always living on the edge
Children floating by
on the Hudson
love is the message
still lingering
in their vacant eyes
Winds call out my name
but I will not listen
I will stay behind
© 1997 by Emanuel Xavier for Pier Queen Productions.
Taken from the poetry collection, Pier Queen.
(photo credit - by Greg Wharton)
I find it very interesting--and definitely disappointing--that many folks here in N. Texas aren't aware that December First is World AIDS Day. In Austin, the conceptual/performance artist Sally Jacques created the tradition of organizing "Body Count", a sobering and amazing interactive ritual that involved hundreds of people. The public was invited to lie on their backs, along the Great Walk (wide sidewalk leading to the front steps of the State Capitol), with flashlights directed below their faces. It was an eerily beautiful sight, but it was also mournful because these lit-up faces were suggestive of the numbers of people who have died from AIDS.
from the AVERT website:
"According to UNAIDS estimates, there are now 33.2 million people living with HIV, including 2.5 million children. During 2007 some 2.5 million people became newly infected with the virus. Around half of all people who become infected with HIV do so before they are 25 and are killed by AIDS before they are 35.
Around 95% of people with HIV/AIDS live in developing nations. But HIV today is a threat to men, women and children on all continents around the world.
Started on 1st December 1988, World AIDS Day is not just about raising money, but also about increasing awareness, fighting prejudice and improving education. World AIDS Day is important in reminding people that HIV has not gone away, and that there are many things still to be done."
____________
A few days ago, I was at the FWCAC (Fort Worth Community Arts Center), and Marla Owen--business manager--shared with me some information about an upcoming, month-long "arts intervention" that is scheduled to happen from:
May 10 - June 8, 2008
titled MORE LIFE: THE ART & SCIENCE OF AIDS.
From the save-the-date postcard:
"During the upcoming More Life Festival, more than 20
arts and science organizations will focus their energies
and talents on programs that increase the awareness
and knowledge of AIDS in our community."
I'm considering how I myself--along with some possible collaborators--might get involved with this month-long festival next May. (And you can get more info too by visiting the MORE LIFE website.)
I'll close off by sharing some lyrics from a Michael Franti/Spearhead song I've been listening to lately:
"...and how am I going to live my life if I'm positive, is it gonna be a negative? how am I going to live my life?"
live well/be safe!
Friday, November 30, 2007
Poem #334 of 365
Pops paces casually
through the kitchen,
sipping from an opened
cold can of sauerkraut.
Rose has just issued a
complaint, which is
forwarded to me by
another client, and I'm
not sure how to respond,
what action to take.
"Pops is doing sieg-heil again."
I'm not sure if he's a
Nazi sympathizer for real,
or if he's temporarily
homeland sentimental
for distasteful German
foods and fascist regimes.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
through the kitchen,
sipping from an opened
cold can of sauerkraut.
Rose has just issued a
complaint, which is
forwarded to me by
another client, and I'm
not sure how to respond,
what action to take.
"Pops is doing sieg-heil again."
I'm not sure if he's a
Nazi sympathizer for real,
or if he's temporarily
homeland sentimental
for distasteful German
foods and fascist regimes.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Poem #333 of 365
synonyms for sin:
you look away as loving words are spoken to you.
you keep windows closed when the air is fresh outside.
you forget that food tastes best when it is shared.
you stifle a hum, a song, a whistle in your mouth.
you disdain your body's scent and mask with store-bought smells.
you avoid learning the burn of your muscles working hard.
you greet strangers sternly until you start to need them.
you ignore your dreams when they are boats for your journey.
you believe that curiosity is only for kids and kittens.
you live your life without living.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
you look away as loving words are spoken to you.
you keep windows closed when the air is fresh outside.
you forget that food tastes best when it is shared.
you stifle a hum, a song, a whistle in your mouth.
you disdain your body's scent and mask with store-bought smells.
you avoid learning the burn of your muscles working hard.
you greet strangers sternly until you start to need them.
you ignore your dreams when they are boats for your journey.
you believe that curiosity is only for kids and kittens.
you live your life without living.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Poem #332 of 365
Discussing the future of one's abdominal muscles
with a
cat
is an exercise
in futility.
"And, speaking of exercise,"
she murmured
to her yawning
short-hair,
as she clenched
at her dinner,
which intermingled
with a hastily-sipped
Shiner from the
1am Chat Room
station stop.
Silence after that.
Such a non-conversant cat.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
with a
cat
is an exercise
in futility.
"And, speaking of exercise,"
she murmured
to her yawning
short-hair,
as she clenched
at her dinner,
which intermingled
with a hastily-sipped
Shiner from the
1am Chat Room
station stop.
Silence after that.
Such a non-conversant cat.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Poem #331 of 365
The film buff boys spoke her name
as if she were a desired nymph
of the Hill Country,
and I found myself jealous of
this virginal ingenue
of a French-language classic.
What did she have that I
didn't have, and how could
I get it, if I didn't have it?
My neurotic compulsion to
be equal, to make Austin
men revere me as much,
swelled into obsession.
What she had? She had
a director, Robert Bresson.
And her creator, Georges Bernanos.
And her name?
Mouchette. She was
the uniquely captivating
French girl Mouchette.
I had never seen Rick
and Brecht and those
other film boys so smitten
as with that threadbare teen
in the muddy clogs.
But tonight, we met.
After all those years, I
dared to see her and study
her gaze.
I was enchanted, I am enthralled,
She is that muse I had
once wooed. I now give her
breadth with my imagination.
Her stride has changed my walk.
I wear a skirt like the rural French.
Her mystery smokes in my dark smile.
Mouchette has finally entered into my life.
(after seeing the film "Mouchette" by Robert Bresson)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Medical research study - Men needed
Here's another call for research study volunteers from the University of North Texas Health Science Center. I get wind of these ever so often, and I actually participated in one study (lower back pain was the focus) this summer, and was compensated to the tune of 30 bucks for every time I went in for "treatment". Not bad, considering I was lucky enough to not be in the control group, and so I actually did get back (manipulative medicine, as well as ultrasound) treatments. Contact info about this particular study is included below.
MALE RESEARCH VOLUNTEERS NEEDED: Healthy men who exercise regularly, ages 18-35.
Description:
Adult male volunteers are now sought to participate in a research study entitled: "The Effect of Fitness on Cardiac Work and Cardiac Efficiency with and without cardio-selective beta-adrenergic blockade."
The purpose of this study is to investigate whether blockade of specific proteins located on the heart, called ß1 adrenergic receptors, effect how hard the heart works during exercise. Participation in this study will include administration of a drug that will inhibit the ß1-adrenergic receptors. In addition, we will measure various cardiovascular variables such as: heart rate, blood pressure, cardiac output, oxygen consumption, and thoracic impedance. These measures will be made while sitting, and while performing moderate and strenuous cycling exercise.
We are recruiting men who are of average fitness or are competitive runners, cyclists, triathletes, swimmers, and other athletes.
All subjects must be disease-free, drug-free, and between the ages of 18-35. Total time involvement in this study will be about 8-10 hours over a total of two days. Participation in this study is completely voluntary, and if you are a student or employee of UNTHSC your participation in this study will in no way affect your academic standing or employment. All subjects will be compensated for their time and effort.
If you are interested in participating in this study as a research subject please contact Megan Hawkins at mhawkin@hsc.unt.edu or 817-735-2088.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Poem #330 of 365
As the bottle empties, my belly expands,
and I am pregnant with suds
in the sleek dark night, and I wonder
about trade-offs and
more significant siphonings
and apportionings,
as when the mailbag empties and becomes
less burdensome on the postman's shoulder
while our mailboxes swell with bills,
and the gasoline fuel burns out of a car to
exhaust to zero, and as the refrigerator,
once well-stocked, now holds two jars
of pickled things--and camera film.
But an open book, in the hands of a
studious child, only the book can
feed and fuel and give and emit,
filling a mind, enlarging an intellect,
without itself thinning, emptying, lessening.
It is the vessel that stands fresh with
water for the brain, every day, every page,
like an ever-youthful generous sage.
A book forever fruits.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
and I am pregnant with suds
in the sleek dark night, and I wonder
about trade-offs and
more significant siphonings
and apportionings,
as when the mailbag empties and becomes
less burdensome on the postman's shoulder
while our mailboxes swell with bills,
and the gasoline fuel burns out of a car to
exhaust to zero, and as the refrigerator,
once well-stocked, now holds two jars
of pickled things--and camera film.
But an open book, in the hands of a
studious child, only the book can
feed and fuel and give and emit,
filling a mind, enlarging an intellect,
without itself thinning, emptying, lessening.
It is the vessel that stands fresh with
water for the brain, every day, every page,
like an ever-youthful generous sage.
A book forever fruits.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Poem #326 of 365
Lazily cradled in colorful hammocks,
Zack and I swung in the midafternoon shade.
I had just finished a slice of cake, home-baked
and sold by a barefoot local who peddled her
wares, from palapa to palapa, to the turistas.
I was one of those, for the moment.
Humming Billie Holiday songs and
lamenting no lost time.
Zack offhandedly asked what day today was.
I don't know, I replied. November something.
You know, he continued, I think that Thanksgiving
is someday this week. Maybe today, maybe yesterday.
Oh, really, I hadn't thought about it.
Yeah, he said, as he stared at the Pacific, lulled
back to another relaxed day of not talking much.
Well, happy thanksgiving, if it's today or even if it's not.
The rhapsody of the cool blue waves tranquilized,
and I drifted off to more thoughts of being
completely content with where I was,
what I had, and
who I was with.
(about that endless day around Thanksgiving, 1990, Zipolite, Mexico)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Zack and I swung in the midafternoon shade.
I had just finished a slice of cake, home-baked
and sold by a barefoot local who peddled her
wares, from palapa to palapa, to the turistas.
I was one of those, for the moment.
Humming Billie Holiday songs and
lamenting no lost time.
Zack offhandedly asked what day today was.
I don't know, I replied. November something.
You know, he continued, I think that Thanksgiving
is someday this week. Maybe today, maybe yesterday.
Oh, really, I hadn't thought about it.
Yeah, he said, as he stared at the Pacific, lulled
back to another relaxed day of not talking much.
Well, happy thanksgiving, if it's today or even if it's not.
The rhapsody of the cool blue waves tranquilized,
and I drifted off to more thoughts of being
completely content with where I was,
what I had, and
who I was with.
(about that endless day around Thanksgiving, 1990, Zipolite, Mexico)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Poem #325 of 365
"dying uncle in Abilene"
i've never written that configuration
of words before,
i've never ever seen them
together like that on a screen.
somehow, a finality.
and i wish i'd not typed them
flat-out like that, wish i hadn't
been cursed to
read them on the screen,
looking so official and certain
this afternoon.
how do i undo this, that which has
been written and
allowed to set in as factual truth?
maybe i can scramble the message,
make something new in these words
to discern instead:
"uncle in dying Abilene"
"Abilene dying, uncle in"
or further, mishmash the letters
to quite distance myself from cancer
and suffering, familial loss and pain:
"lean, ying, nun, Abe"
"undying clean Nile"
but, ultimately, cuz it's
best that i face fully what he
has already known:
"in u lean. i end cling. bye."
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
i've never written that configuration
of words before,
i've never ever seen them
together like that on a screen.
somehow, a finality.
and i wish i'd not typed them
flat-out like that, wish i hadn't
been cursed to
read them on the screen,
looking so official and certain
this afternoon.
how do i undo this, that which has
been written and
allowed to set in as factual truth?
maybe i can scramble the message,
make something new in these words
to discern instead:
"uncle in dying Abilene"
"Abilene dying, uncle in"
or further, mishmash the letters
to quite distance myself from cancer
and suffering, familial loss and pain:
"lean, ying, nun, Abe"
"undying clean Nile"
but, ultimately, cuz it's
best that i face fully what he
has already known:
"in u lean. i end cling. bye."
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Weirdest List contest / deadline is November 30th
I generate lists constantly because they help keep me on track as shorthand for: longer lists, future things I want to write, and images and events and conversations I want to implant firmly into memory. I am constantly writing on small pieces of paper, receipts, unpaid parking tickets when I'm in the car. Usually, it's to capture some nuanced impression--with just a few written words--that's been made on me by a song or conversation on the radio. I imagine that drivers in the next lanes over think I'm a kook for scribbling behind the wheel, using the dashboard as desktop--but only when the traffic light's red.
On that note (no pun intended), I want to spread the word about a very cool contest created by Sasha Cagen, whose many "jobs" also reads like a laundry list: writer, editor, quirkyalone-movement- leader, and world's leading to-do-list-ologist. Sasha maintains a very quirky blog called the TO DO LIST BLOG, which evolved out of her zine about to do lists. Sasha's quite the darling of sub-cult community-making, with big-name contributors to the book (including Nick Hornby) and big-media (Anderson Cooper, for example) attention to her to-do-ology.
Okay, here's the info, as excerpted from one of Sasha's blogposts:
THE WEIRDEST LIST Contest
"To celebrate the book's release, I'm sponsoring a contest: The Weirdest List. Send in your weirdest to-do lists (real authentic lists that you wrote or found in the course of everyday life, please, nothing constructed for publication). I'm interpreting to-do list broadly for the contest, just as I do for the book. . . so this could mean life list, ideal mate list, possible goldfish names, etc. Weird can mean the entire list, the title, or a single odd item on it. Sometimes the most intriguing lists are entirely banal and mundane until the eye gets to that very cryptic item.
Here's how it works: Send a scanned jpeg of your list to todolistblog AT gmail.com by November 30.
Please write "WEIRDEST LIST CONTEST:" in the subject line before the title you give your list.
Readers of todolistblog.com will vote on the winners in the first week of December.
The top three vote-getters will win signed copies of To-Do List: From Buying Milk to Finding a Soul Mate, What Our Lists Reveal About Us (published by Fireside, November 6, 2007, 256 pages) and limited edition copies of "To-Do List," the print magazine where this project got started. . . in addition to bragging rights for having written or found the weirdest to-do lists ever."
On that note (no pun intended), I want to spread the word about a very cool contest created by Sasha Cagen, whose many "jobs" also reads like a laundry list: writer, editor, quirkyalone-movement- leader, and world's leading to-do-list-ologist. Sasha maintains a very quirky blog called the TO DO LIST BLOG, which evolved out of her zine about to do lists. Sasha's quite the darling of sub-cult community-making, with big-name contributors to the book (including Nick Hornby) and big-media (Anderson Cooper, for example) attention to her to-do-ology.
Okay, here's the info, as excerpted from one of Sasha's blogposts:
THE WEIRDEST LIST Contest
"To celebrate the book's release, I'm sponsoring a contest: The Weirdest List. Send in your weirdest to-do lists (real authentic lists that you wrote or found in the course of everyday life, please, nothing constructed for publication). I'm interpreting to-do list broadly for the contest, just as I do for the book. . . so this could mean life list, ideal mate list, possible goldfish names, etc. Weird can mean the entire list, the title, or a single odd item on it. Sometimes the most intriguing lists are entirely banal and mundane until the eye gets to that very cryptic item.
Here's how it works: Send a scanned jpeg of your list to todolistblog AT gmail.com by November 30.
Please write "WEIRDEST LIST CONTEST:" in the subject line before the title you give your list.
Readers of todolistblog.com will vote on the winners in the first week of December.
The top three vote-getters will win signed copies of To-Do List: From Buying Milk to Finding a Soul Mate, What Our Lists Reveal About Us (published by Fireside, November 6, 2007, 256 pages) and limited edition copies of "To-Do List," the print magazine where this project got started. . . in addition to bragging rights for having written or found the weirdest to-do lists ever."
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Fort Worth Police Officers endorse Juan Rangel
Tonight, at a "fun-raiser" event at the Embargo Club downtown, an officer representing the FWPD made it official: "...by unanimous vote, the Fort Worth Police Department endorses Juan Rangel for City Council, representing District 9." Sal Espino, current Councilmember, was on hand for the announcement and pronounced that, because the Fort Worth Professional Firefighters Association also endorses Rangel, "he is THE public safety candidate".
I approached Rangel a little later to ask him if he thought that urban gas drilling was as much a "public safety" concern as having well-compensated and -trained firefighters and police officers protecting our neighborhoods. You think he was gonna answer 'no' to that? I sincerely hope that Rangel can walk a little faster, to keep up with his talk about his opposition to gas drilling in our 'hoods. He did unequivocally state that he will do "everything" he can to keep gas wells away from schools to "protect our children."
Thanks to stellar Embargo bartender Jem for the custom-designed mojito-esque margarita he freebied me. Owner Andrew is sporting a big bushy beard which I've dubbed "his winter coif." He kinda liked that.
I approached Rangel a little later to ask him if he thought that urban gas drilling was as much a "public safety" concern as having well-compensated and -trained firefighters and police officers protecting our neighborhoods. You think he was gonna answer 'no' to that? I sincerely hope that Rangel can walk a little faster, to keep up with his talk about his opposition to gas drilling in our 'hoods. He did unequivocally state that he will do "everything" he can to keep gas wells away from schools to "protect our children."
Thanks to stellar Embargo bartender Jem for the custom-designed mojito-esque margarita he freebied me. Owner Andrew is sporting a big bushy beard which I've dubbed "his winter coif." He kinda liked that.
Poem #324 of 365
Leave my Aung San Suu Kyi the fuck alone.
Leave my Benazir Bhutto the fuck alone.
Leave even ole Hillary the fuck alone.
(written the week that the world kept messing with these women who are trying to stand credible as political leaders, and yet are being affronted by government manipulations, outright violent aggression, or sexist bullying)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Leave my Benazir Bhutto the fuck alone.
Leave even ole Hillary the fuck alone.
(written the week that the world kept messing with these women who are trying to stand credible as political leaders, and yet are being affronted by government manipulations, outright violent aggression, or sexist bullying)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Monday, November 19, 2007
Poem #323 of 365
He pulled a pointy pepper
from his pocket
and offered it to me,
and as I ran off to
finish my walk
I wondered what
kind of cooking
would I stir up
with this pepper
in my pot
stewing so hot.
And would my
mouth burn?
A lot. A lot.
(with thanks to DO for sharing from his garden harvest today)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Poem #322 of 365
Mari, Tania,
cantando,
pateando--
bring us your
stomps,
bring us your
songs.
Mari, Tania,
tan apasionadas
tirando tantos jaras--
hitting my heart
with voice,
hitting my heart
with dance.
(Mari Carmen, an amazing flamenco singer, and the sublime flamenco dancer Tania Malagon, were my personal favorites of the "Estampa Espanola & El Cafe de Chinitas" dance performance presented by the Daniel de Cordoba Bailes Espanoles ensemble on Saturday, November 17, at the Rose Marine Theater. More info on them at flamencodallas.com.)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Poem #321 of 365
I took issue with my tissue,
which reeked of a strong
chemical smell straight
out of the package.
So I had a talk with Brandy,
and she responded
with professionalism,
no bathroom humor
for her.
So now Fed Ex is picking up my bathroom tissue,
in a special envelope mailed to my house,
and I wonder if the
world's going to the toilet
if flagrant saboteurs are
dousing toxic fragrance
on my Angel Soft rolls.
[From "Brandy", a consumer response specialist, Georgia-Pacific, Atlanta, Georgia:
"Thank you for contacting the Georgia-Pacific Consumer Response Center. Georgia-Pacific places tremendous importance on the opinions we receive from our consumers. We have recorded your concern in our database as having detected an unusual scent or chemical odor in the product that you purchased."]
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
which reeked of a strong
chemical smell straight
out of the package.
So I had a talk with Brandy,
and she responded
with professionalism,
no bathroom humor
for her.
So now Fed Ex is picking up my bathroom tissue,
in a special envelope mailed to my house,
and I wonder if the
world's going to the toilet
if flagrant saboteurs are
dousing toxic fragrance
on my Angel Soft rolls.
[From "Brandy", a consumer response specialist, Georgia-Pacific, Atlanta, Georgia:
"Thank you for contacting the Georgia-Pacific Consumer Response Center. Georgia-Pacific places tremendous importance on the opinions we receive from our consumers. We have recorded your concern in our database as having detected an unusual scent or chemical odor in the product that you purchased."]
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Friday, November 16, 2007
Poem #320 of 365
a december forecast:
i long for something
i never knew.
i miss someone
i forgot to meet.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
i long for something
i never knew.
i miss someone
i forgot to meet.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Thursday, November 15, 2007
District 9 run-off candidates address Chicano Luncheon today, 11/15/2007
With a rep from the League of Women Voters moderating, Juan Rangel and Joel Burns faced a standing-room only live audience of mostly Latino/a professionals at the Chicano Luncheon this afternoon at La Trinidad Methodist Church in the Northside of FW.
For a not very riveting 45 minutes, J & J kept measured expressions on their faces as they responded to prepared questions, with Pastor Flores (of La Trinidad) keeping time cards at the ready, pre-empting any longwindedness. Nothing really surprising in the presentations/responses by J & J, except for the fact that they professed to agree on a couple of issues, particularly urban gas drilling and development along the "Hemphill Corridor."
Both seem to have finally woken up to the troubling potential of gas drilling rigs in urban (near schools, football stadiums--as in the case of TCU, public parks, and future passenger rail lines) settings. Both called for a scrutinizing second look at and possible rewrite of the city's ordinance for gas drilling in FW. This is one issue that J & J know they cannot ignore during this election. 'Bout time.
Today's candidates forum was videotaped for repeated broadcast on FW Community Cable Television. I suggest you tune in--i think it's Cable Channel 31 (for Charter and One Source subscribers) and Cable Channel 36 (for you Verizon customers), starting as early as tomorrow, Friday, November 16th. It's worth watching, at least once.
And on December 11th, it's definitely worth voting.
For a not very riveting 45 minutes, J & J kept measured expressions on their faces as they responded to prepared questions, with Pastor Flores (of La Trinidad) keeping time cards at the ready, pre-empting any longwindedness. Nothing really surprising in the presentations/responses by J & J, except for the fact that they professed to agree on a couple of issues, particularly urban gas drilling and development along the "Hemphill Corridor."
Both seem to have finally woken up to the troubling potential of gas drilling rigs in urban (near schools, football stadiums--as in the case of TCU, public parks, and future passenger rail lines) settings. Both called for a scrutinizing second look at and possible rewrite of the city's ordinance for gas drilling in FW. This is one issue that J & J know they cannot ignore during this election. 'Bout time.
Today's candidates forum was videotaped for repeated broadcast on FW Community Cable Television. I suggest you tune in--i think it's Cable Channel 31 (for Charter and One Source subscribers) and Cable Channel 36 (for you Verizon customers), starting as early as tomorrow, Friday, November 16th. It's worth watching, at least once.
And on December 11th, it's definitely worth voting.
Poem #319 of 365
i.
he rocked her to death
he rocked her to death.
ii.
my mother is in the doorway
and my eyes have just opened
to the day
i think she wants a hug
but she gives me a skirt
and coerces me to try it on
as we make a little conversation
and i try to elevate her spirits
while she repeats
5th and morphy
5th and morphy.
he did it it to his own mother
he killed his own mother
and i remind her not to dwell
on the tv news, especially
when it can drown in despair
along with you in it
but she is stuck on repeat
and so i hug her, admonish
her, figure her out in my
half-waked state of
understanding.
iii.
there is seaweed across his cheek
and the tide is moving in and out
lulling them to slumber,
she wears a tight cardigan, faded
mustard, over a flower-patterned dress.
she may have been taken over with
a deep cough, bubbles in her lungs,
and her toes keep floating up to
be tickled by the foam. he is her
son and silent, staring at the horizon
where the greying sky meets the sea,
but briefly lays his lips to her head,
filling with ocean and fins of the end.
as the waves pull and push, their dance
becomes a steady lullaby of teetering,
a little to the right, a little to the
left. he is rocking her, he is rocking
her, he is rocking her to death,
he is rocking with her to death.
iiii.
that ocean laps so close sometimes.
rocking me to reality.
doorways and cryptic visits
from mothers happen in morning time,
and i live two blocks
from she who was rocked to death.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
[Police Arrest Man Suspected Of Killing His Mother With Rock - November 15, 2007
FORT WORTH, Texas -- Forth Worth police said they arrested a man Thursday morning who they suspect was involved in the death of his mother.
Police said they suspect Erasmo Herrera, 24, beat his 75-year-old mother, Juana Herrera, over the head with a rock in front of her home in the 1400 block of Fifth Avenue.
Neighbors called 911 and the mother was taken to JPS Health Network, where she died just after arriving.
Herrera ran away, but police caught him a short time later.]
he rocked her to death
he rocked her to death.
ii.
my mother is in the doorway
and my eyes have just opened
to the day
i think she wants a hug
but she gives me a skirt
and coerces me to try it on
as we make a little conversation
and i try to elevate her spirits
while she repeats
5th and morphy
5th and morphy.
he did it it to his own mother
he killed his own mother
and i remind her not to dwell
on the tv news, especially
when it can drown in despair
along with you in it
but she is stuck on repeat
and so i hug her, admonish
her, figure her out in my
half-waked state of
understanding.
iii.
there is seaweed across his cheek
and the tide is moving in and out
lulling them to slumber,
she wears a tight cardigan, faded
mustard, over a flower-patterned dress.
she may have been taken over with
a deep cough, bubbles in her lungs,
and her toes keep floating up to
be tickled by the foam. he is her
son and silent, staring at the horizon
where the greying sky meets the sea,
but briefly lays his lips to her head,
filling with ocean and fins of the end.
as the waves pull and push, their dance
becomes a steady lullaby of teetering,
a little to the right, a little to the
left. he is rocking her, he is rocking
her, he is rocking her to death,
he is rocking with her to death.
iiii.
that ocean laps so close sometimes.
rocking me to reality.
doorways and cryptic visits
from mothers happen in morning time,
and i live two blocks
from she who was rocked to death.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
[Police Arrest Man Suspected Of Killing His Mother With Rock - November 15, 2007
FORT WORTH, Texas -- Forth Worth police said they arrested a man Thursday morning who they suspect was involved in the death of his mother.
Police said they suspect Erasmo Herrera, 24, beat his 75-year-old mother, Juana Herrera, over the head with a rock in front of her home in the 1400 block of Fifth Avenue.
Neighbors called 911 and the mother was taken to JPS Health Network, where she died just after arriving.
Herrera ran away, but police caught him a short time later.]
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Poem #317 of 365
xxxxxxxxxooooooooooiiiiiiiiiiiiiuuuuuuuuuuu
kissing and hugging - I and You
uuuuuuuuuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiioooooooxxxxxxxxxxx
You and I - hugging and kissing
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
kissing and hugging - I and You
uuuuuuuuuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiioooooooxxxxxxxxxxx
You and I - hugging and kissing
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Circuses feature abused animals - Friday & Saturday protests in FW - Shrine Circus
[Molly Fallis and Ramsey Sprague sent along the following announcement about upcoming protests at Will Rogers Coliseum, where the Shrine Circus is currently presenting shows. Some of my own thoughts can be found below the announcement.]
From Molly:
"This is something I feel very strongly about and wish I could attend but I'll be out of town....PLEASE SPREAD THE WORD!!! At the very least, please don't support animal cruelty and exploitation. Going to this kind of circus IS NOT some childhood right [sic] of passage! There's a zillion other things you can do with your kids for fun! Don't take them!!! I went as a child and figured out on my own that this shit ain't cool! Peace! Molly (thanks Ramz)
I've added a couple of links...tell me if it looks like these elephants are living happy lives and having fun...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SMlS3KG7nRM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E9akKP6RPbY
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S7u1uTNdp2c
ever wonder how they learn all those tricks???"
----------
WHAT: Peaceful Educational Outreach at the Shrine Circus
WHO: ALL COMPASSIONATE PEOPLE in the DFW Metroplex (If those who care about animal abuse don't come, NO ONE will speak for these frightened and abused animals). Isn't this worth 30 minutes to one hour of your time?
WHEN: REMAINING EVENTS ARE----
Friday, November 16, 6 PM, (doors open 6 PM, circus starts 7PM)
Saturday, November 17, 5:30 PM (doors open 6 PM, circus starts 7PM)
WHY: Animals in the circus are tortured, not trained, into performing.
Animals do not naturally ride bicycles, stand on their heads, balance on balls, or jump through rings of fire. To force them to perform these confusing, physically uncomfortable and often frightening tricks, trainers use whips, tight collars, muzzles, electric prods, bullhooks, and other painful tools of the trade. Educate the public that intelligent, social animals are deprived of ALL their natural behaviors and forced to perform silly tricks for humans.
Speak up for the animals who have no voice!
IF NOT YOU, THEN WHO?
IF NOT NOW, WHEN?
WHERE:
Will Rogers Memorial Coliseum
3401 W. Lancaster Ave.
Fort Worth, TX 76107
Look for us leafleting along the sidewalk at each gate and at the ticket counter.
CONTACT: Margaret Morin at dogs_good (at) yahoo.com or 972-578-0370 or 972-571-9603 (cell # for day of circus use only, please)
DIRECTIONS: Take I-30 to Fort Worth, Exit University. North on University. Turn left on Lancaster and look for tall tower.
Map: http://www.mapquest.com/maps/map.adp?formtype=address&addtohistory=&address=3401%20W%20Lancaster%20Ave&city=Fort%20Worth&state=TX&zipcode=76107%2d3045&country=US&geodiff=1
Parking: Free Parking across the street from the WRC at the Kimbell Museum.
PLEASE POST ON YOUR MYSPACE PAGES!
CROSS POST THIS EMAIL TO YOUR FRIENDS & FAMILY!
HELP MOBILIZE CARING PEOPLE TO SPEAK FOR VOICELESS ANIMALS!
To ensure you get such announcements in the future, if you are not yet a Vegetarian Network of Dallas member (free), please join now by going to:
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/VegetarianNetworkofDallas/
Thank you.
Margaret Morin
Vegetarian Network of Dallas
www.vegnod.com
++++++++ my thoughts: +++++++++
Just a few days ago, I read that Nazi officers, as part of their training, were given live animals to feed, care for, play with, and name. They were eventually forced to kill these animals that they had bonded with, without expressing any emotion. No wonder the Nazis were able to callously perform the heinous torture and murder of thousands of human beings.
+++++
As a child, I was taken to circuses now and then. I often felt queasy during these shows, and never quite understood why. The clowns scared me, with their garish antics and exploding devices. And to see the animals lumbering and galloping in circles, through hoops, or into nets made them seem like heroes to me--surviving the crazy challenges that their handlers were subjecting them to. It was a metaphor for survival in an illogical, uncomprehending and unsympathetic world.
+++++
An Austin poet named Kevin used to perform a poem titled "Smashing the Butterfly". It was profound. The poem was about Kevin's experience as a horse trainer, working with a veteran who knew the tricks of "breaking" a horse. Through the course of the poem, we learn that this experience was very traumatic for Kevin, and certainly for the horses. The upshot of the poem is that, as you smash the spirit or will of the creature with which you are working, you are--at the same time--killing something within yourself. Doomed to be broken. Amazing poem--I wonder where Kevin is today?
From Molly:
"This is something I feel very strongly about and wish I could attend but I'll be out of town....PLEASE SPREAD THE WORD!!! At the very least, please don't support animal cruelty and exploitation. Going to this kind of circus IS NOT some childhood right [sic] of passage! There's a zillion other things you can do with your kids for fun! Don't take them!!! I went as a child and figured out on my own that this shit ain't cool! Peace! Molly (thanks Ramz)
I've added a couple of links...tell me if it looks like these elephants are living happy lives and having fun...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SMlS3KG7nRM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E9akKP6RPbY
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S7u1uTNdp2c
ever wonder how they learn all those tricks???"
----------
WHAT: Peaceful Educational Outreach at the Shrine Circus
WHO: ALL COMPASSIONATE PEOPLE in the DFW Metroplex (If those who care about animal abuse don't come, NO ONE will speak for these frightened and abused animals). Isn't this worth 30 minutes to one hour of your time?
WHEN: REMAINING EVENTS ARE----
Friday, November 16, 6 PM, (doors open 6 PM, circus starts 7PM)
Saturday, November 17, 5:30 PM (doors open 6 PM, circus starts 7PM)
WHY: Animals in the circus are tortured, not trained, into performing.
Animals do not naturally ride bicycles, stand on their heads, balance on balls, or jump through rings of fire. To force them to perform these confusing, physically uncomfortable and often frightening tricks, trainers use whips, tight collars, muzzles, electric prods, bullhooks, and other painful tools of the trade. Educate the public that intelligent, social animals are deprived of ALL their natural behaviors and forced to perform silly tricks for humans.
Speak up for the animals who have no voice!
IF NOT YOU, THEN WHO?
IF NOT NOW, WHEN?
WHERE:
Will Rogers Memorial Coliseum
3401 W. Lancaster Ave.
Fort Worth, TX 76107
Look for us leafleting along the sidewalk at each gate and at the ticket counter.
CONTACT: Margaret Morin at dogs_good (at) yahoo.com or 972-578-0370 or 972-571-9603 (cell # for day of circus use only, please)
DIRECTIONS: Take I-30 to Fort Worth, Exit University. North on University. Turn left on Lancaster and look for tall tower.
Map: http://www.mapquest.com/maps/map.adp?formtype=address&addtohistory=&address=3401%20W%20Lancaster%20Ave&city=Fort%20Worth&state=TX&zipcode=76107%2d3045&country=US&geodiff=1
Parking: Free Parking across the street from the WRC at the Kimbell Museum.
PLEASE POST ON YOUR MYSPACE PAGES!
CROSS POST THIS EMAIL TO YOUR FRIENDS & FAMILY!
HELP MOBILIZE CARING PEOPLE TO SPEAK FOR VOICELESS ANIMALS!
To ensure you get such announcements in the future, if you are not yet a Vegetarian Network of Dallas member (free), please join now by going to:
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/VegetarianNetworkofDallas/
Thank you.
Margaret Morin
Vegetarian Network of Dallas
www.vegnod.com
++++++++ my thoughts: +++++++++
Just a few days ago, I read that Nazi officers, as part of their training, were given live animals to feed, care for, play with, and name. They were eventually forced to kill these animals that they had bonded with, without expressing any emotion. No wonder the Nazis were able to callously perform the heinous torture and murder of thousands of human beings.
+++++
As a child, I was taken to circuses now and then. I often felt queasy during these shows, and never quite understood why. The clowns scared me, with their garish antics and exploding devices. And to see the animals lumbering and galloping in circles, through hoops, or into nets made them seem like heroes to me--surviving the crazy challenges that their handlers were subjecting them to. It was a metaphor for survival in an illogical, uncomprehending and unsympathetic world.
+++++
An Austin poet named Kevin used to perform a poem titled "Smashing the Butterfly". It was profound. The poem was about Kevin's experience as a horse trainer, working with a veteran who knew the tricks of "breaking" a horse. Through the course of the poem, we learn that this experience was very traumatic for Kevin, and certainly for the horses. The upshot of the poem is that, as you smash the spirit or will of the creature with which you are working, you are--at the same time--killing something within yourself. Doomed to be broken. Amazing poem--I wonder where Kevin is today?
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Poem #315 of 365
A betrayal from the other room
looms on the tray and
you are asked to swallow
something you would
never care to taste,
and your throat
feels clogged
with the pain
and embarrassment
of a decision
forced upon you,
but the bitterness lingering
now in your heart
will take much
longer to digest,
because
breaking bread together
fatefully changed
a full-course meal
into the rotten bite of
trust breaking apart.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
looms on the tray and
you are asked to swallow
something you would
never care to taste,
and your throat
feels clogged
with the pain
and embarrassment
of a decision
forced upon you,
but the bitterness lingering
now in your heart
will take much
longer to digest,
because
breaking bread together
fatefully changed
a full-course meal
into the rotten bite of
trust breaking apart.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Save Sunday for SHE: BIKE/SPOKE/LOVE - November 11th in Fort Worth
It was standing-room only on September 22nd, when we unveiled this show in FW. Come see what Fort Worth theater critic Mark Lowry calls "extreme theater". Basically,
it's hiphop/spoken word at the intersection of theater & bicycling. Is that complicated? Well, not really, but it sure makes for a helluva fun ride to watch. Make reservations at sound_culture@hotmail.com TODAY !
Two Shows
Sunday, November 11th.
2pm - matinée performance
7:30pm - evening performance
Sanders Theatre at
The Fort Worth Community Art Center
1300 Gendy St, Fort Worth
(The southeast corner of Lancaster & Montgomery)
Admission (at the door!)
$5 for those who bike, bus or walk to the theatre
$10 for those who arrive by automobile
This experimental play features poetry, lyrical dialogue, freestyle and choreographed bicycling, video sequences, and a turntablist.
"Extreme production fascinates with variety"
- Fort Worth Star Telegram
it's hiphop/spoken word at the intersection of theater & bicycling. Is that complicated? Well, not really, but it sure makes for a helluva fun ride to watch. Make reservations at sound_culture@hotmail.com TODAY !
Two ShowsSunday, November 11th.2pm - matinée performance7:30pm - evening performanceSanders Theatre at
The Fort Worth Community Art Center
1300 Gendy St, Fort Worth
(The southeast corner of Lancaster & Montgomery)
Admission (at the door!)
$5 for those who bike, bus or walk to the theatre
$10 for those who arrive by automobile
This experimental play features poetry, lyrical dialogue, freestyle and choreographed bicycling, video sequences, and a turntablist.
"Extreme production fascinates with variety"
- Fort Worth Star Telegram
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Poem #310 of 365
strapped to a drip and drool napkin
i force my mind to conjure
some people,
challenged folk,
who can gain my sympathy
as i strain to forget
that i am in a dentist's chair
Aung San Suu Kyi
Benazir Bhutto
they are losing a country
they are losing their country
they are losing the battle for democracy in their country
and i am only losing a tooth.
one naturally-decaying
tooth.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
i force my mind to conjure
some people,
challenged folk,
who can gain my sympathy
as i strain to forget
that i am in a dentist's chair
Aung San Suu Kyi
Benazir Bhutto
they are losing a country
they are losing their country
they are losing the battle for democracy in their country
and i am only losing a tooth.
one naturally-decaying
tooth.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Monday, November 05, 2007
Poem #309 of 365
jesus,
these butterfly wings
are the on-ramps to superhighways
for chicano/a progress towards
liberation. education and enlightenment.
the tiny little sticks connected on top
are utility poles strung together,
electrical wire stitches of power,
as we get sewn together
in hopeful expression
like so many bright flashes dotting
the landscapes across tejas
con honor y esfuerza.
(considering an original artwork by Jesus "Cime" Alvarado of El Chuco (El Paso), Texas)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Poem #307 of 365
I'm wondering if this has happened yet,
or if it's merely a promise of a future shadow.
My dreams have taken place
during this changeover,
so I'm not sure if they are
premonitions
of
things
to come
or verifications
of
things
done
gone.
(don't ever dream during the changeover of daylight savings time on sunday mornings...)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
or if it's merely a promise of a future shadow.
My dreams have taken place
during this changeover,
so I'm not sure if they are
premonitions
of
things
to come
or verifications
of
things
done
gone.
(don't ever dream during the changeover of daylight savings time on sunday mornings...)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Friday, November 02, 2007
Poem #306 of 365
Delivery of nouns
happens without
the basket or the sack.
There is naming in
your mouth, and I
will read that list
when you finally kiss me.
I ordered the verbs:
caress, thrust, stroke,
and hold,
yet the market cannot
bear this love, assign
a value to this rust.
Bring me the water
to fill my mouth,
gargling to filter
distress, deny, distaste.
I make room for your nouns
in my clairvoyant sway,
opening doors to air the day.
Finally: thicket, trunk,
trust, and tremble.
I climb the noisy trunk
of your body, lose myself
in the tremble of your
heartbeat thicket, and
stretch along your length
as far as the rumor of love can trust.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
happens without
the basket or the sack.
There is naming in
your mouth, and I
will read that list
when you finally kiss me.
I ordered the verbs:
caress, thrust, stroke,
and hold,
yet the market cannot
bear this love, assign
a value to this rust.
Bring me the water
to fill my mouth,
gargling to filter
distress, deny, distaste.
I make room for your nouns
in my clairvoyant sway,
opening doors to air the day.
Finally: thicket, trunk,
trust, and tremble.
I climb the noisy trunk
of your body, lose myself
in the tremble of your
heartbeat thicket, and
stretch along your length
as far as the rumor of love can trust.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Poem #305 of 365
The quetzal feathers magically appear
in my outstretched fingers,
and as my hand closes upon them,
a force greater than me sweeps me up off my feet
and suddenly the feathers
have swollen up within my fist
to become an entire shimmering wing
which carries me higher and higher
to the land of my beginning.
I close my eyes to keep this dream alive
and to let myself release the fear,
for the winds have graciously parted
to make our flight both smooth and sweet,
and by now I can tell that
one wing has doubled to two
and soon a tail and head emerge
to form a complete magical bird.
As I climb up the muscled back
of the quetzal, we aspire to even
higher elevations, and I do not
question an uprise. I have glimpsed
down below and recognize this terrain,
a mountain place of winged fish
and fluorescent frogs, where I
have forced my dreams to take me
again and again.
We are cascading now, one feather
at a time, a shower of plummet,
and I feel my arms open wide as if
I too were a bird. We race,
the feathers, the beak, my body,
my smile, to the place of my dreams.
I will be landing soon, as the campesinos
raise their eyes to welcome what they have been
dreaming for centuries. One upon another,
our visions will blend and, when I touch Mayan ground,
my arms will remain open,
as I fly towards the deepest embrace
I have ever dreamt, ever known.
(thanks to Ozomatli for the musicial pep talk, and to my dreams which often carry me to my ancestral land)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
in my outstretched fingers,
and as my hand closes upon them,
a force greater than me sweeps me up off my feet
and suddenly the feathers
have swollen up within my fist
to become an entire shimmering wing
which carries me higher and higher
to the land of my beginning.
I close my eyes to keep this dream alive
and to let myself release the fear,
for the winds have graciously parted
to make our flight both smooth and sweet,
and by now I can tell that
one wing has doubled to two
and soon a tail and head emerge
to form a complete magical bird.
As I climb up the muscled back
of the quetzal, we aspire to even
higher elevations, and I do not
question an uprise. I have glimpsed
down below and recognize this terrain,
a mountain place of winged fish
and fluorescent frogs, where I
have forced my dreams to take me
again and again.
We are cascading now, one feather
at a time, a shower of plummet,
and I feel my arms open wide as if
I too were a bird. We race,
the feathers, the beak, my body,
my smile, to the place of my dreams.
I will be landing soon, as the campesinos
raise their eyes to welcome what they have been
dreaming for centuries. One upon another,
our visions will blend and, when I touch Mayan ground,
my arms will remain open,
as I fly towards the deepest embrace
I have ever dreamt, ever known.
(thanks to Ozomatli for the musicial pep talk, and to my dreams which often carry me to my ancestral land)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Friday, October 26, 2007
Upcoming weekend in Fort Worth
FRIDAY things:
1. FREE screening of "Motorcycle Diary" (screenplay by playwright Jose Rivera!) - at the Rose Marine Theater. Preceded by the Professionals Supporting the Arts mixer in the gallery--always fun.
2. The Hip Pocket Theater play - about the falling thing that might be a UFO, and i forgot the title--oh well.
3. Ellen Fullman, creative musical brainchild who I knew when I lived in Austin. You might, if you were a lazy describer, call her "the Laurie Anderson of Texas". Okay, i'm a lazy describer. Anyhow, what drastically matters is 1) that she's brought her long-stringed instrument and set it up in a cow or pig or goat barn in the Will Rogers compound area; 2) she's gonna do some shows for us this weekend; and 3) that it's pretty freakin' amazing that--for once in my life--there's a cool show advertised on that L.E.D. marquee sign on the corner of Lancaster and University Drive. (Brought to you by Herb Levy, nice guy of The Other Arts)
** I'm going to see Ellen Fullman
SATURDAY things:
1. Puppet-making workshop (for children--borrow your niece or the neighbor's kid and take 'em to this) - it's FREE.
12n-4pm at the Rose Marine Theater
2. Go vote and look at a little lake at the same time. Echo Lake Park -- east of I-35 at Ripy St. Some folks are hosting a festival out there all afternoon as a way to make you fulfill your civic duty. It's actually kinda neat by the water.
3. Hispanic Women's Network of Texas is putting on this year's version of their annual women in the arts fiesta. Last year, there was great art, music, food/drink, and a silent auction. FREE, but they like it if you bid on the auction stuff--proceeds go to their college fund. Starts at 7pm-ish.
4. ELLEN FULLMAN, again. In one of those aforementioned barns. HIP POCKET play, again. It's the last play of the season,
the final weekend.
5. If you know Chris.Blay, go sit in his time machine before he whisks it off to Prague.
** I'm emceeing a memorial service for journalist John Gutierrez-Mier at the Sanders Theatre.
SUNDAY things
1. Slight hangover from tequila consumed on previous night at the memorial you hosted.
2. Drive to Cross Timbers @ I-35 North. Exit and drive east on Cross Timbers for about 10 minutes. See the huge pumpkin patch on your left. It's an annual festival. Eat pumpkin things. Buy pumpkins. Crawl through a huge maze made out of straw bales. Yodel.
3. 100 FRIDAS community art happening. Show up dressed as your favorite Mexican-German female painter married to a larger-than-life muralist. We need 100 people to show up--men, women, children! Get your FRIDA on. 5pm. Corner of Magnolia & Henderson Streets.
** I'll be documenting the 100 FRIDAS thing.
Have a lovely weekend!
1. FREE screening of "Motorcycle Diary" (screenplay by playwright Jose Rivera!) - at the Rose Marine Theater. Preceded by the Professionals Supporting the Arts mixer in the gallery--always fun.
2. The Hip Pocket Theater play - about the falling thing that might be a UFO, and i forgot the title--oh well.
3. Ellen Fullman, creative musical brainchild who I knew when I lived in Austin. You might, if you were a lazy describer, call her "the Laurie Anderson of Texas". Okay, i'm a lazy describer. Anyhow, what drastically matters is 1) that she's brought her long-stringed instrument and set it up in a cow or pig or goat barn in the Will Rogers compound area; 2) she's gonna do some shows for us this weekend; and 3) that it's pretty freakin' amazing that--for once in my life--there's a cool show advertised on that L.E.D. marquee sign on the corner of Lancaster and University Drive. (Brought to you by Herb Levy, nice guy of The Other Arts)
** I'm going to see Ellen Fullman
SATURDAY things:
1. Puppet-making workshop (for children--borrow your niece or the neighbor's kid and take 'em to this) - it's FREE.
12n-4pm at the Rose Marine Theater
2. Go vote and look at a little lake at the same time. Echo Lake Park -- east of I-35 at Ripy St. Some folks are hosting a festival out there all afternoon as a way to make you fulfill your civic duty. It's actually kinda neat by the water.
3. Hispanic Women's Network of Texas is putting on this year's version of their annual women in the arts fiesta. Last year, there was great art, music, food/drink, and a silent auction. FREE, but they like it if you bid on the auction stuff--proceeds go to their college fund. Starts at 7pm-ish.
4. ELLEN FULLMAN, again. In one of those aforementioned barns. HIP POCKET play, again. It's the last play of the season,
the final weekend.
5. If you know Chris.Blay, go sit in his time machine before he whisks it off to Prague.
** I'm emceeing a memorial service for journalist John Gutierrez-Mier at the Sanders Theatre.
SUNDAY things
1. Slight hangover from tequila consumed on previous night at the memorial you hosted.
2. Drive to Cross Timbers @ I-35 North. Exit and drive east on Cross Timbers for about 10 minutes. See the huge pumpkin patch on your left. It's an annual festival. Eat pumpkin things. Buy pumpkins. Crawl through a huge maze made out of straw bales. Yodel.
3. 100 FRIDAS community art happening. Show up dressed as your favorite Mexican-German female painter married to a larger-than-life muralist. We need 100 people to show up--men, women, children! Get your FRIDA on. 5pm. Corner of Magnolia & Henderson Streets.
** I'll be documenting the 100 FRIDAS thing.
Have a lovely weekend!
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Poem #290 of 365
"Our diaspora done died," quipped
a sculptor into his martini.
"And i beg to differ,"
piped up a classically-trained
singer with business cards:
"Just because we have lost
our critical habitat
and artist anchor-spaces,
ain't gotta mean
that we don't exist,
dried up and desiccated
as locust skins."
"Well," the martini-ing
sculptor revs up his
rejoinder, "we can
still meet up at
Central Market,
over asparagus and
bock beers and, and, uh--
we're on each other's
myspaces constantly
commenting--doesn't
that count for something?"
The vocalist erupts in
impatient trills, her satin-
clad arms akimbo:
"i don't want another
fuckin' social space
for artists to conveniently
convene, cavort, and
crescendo in chords
of frustration, bitterness,
and alcohol alleviation."
"i WANT solid, stable,
sea-worthy locales
for artistic production
and presentation."
"i NEED inexpensive
studio space and gallery
access. i NEED low-rent
performance venues and
rehearsal rooms. i CLAMOR
for non-patronizing local
press people who give a
shit about what i produce
and know how to describe
and discuss it. i CLAMOR
for a community of arts
patrons who will demand
that publicly-funded art
spaces be used for art
exhibits and shows rather
than weddings and alumnae
reunion mixers."
"How can you not want that,
how can you just keep
standing there, drunker
by the minute, relenting
and consenting, as your
city gives way to bulldozers
creeping up your domain?"
She sipped, finally, after her
dose of diatribe, and he
strode away quickly, soon
to forget the points of
her passionate pronouncement.
Minutes later, she saw him,
shaping cheese cubes
into sculpture, leaving
them atop the emptied
beer keg in hopes that
some drunk scenester
would happen upon his
impromptu creation
and perhaps
greet and high-five him
before offering
computer coordinates
for future myspacing
til kingdom come.
[Sculptor and singer are fictitious characters for this narrative poem. Any similarity to actual, existing artists
is purely coincidental.]
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
a sculptor into his martini.
"And i beg to differ,"
piped up a classically-trained
singer with business cards:
"Just because we have lost
our critical habitat
and artist anchor-spaces,
ain't gotta mean
that we don't exist,
dried up and desiccated
as locust skins."
"Well," the martini-ing
sculptor revs up his
rejoinder, "we can
still meet up at
Central Market,
over asparagus and
bock beers and, and, uh--
we're on each other's
myspaces constantly
commenting--doesn't
that count for something?"
The vocalist erupts in
impatient trills, her satin-
clad arms akimbo:
"i don't want another
fuckin' social space
for artists to conveniently
convene, cavort, and
crescendo in chords
of frustration, bitterness,
and alcohol alleviation."
"i WANT solid, stable,
sea-worthy locales
for artistic production
and presentation."
"i NEED inexpensive
studio space and gallery
access. i NEED low-rent
performance venues and
rehearsal rooms. i CLAMOR
for non-patronizing local
press people who give a
shit about what i produce
and know how to describe
and discuss it. i CLAMOR
for a community of arts
patrons who will demand
that publicly-funded art
spaces be used for art
exhibits and shows rather
than weddings and alumnae
reunion mixers."
"How can you not want that,
how can you just keep
standing there, drunker
by the minute, relenting
and consenting, as your
city gives way to bulldozers
creeping up your domain?"
She sipped, finally, after her
dose of diatribe, and he
strode away quickly, soon
to forget the points of
her passionate pronouncement.
Minutes later, she saw him,
shaping cheese cubes
into sculpture, leaving
them atop the emptied
beer keg in hopes that
some drunk scenester
would happen upon his
impromptu creation
and perhaps
greet and high-five him
before offering
computer coordinates
for future myspacing
til kingdom come.
[Sculptor and singer are fictitious characters for this narrative poem. Any similarity to actual, existing artists
is purely coincidental.]
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Poem #289 of 365
Rolling off the Santa Fe roof
and placing a bike between
my legs, the night became
younger with my sultry joy.
You had climbed off first,
off the roof of the house,
as friends were knocking
and wandering about.
As they greeted you and
joined you inside, I strapped
on my bag and took a long
ride. I passed cars of
laughing kids, and stores
with neon signs. I felt the
breezes caress my knees,
but never as nice as your
tongue ten minutes before.
I wandered into Wild Oats,
so perfectly named, and
picked up foods with
colors that would zing
in my belly, and I had
money for beers and
room in my bag, well-laden
to share with my crew.
When I coasted back
to the house, the
pad was rocking
with song and
stories, and I
pretended surprise
that our friends
were all there. I spread
out the feast and we
lapped and we laughed
at the cup of cool life
that we poured this
night and so many
nights in my summer
of Santa Fe.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
and placing a bike between
my legs, the night became
younger with my sultry joy.
You had climbed off first,
off the roof of the house,
as friends were knocking
and wandering about.
As they greeted you and
joined you inside, I strapped
on my bag and took a long
ride. I passed cars of
laughing kids, and stores
with neon signs. I felt the
breezes caress my knees,
but never as nice as your
tongue ten minutes before.
I wandered into Wild Oats,
so perfectly named, and
picked up foods with
colors that would zing
in my belly, and I had
money for beers and
room in my bag, well-laden
to share with my crew.
When I coasted back
to the house, the
pad was rocking
with song and
stories, and I
pretended surprise
that our friends
were all there. I spread
out the feast and we
lapped and we laughed
at the cup of cool life
that we poured this
night and so many
nights in my summer
of Santa Fe.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Monday, October 15, 2007
Poem #288 of 365
I will help you become
a Brazilian actor on
American tv, but you
better not try to sell
me fast-food in one
of those slick advertising
spots where the hip
multi-ethnics love
them some Mickey Deez.
If that gluttonous
corporate behemoth
could pull it off,
it would not hesitate
to appropriate
your culture, put a fat
yellow M and C
in front of it and
sell it back to you,
triple-stacked,
over-priced,
and trans-fat-fried
as your very own
McSamba McAmazon--
deluxe super-sized.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
a Brazilian actor on
American tv, but you
better not try to sell
me fast-food in one
of those slick advertising
spots where the hip
multi-ethnics love
them some Mickey Deez.
If that gluttonous
corporate behemoth
could pull it off,
it would not hesitate
to appropriate
your culture, put a fat
yellow M and C
in front of it and
sell it back to you,
triple-stacked,
over-priced,
and trans-fat-fried
as your very own
McSamba McAmazon--
deluxe super-sized.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Poem #287 of 365
With Breanna in the Hills,
we serenade our pores,
puffing and trudging
in strenuous effort
and breath
until our gait relaxes
to a smooth
momentum along the pathway.
Soon, the sweat comes.
She is taller than the
grass, but shorter
than the sky, but
I marvel anyway,
watching
her equalize with nature
in five minutes flat.
The concrete glaze
on her face dims
as the dirt path
kicks up crickets
mariposas and
grasses all around,
and I drop back
a bit so she can
acquaint on her own.
She allows a longing,
which is evidenced
by the sway in
her steps, a city
girl is loosened
on the praire
and finds pleasure
in this place.
I look up at her
face, because
she has grown
taller still, and
she pushes
forward, as if
finding home,
and I lift my
eyes up and
away, my
mouth closed
and small,
so she can
claim this
as her own
found joy,
and so my
words
will not
crowd out
the memory
she will make
of this meander
for herself
on her own.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
we serenade our pores,
puffing and trudging
in strenuous effort
and breath
until our gait relaxes
to a smooth
momentum along the pathway.
Soon, the sweat comes.
She is taller than the
grass, but shorter
than the sky, but
I marvel anyway,
watching
her equalize with nature
in five minutes flat.
The concrete glaze
on her face dims
as the dirt path
kicks up crickets
mariposas and
grasses all around,
and I drop back
a bit so she can
acquaint on her own.
She allows a longing,
which is evidenced
by the sway in
her steps, a city
girl is loosened
on the praire
and finds pleasure
in this place.
I look up at her
face, because
she has grown
taller still, and
she pushes
forward, as if
finding home,
and I lift my
eyes up and
away, my
mouth closed
and small,
so she can
claim this
as her own
found joy,
and so my
words
will not
crowd out
the memory
she will make
of this meander
for herself
on her own.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Poem #286 of 365
I feel like the giddy
girl whose parents
might have left her
for good, swooning
happily outside
the tom thumb,
her thick brown
thighs clinging
irreversibly around
the fiberglass belly
of the sturdy
stallion she's chosen
to mount.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
girl whose parents
might have left her
for good, swooning
happily outside
the tom thumb,
her thick brown
thighs clinging
irreversibly around
the fiberglass belly
of the sturdy
stallion she's chosen
to mount.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Friday, October 12, 2007
Poem #285 of 365
The buick needs some air for the Finnish line of male-dominated poetry scenes i am so tired of in the surreagionalism of my soul, yet the blanket of Netherland hills is reminiscent of the road i'd surmount to get my teeth on track, rhyming my muscles to the tune of Led Zeppelin guitar wails launching an 07 model Cad which you will never ever drive.
{mash-up on cars}
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
{mash-up on cars}
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Poem #284 of 365
When white men are
sardonic and sarcastic
on tv to captivate their
comedy audience
it's not much different,
to me, at least,
from the usual way
your bewitching smile
and cunning guile
tries to fool me
into celebrating
my disinheritance
from my own homeland.
(happy...columbus day.)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
sardonic and sarcastic
on tv to captivate their
comedy audience
it's not much different,
to me, at least,
from the usual way
your bewitching smile
and cunning guile
tries to fool me
into celebrating
my disinheritance
from my own homeland.
(happy...columbus day.)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Poem #283 of 365
What snake sleeps with you tonight,
curling in cold coils
on the sweet chest of your
deepest breaths?
How you allow this risky
partner into your lair,
gamble your crotch
on a rookie table!
I have called animal
control, so be forewarned,
the net and noose
will soon lurk your way.
And when I hear you moan
in this city, at last when
the slithering creature
has left your bed, I'll rest
assured that you're flesh
heats nothing but the
damp photo I've stitched
onto your nightclothes.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
curling in cold coils
on the sweet chest of your
deepest breaths?
How you allow this risky
partner into your lair,
gamble your crotch
on a rookie table!
I have called animal
control, so be forewarned,
the net and noose
will soon lurk your way.
And when I hear you moan
in this city, at last when
the slithering creature
has left your bed, I'll rest
assured that you're flesh
heats nothing but the
damp photo I've stitched
onto your nightclothes.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Poem #282 of 365
I gave up hope when
they reduced y'all
to numbers, money
in the bank for
buying airtime
for future
manipulative
campaign ads
that will try to
sell us a line
that's as fake
and irrelevant
as the sitcoms
sandwiched in
between.
(not looking forward to Election 2008...)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
they reduced y'all
to numbers, money
in the bank for
buying airtime
for future
manipulative
campaign ads
that will try to
sell us a line
that's as fake
and irrelevant
as the sitcoms
sandwiched in
between.
(not looking forward to Election 2008...)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Monday, October 08, 2007
Poem #281 of 365
When I splash water,
I Kiss My Face
with lathering cleanser,
and I feel polished,
ready to cast my net
into a new ocean of day.
When I post a bulletin,
I Kiss My Space
with informing phrases,
and I feel published,
readily broadcasting on the net
into the world wide way.
Either way,
I'm showing my face
in a public space,
and you can choose
to play, read, join me--or not.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
I Kiss My Face
with lathering cleanser,
and I feel polished,
ready to cast my net
into a new ocean of day.
When I post a bulletin,
I Kiss My Space
with informing phrases,
and I feel published,
readily broadcasting on the net
into the world wide way.
Either way,
I'm showing my face
in a public space,
and you can choose
to play, read, join me--or not.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Sunday, October 07, 2007
Poem #280 of 365
You are so close,
and this microphone
makes us closer,
and mama, I don't want
to pry into your life,
but there's so little time
to tell, y tus cuentos are
so sweet and you sugarcoat
the trouble and when you get
to the happy parts, well you
spend more money on
this type of candy.
As you talk, I pretend to
be distracted, feigning
a steadied poise that
dams up the things
I feel in
here. I have learned
so well to cough on
cue, trim the tears
that might stumble
my words. But you
do most of the talking
anyway, and as I hand
you the tissue box, you
do most of the crying too.
One day, we'll hit rewind
and I'll let the gates give
way, and your story will
come flooding by again,
floating in bays of
my saved-up tears.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
and this microphone
makes us closer,
and mama, I don't want
to pry into your life,
but there's so little time
to tell, y tus cuentos are
so sweet and you sugarcoat
the trouble and when you get
to the happy parts, well you
spend more money on
this type of candy.
As you talk, I pretend to
be distracted, feigning
a steadied poise that
dams up the things
I feel in
here. I have learned
so well to cough on
cue, trim the tears
that might stumble
my words. But you
do most of the talking
anyway, and as I hand
you the tissue box, you
do most of the crying too.
One day, we'll hit rewind
and I'll let the gates give
way, and your story will
come flooding by again,
floating in bays of
my saved-up tears.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Saturday, October 06, 2007
Poem #279 of 365
To be flanked by two women with
tears in both eyes
is like clutching a wing of two
mighty birds who've paused
to sing in my ear
and though i'm caressed
by the coo
that i hear
it is vital that i turn away
let them soar
as their vision comes clear
i had taught nothing
but only served to
remind them how:
to let go of their fear,
see goals come near,
and to realize
that recovery
and discovery
of self
is what we
all should revere.
(para Leti y su amiga)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
tears in both eyes
is like clutching a wing of two
mighty birds who've paused
to sing in my ear
and though i'm caressed
by the coo
that i hear
it is vital that i turn away
let them soar
as their vision comes clear
i had taught nothing
but only served to
remind them how:
to let go of their fear,
see goals come near,
and to realize
that recovery
and discovery
of self
is what we
all should revere.
(para Leti y su amiga)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Friday, October 05, 2007
Poem #278 of 365
Find the man who held my hands
weeping for justice after the Rodney King verdict.
Find the man who kicked a car
as I clung to him top-speed on a Harley.
Find the boy who returned from Amsterdam
chubby but smitten, though I rebuffed him.
Find the kid who averted my gaze
saying he was afraid to see my third eye.
Find the cherub who sang Sherpa greetings
when I hiked down from seeing Everest.
Find the man who showed me the alleyways
and tundras of my sex.
Find the filmmaker who dragged my bag over
for the nonexistent contraceptives.
Find the blonde who snapped me nude
on the Zipolite beach one sunny afternoon.
Find the hippy who leaned over in Taos
and told me he liked my vibe.
Find the poet who had the funny piece
about his grandfather with a flyswatter.
Find the chef who smiled in New Orleans
and told me he liked my reading.
Find the Indian who drove around the plaza
repeating, Tammy Gomez is in town.
Bring them to my circle,
those who you find,
and we'll burn fire bright
and remember our histories
and compare our brilliance
to the sparks in the flames.
Time has separated you
from me, him from thee,
yet roads continue to
sprout which reconnect
us again once more,
inevitably.
(after meeting Tunde and talking with him for two hours before realizing that we had known one another in an earlier time in this very town--yet so long ago and so far away...)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
weeping for justice after the Rodney King verdict.
Find the man who kicked a car
as I clung to him top-speed on a Harley.
Find the boy who returned from Amsterdam
chubby but smitten, though I rebuffed him.
Find the kid who averted my gaze
saying he was afraid to see my third eye.
Find the cherub who sang Sherpa greetings
when I hiked down from seeing Everest.
Find the man who showed me the alleyways
and tundras of my sex.
Find the filmmaker who dragged my bag over
for the nonexistent contraceptives.
Find the blonde who snapped me nude
on the Zipolite beach one sunny afternoon.
Find the hippy who leaned over in Taos
and told me he liked my vibe.
Find the poet who had the funny piece
about his grandfather with a flyswatter.
Find the chef who smiled in New Orleans
and told me he liked my reading.
Find the Indian who drove around the plaza
repeating, Tammy Gomez is in town.
Bring them to my circle,
those who you find,
and we'll burn fire bright
and remember our histories
and compare our brilliance
to the sparks in the flames.
Time has separated you
from me, him from thee,
yet roads continue to
sprout which reconnect
us again once more,
inevitably.
(after meeting Tunde and talking with him for two hours before realizing that we had known one another in an earlier time in this very town--yet so long ago and so far away...)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Poem #277 of 365
i've seen arms and things jutting out towards me,
out of flipped-over upside-down windows
on impossibly slippery sunday streets
in downtown dallas.
through tightly-compressed elevator doors,
a generous last-second gesture
makes a skinny arm go numb with panic
and eyes go taut with pressure.
some day i too will stab some arms
into the sky and poke my things
in your direction
not so much
to scare you awake
as to
welcome you home.
(a med student tonight tried to hold an elevator door open for me--bad idea, good sentiment.
the flipped car thing happened in 2006.)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
out of flipped-over upside-down windows
on impossibly slippery sunday streets
in downtown dallas.
through tightly-compressed elevator doors,
a generous last-second gesture
makes a skinny arm go numb with panic
and eyes go taut with pressure.
some day i too will stab some arms
into the sky and poke my things
in your direction
not so much
to scare you awake
as to
welcome you home.
(a med student tonight tried to hold an elevator door open for me--bad idea, good sentiment.
the flipped car thing happened in 2006.)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Monday, October 01, 2007
Poem #274 of 365
work out in a huipil
of brilliant colors,
with two shiny trensas
of indio black hair
trailing down your
back as you
pounce and pound
in the fitness room
like an urban
tex-mex soldera
of power and strength
with tawny shoulders
showing your muscle in
traditional ways
smoke the copal in your
incense burner with the
Buddha tiger lighting
your day on a
smoky path that
confuses you briefly
to test your muster,
to challenge your mind
work out in huaraches
with tire tread soles,
who can tell the indigena
that she needs to recycle
when her spirit is brought
up by cycles of past
ancestries which appear
to her as she blinks
with exertion,
squeezing twenty more
pounds of history into
a brain typically
weighing only 3,
the boys lift iron
weights but you can
impress with the
heft of your words,
the weight of your
wisdom, and bench-pressing?
she's small press
publishing and that's
no small feat
find your indigenous
pulse on the stairmaster,
but don't become its
slave, you have other
struggles outside the
gym which are gonna
sweat you, as you live
out a modern-day version
of the ancient stories
through brown open pores
and when the treadmill walking
makes your legs burn later,
remember the climb that
your ancestors had
up the pyramid steps,
in Tenochtitlan, Tulum,
glistening like buffed bronze
beneath the spotlight
of the sun's burnishing heat.
(after a mild workout at the community gym, wearing one of my favorite huipiles)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
of brilliant colors,
with two shiny trensas
of indio black hair
trailing down your
back as you
pounce and pound
in the fitness room
like an urban
tex-mex soldera
of power and strength
with tawny shoulders
showing your muscle in
traditional ways
smoke the copal in your
incense burner with the
Buddha tiger lighting
your day on a
smoky path that
confuses you briefly
to test your muster,
to challenge your mind
work out in huaraches
with tire tread soles,
who can tell the indigena
that she needs to recycle
when her spirit is brought
up by cycles of past
ancestries which appear
to her as she blinks
with exertion,
squeezing twenty more
pounds of history into
a brain typically
weighing only 3,
the boys lift iron
weights but you can
impress with the
heft of your words,
the weight of your
wisdom, and bench-pressing?
she's small press
publishing and that's
no small feat
find your indigenous
pulse on the stairmaster,
but don't become its
slave, you have other
struggles outside the
gym which are gonna
sweat you, as you live
out a modern-day version
of the ancient stories
through brown open pores
and when the treadmill walking
makes your legs burn later,
remember the climb that
your ancestors had
up the pyramid steps,
in Tenochtitlan, Tulum,
glistening like buffed bronze
beneath the spotlight
of the sun's burnishing heat.
(after a mild workout at the community gym, wearing one of my favorite huipiles)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Poem #248 of 365
I've gathered my clothes about me,
shivering in my sweat,
wondering what season it is
when the night is near,
the sun brings light
but not always the heat,
and I am confused in this
month because I am too
hot outside and too cold
inside, and I long for the
certainty of winter.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
shivering in my sweat,
wondering what season it is
when the night is near,
the sun brings light
but not always the heat,
and I am confused in this
month because I am too
hot outside and too cold
inside, and I long for the
certainty of winter.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Poem #247 of 365
6 questions for the bored and listless to answer in MySpace:
1. the monkey on your back, what is its name?
2. the monkey on your back, what is its name?
3. the monkey on your back, what is its name?
4. the monkey on your back, what is its name?
5. the monkey on your back, what is its name?
6. the monkey on your back, what is its name?
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
1. the monkey on your back, what is its name?
2. the monkey on your back, what is its name?
3. the monkey on your back, what is its name?
4. the monkey on your back, what is its name?
5. the monkey on your back, what is its name?
6. the monkey on your back, what is its name?
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Monday, September 03, 2007
Poem #246 of 365
My muse pressed up against me,
got my thigh wedged as a couch
cushion on a hot and heavy date.
My muse spoke a good language,
his lips thick with myrr
and accented ale, he slurred
in my general direction,
but actually was logically sound,
even as one glance into his eyes
revealed the chaos in his clutch.
He inspired me, unwieldy as he
stood, and I let him crush the
nighttime circulation out of my
humid heavings, though denim
is usually too thick to penetrate.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
got my thigh wedged as a couch
cushion on a hot and heavy date.
My muse spoke a good language,
his lips thick with myrr
and accented ale, he slurred
in my general direction,
but actually was logically sound,
even as one glance into his eyes
revealed the chaos in his clutch.
He inspired me, unwieldy as he
stood, and I let him crush the
nighttime circulation out of my
humid heavings, though denim
is usually too thick to penetrate.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Sunday, September 02, 2007
Poem #245 of 365
My tics have grown up and become
orgasms, little gulps and blow outs
of efficacy and naughty exhaust.
What have yours grown up to
become, and why are you at
the equator, relinquishing laughter?
Bring your well-heeled doctrinaire
purposes to my tavern of bliss,
be served up a pint, clasp your knees
around the barmaid.
Let me see you unravel your past
as you remove the watch from your pale
wrist and trade it for uncertain futures
in the darkness of the misnamed happy hour.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
orgasms, little gulps and blow outs
of efficacy and naughty exhaust.
What have yours grown up to
become, and why are you at
the equator, relinquishing laughter?
Bring your well-heeled doctrinaire
purposes to my tavern of bliss,
be served up a pint, clasp your knees
around the barmaid.
Let me see you unravel your past
as you remove the watch from your pale
wrist and trade it for uncertain futures
in the darkness of the misnamed happy hour.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Saturday, September 01, 2007
Poem #244 of 365
I never saw someone reach his
mouth to devour the storm
as you did, my friend, on rainy
today.
You cuddled the trunk of a tree
and allowed the pressure of a
man's shoulder to comfort you
too, as your mouths upturned
in wizened thirst.
I took no time to notice the
configuration of puddle as I
twisted my feet to turn from
the car and join you, and
be with you in wet.
You offered a song, it was the
mist of your smile, and I felt
worshipping words touch my
own lips, and the rain licked
our clothes, sealing them to
skin.
Dreamy in mud, I could not
leave you to mirth in isolation,
as that shower washed away
everything but the sweetness
in our lives.
(for R and R, my friends at the park)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
mouth to devour the storm
as you did, my friend, on rainy
today.
You cuddled the trunk of a tree
and allowed the pressure of a
man's shoulder to comfort you
too, as your mouths upturned
in wizened thirst.
I took no time to notice the
configuration of puddle as I
twisted my feet to turn from
the car and join you, and
be with you in wet.
You offered a song, it was the
mist of your smile, and I felt
worshipping words touch my
own lips, and the rain licked
our clothes, sealing them to
skin.
Dreamy in mud, I could not
leave you to mirth in isolation,
as that shower washed away
everything but the sweetness
in our lives.
(for R and R, my friends at the park)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Poem #242 of 365
Silhouettes against the sky
swarm in the night,
and they are swatting at
air so dense like liquid gold
in lava streams.
How gravity would have its
way with you, my lovely
dancers, how you would
plummet in demi-plie
and ront de jambe, while
gasps from the ground
would greet your collapse.
But, alas, you are airborne
and never to descend, as
I crane my neck to enjoy
your stretch and reach
towards the beam and ledge,
concourses of concrete
not so easy to caress.
Yet delicacy, fragility
is the frosting of this
frolic and I applaud
how you transcend
the land with such
aplomb and trust,
as you thrust your
chest skyward while
blood rushes toward
the downward wing.
(in honor of Sally Jacques' breathtaking aerial dance spectacle Requiem (Blue Lapis Light) , which I first witnessed in Austin in the summer of 2006)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Poem #241 of 365
I shout big with my eyes
as I watch the pastor
count his plate and
the town go to the
dogs when the dogs
don't even want it.
Don't even want it,
the money, the
grandeur, the glamour,
the steadied hands
clipping his doghood
and his coat.
I genuflect with my
thumbed nose as
I see the headlines
tattoo cynicism
onto the belief
system of a
21st humanity
wrought with centuries of betrayal,
befuddlement, sloppy seconds,
and a soap opera trailer
for a life history.
One day that species,
the one of the dog,
will evolve to a stature
so it can know to
invest its inheritance
well, and leave the old
bones, old saws,
properly buried in
a time capsule of
dark denial.
(on the second anniversary of the Katrina disaster)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
as I watch the pastor
count his plate and
the town go to the
dogs when the dogs
don't even want it.
Don't even want it,
the money, the
grandeur, the glamour,
the steadied hands
clipping his doghood
and his coat.
I genuflect with my
thumbed nose as
I see the headlines
tattoo cynicism
onto the belief
system of a
21st humanity
wrought with centuries of betrayal,
befuddlement, sloppy seconds,
and a soap opera trailer
for a life history.
One day that species,
the one of the dog,
will evolve to a stature
so it can know to
invest its inheritance
well, and leave the old
bones, old saws,
properly buried in
a time capsule of
dark denial.
(on the second anniversary of the Katrina disaster)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Poem #240 of 365
Helmsley's dog gets $12 mil
New Orleans struggles to rebuild
Helmsley's dog gets $12 mil
New Orleans struggles to rebuild
Helmsley's dog gets $12 mil
New Orleans struggles to rebuild
Helmsley's dog gets $12 mil
New Orleans struggles to rebuild
Helmsley's dog gets $12 mil
New Orleans struggles to rebuild
Helmsley's dog gets $12 mil
New Orleans struggles to rebuild
Helmsley's dog gets $12 mil
New Orleans struggles to rebuild
Helmsley's dog gets $12 mil
New Orleans struggles to rebuild
Helmsley's dog gets $12 mil
New Orleans struggles to rebuild
Helmsley's dog gets $12 mil
New Orleans struggles to rebuild
This is not a natural disaster
This is a human disaster
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
New Orleans struggles to rebuild
Helmsley's dog gets $12 mil
New Orleans struggles to rebuild
Helmsley's dog gets $12 mil
New Orleans struggles to rebuild
Helmsley's dog gets $12 mil
New Orleans struggles to rebuild
Helmsley's dog gets $12 mil
New Orleans struggles to rebuild
Helmsley's dog gets $12 mil
New Orleans struggles to rebuild
Helmsley's dog gets $12 mil
New Orleans struggles to rebuild
Helmsley's dog gets $12 mil
New Orleans struggles to rebuild
Helmsley's dog gets $12 mil
New Orleans struggles to rebuild
Helmsley's dog gets $12 mil
New Orleans struggles to rebuild
This is not a natural disaster
This is a human disaster
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Monday, August 27, 2007
Poem #239 of 365
"Even my worst days as Attorney General have been better than my father’s best days."
- Alberto R. Gonzales, during his resignation speech
Well then,
does that mean
that being a humble, hard-working,
farmer in the field
can never be as
honorable as being a
deceitful ass-kissing
pin-stripe bureaucrat
who
has
undermined
U.S. justice as we used to
know it, and mashed
up words to
thwart the Geneva Convention,
suiting his own pathological
purposes?
You arrogant piece of well-shod
mierda! How dare you even
try to measure your father's
livelihood and labor rewards
against the dismal and despiccable
history of your public service life.
Desgraciado!
There is not a flyswatter in existence
that can flatten your ego as it so
needs to be flattened.
But this stupid little poem
coming at ya now, Alberto,
is sure gonna try.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
- Alberto R. Gonzales, during his resignation speech
Well then,
does that mean
that being a humble, hard-working,
farmer in the field
can never be as
honorable as being a
deceitful ass-kissing
pin-stripe bureaucrat
who
has
undermined
U.S. justice as we used to
know it, and mashed
up words to
thwart the Geneva Convention,
suiting his own pathological
purposes?
You arrogant piece of well-shod
mierda! How dare you even
try to measure your father's
livelihood and labor rewards
against the dismal and despiccable
history of your public service life.
Desgraciado!
There is not a flyswatter in existence
that can flatten your ego as it so
needs to be flattened.
But this stupid little poem
coming at ya now, Alberto,
is sure gonna try.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Poem #238 of 365
mercy
i am standing on the gleaming cold tiles
in the over-refrigerated Mexican-themed grocery store
when i would rather still be twisted in my
bedding in my lazy room
and it is too early to be faced with
perfectly-packaged products of commerce
hoisted to perpetual shelves
of seduction
and shopper education,
but turning a corner into a new aisle
smacks you with gag-worthy
smells of cologne and Jergen's,
aftershave and Right Guard--
all the fresh morning people,
brisk and upright,
while all i want is to be on my back
swelling in dreamland,
and my weight is not steady on the
balls and heels of my feet,
in a half-awake daze
i sway--
and i long to collapse on the
make-up applicator brushes,
white puff cotton balls,
and landfill plastic pampers.
and then, of a sudden, there
is a beautiful swell of sound
and it is piano, a gentle palm
spooning my frame.
Moby music has been chosen for this
soundtrack of morning, and i am lulled
into ecstatic stupor as i bend
at the waist, careful not to
fall asleep and fall over
in a gravity swoon,
and i am not falling
but am straightening up
with one medium-size 2.5 pound
bag of Alley Cat food in my arms.
This purchase episode takes
on a dawning elegance,
as Moby's song woos me
through the Fiesta speakers
and accompanies me to the check-out clerk,
who is soft-spoken and wet-lashed,
no doubt the kiss of morning mascara,
and i count my coins
without wrestling my purse
to the floor,
and the echoes of music
fade behind me as i step
through electric doors
to ponder an elder man
who dances in his wheelchair,
with his own gentle awakening,
before the harsh din of day
will work to drown or diminish
his own
pitch-perfect
early morning song.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
i am standing on the gleaming cold tiles
in the over-refrigerated Mexican-themed grocery store
when i would rather still be twisted in my
bedding in my lazy room
and it is too early to be faced with
perfectly-packaged products of commerce
hoisted to perpetual shelves
of seduction
and shopper education,
but turning a corner into a new aisle
smacks you with gag-worthy
smells of cologne and Jergen's,
aftershave and Right Guard--
all the fresh morning people,
brisk and upright,
while all i want is to be on my back
swelling in dreamland,
and my weight is not steady on the
balls and heels of my feet,
in a half-awake daze
i sway--
and i long to collapse on the
make-up applicator brushes,
white puff cotton balls,
and landfill plastic pampers.
and then, of a sudden, there
is a beautiful swell of sound
and it is piano, a gentle palm
spooning my frame.
Moby music has been chosen for this
soundtrack of morning, and i am lulled
into ecstatic stupor as i bend
at the waist, careful not to
fall asleep and fall over
in a gravity swoon,
and i am not falling
but am straightening up
with one medium-size 2.5 pound
bag of Alley Cat food in my arms.
This purchase episode takes
on a dawning elegance,
as Moby's song woos me
through the Fiesta speakers
and accompanies me to the check-out clerk,
who is soft-spoken and wet-lashed,
no doubt the kiss of morning mascara,
and i count my coins
without wrestling my purse
to the floor,
and the echoes of music
fade behind me as i step
through electric doors
to ponder an elder man
who dances in his wheelchair,
with his own gentle awakening,
before the harsh din of day
will work to drown or diminish
his own
pitch-perfect
early morning song.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Friday, August 24, 2007
Let me see how busy I'm getting...yep, that's busy.
1. I am both performing for AND emcee-ing raul r. salinas' benefit & tribute on Saturday, August 25th, at the MACC (Mexican-American Cultural Center). Have been rushing through my copy of RAULRSALINAS AND THE JAIL MACHINE: MY WEAPON IS MY PEN. I had no idea that raul has been friends with Antonia Castaneda since she was a student at UT-Austin. This amazing book includes the full text of letters that raul both wrote and received while in the pinta. I also love reading the essays, music reviews, and literary musings he wrote to pass the time and keep sharp his mind while he was locked up. Skimming through the book the other day, I happened upon an essay raul wrote about Ornette Coleman. Very cool. I still have NO idea what exactly I'm going to perform for the benefit.
2. I was just invited to perform a few poems at the upcoming "Femme" all-woman showcase, presented by FWAC (Fort Worth Arts Consortium) at the Wreck Room, 7th Street, Fort Worth. That show happens on Monday, August 27th, 10pm. Free admission.
3. I am not doing anything (that I know of...hahaha) at the upcoming Gallery Night in Fort Worth. I'm relieved.
4. I am not reprising "Spillway Sonata", my butoh performance piece which commemorates Katrina/Rita survivors and victims. Not this year. But I'd like to revisit the piece sometime again, maybe in 2008.
5. Looks like I'm on the schedule for the TEXAS BOOK FESTIVAL in late October-early November in Austin. Dagoberto Gilb and Christine Granados are busy coordinating the showcase/presentations I'll be a part of. Apparently, I'm doing some reading/workshop on local campuses (St. Edward's University and maybe a high school as well). It's all good. I miss my HECHO EN TEJAS camaradas--such fun and talented people. I've loved our after-after parties too.....that's when all the poise and airs of elegance get dropped, and we learn who the hell we actually are as people. The memory of dancing and singing along to cheesy Fleetwood Mac songs with Dallas Morning News writer Macarena Hernandez at 2 in the morning in McAllen--for godssake---is one memory that I cannot seem to shake.
6. My biggest deal is the bicycle play: SHE: BIKE/SPOKE/LOVE. September 22nd, 2007 - World Car-Free Day. I work on this production nearly every single hour of every day--been this way for over a month now.
7. I want to ride my bicycle....to Micronesia.
2. I was just invited to perform a few poems at the upcoming "Femme" all-woman showcase, presented by FWAC (Fort Worth Arts Consortium) at the Wreck Room, 7th Street, Fort Worth. That show happens on Monday, August 27th, 10pm. Free admission.
3. I am not doing anything (that I know of...hahaha) at the upcoming Gallery Night in Fort Worth. I'm relieved.
4. I am not reprising "Spillway Sonata", my butoh performance piece which commemorates Katrina/Rita survivors and victims. Not this year. But I'd like to revisit the piece sometime again, maybe in 2008.
5. Looks like I'm on the schedule for the TEXAS BOOK FESTIVAL in late October-early November in Austin. Dagoberto Gilb and Christine Granados are busy coordinating the showcase/presentations I'll be a part of. Apparently, I'm doing some reading/workshop on local campuses (St. Edward's University and maybe a high school as well). It's all good. I miss my HECHO EN TEJAS camaradas--such fun and talented people. I've loved our after-after parties too.....that's when all the poise and airs of elegance get dropped, and we learn who the hell we actually are as people. The memory of dancing and singing along to cheesy Fleetwood Mac songs with Dallas Morning News writer Macarena Hernandez at 2 in the morning in McAllen--for godssake---is one memory that I cannot seem to shake.
6. My biggest deal is the bicycle play: SHE: BIKE/SPOKE/LOVE. September 22nd, 2007 - World Car-Free Day. I work on this production nearly every single hour of every day--been this way for over a month now.
7. I want to ride my bicycle....to Micronesia.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Poem #235 of 365
I’m taking back the white robe, the
one with the hood.
I’m making it safe for Tex-Mexican girls,
cuz it’s a sexy design.
Last night, it slipped my mind that other
folks, another history, had snagged it, had
stamped their brutal scab upon it,
making it ultra un-fashionable,
I had forgotten that certain costumes in
history are associated with target
population segments of misery,
and those are pockets I'd rather not
stick my little brown hands in.
But now I insist on that white robe,
because my poet-friend Crystal
loves to sew and she offered to
make anything I wanted and so
"white robe, with a hood, long to my
ankles" is what I requested,
innocently forgetting that
my sartorial selection
is so tainted with the baggage of blood.
Laughter, yes, later, I laughed
at my lapse in recollection and
at my naked innocence, yet I now return
to my bold nagging desire: I want a homespun
white floor-length linen robe, with a hood,
so I can walk the beach in it
and feel the sea mist on my face in it
and live unceremoniously in it.
I'll certainly not be dragging men to their death in it
nor burning white crosses in it, because
I’m making it safe,
I’m taking it back,
I'm taking back the white robe,
the one with the hood,
gonna make heads turn
in that
white robe,
with the curvilinear hood.
I'm making it safe,
with a sexy design.
I’m wearing it THIS century,
and we'll ALL LIVE to tell about it
(because I won't be dressed to kill).
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
one with the hood.
I’m making it safe for Tex-Mexican girls,
cuz it’s a sexy design.
Last night, it slipped my mind that other
folks, another history, had snagged it, had
stamped their brutal scab upon it,
making it ultra un-fashionable,
I had forgotten that certain costumes in
history are associated with target
population segments of misery,
and those are pockets I'd rather not
stick my little brown hands in.
But now I insist on that white robe,
because my poet-friend Crystal
loves to sew and she offered to
make anything I wanted and so
"white robe, with a hood, long to my
ankles" is what I requested,
innocently forgetting that
my sartorial selection
is so tainted with the baggage of blood.
Laughter, yes, later, I laughed
at my lapse in recollection and
at my naked innocence, yet I now return
to my bold nagging desire: I want a homespun
white floor-length linen robe, with a hood,
so I can walk the beach in it
and feel the sea mist on my face in it
and live unceremoniously in it.
I'll certainly not be dragging men to their death in it
nor burning white crosses in it, because
I’m making it safe,
I’m taking it back,
I'm taking back the white robe,
the one with the hood,
gonna make heads turn
in that
white robe,
with the curvilinear hood.
I'm making it safe,
with a sexy design.
I’m wearing it THIS century,
and we'll ALL LIVE to tell about it
(because I won't be dressed to kill).
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Poem #234 of 365
I don't want to point out fish
because you lost a tankful.
I don't want to mention dogs
because so many have died from your life.
I don't want to mention home
because you're sleeping on borrowed beds.
I don't want to take you skating
because you're living on thin ice.
There is nothing now for me to say to you
that won't remind you of loss and death and
the spinning with no brakes as you skid.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
because you lost a tankful.
I don't want to mention dogs
because so many have died from your life.
I don't want to mention home
because you're sleeping on borrowed beds.
I don't want to take you skating
because you're living on thin ice.
There is nothing now for me to say to you
that won't remind you of loss and death and
the spinning with no brakes as you skid.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
Sunday, August 12, 2007
YOUR OWN WORDS - Dallas Morning News feature
They asked me to tell 'em what I'm reading right now & why. Here's the link to the feature in today's (Sunday, August 12th) Dallas Morning News.
Check out the photo--indoors in my "green" library room.
text from the article:
YOUR OWN WORDS
12:00 AM CDT on Sunday, August 12, 2007
Tammy Gomez
Poet, playwright, publisher (Tejana Tongue Press)
What she's reading: Mahcic: Selected Poems, by Tomás Riley
Why: "This book of poems, published by Calaca Press in 2005, was recently mailed to me by Riley himself, who is a friend and colleague based in the Bay Area. Mahcic is the name of Tomás' first-born son, and the poems, reminiscent of the best work of Victor Hernandez Cruz (Snaps) and David Henderson (De Mayor of Harlem), show the scope of interrogations a 21st-century first-time father cannot help but make as he reckons with sociopolitical and family history. A swollen, visceral, tri-cultural, spanglish mash-up, spilled-out dictionary of words that fell just right, make your noggin go tight with a homegrown cool mint light that I like."
edited by Lesley Téllez.
Check out the photo--indoors in my "green" library room.
text from the article:
YOUR OWN WORDS
12:00 AM CDT on Sunday, August 12, 2007
Tammy Gomez
Poet, playwright, publisher (Tejana Tongue Press)
What she's reading: Mahcic: Selected Poems, by Tomás Riley
Why: "This book of poems, published by Calaca Press in 2005, was recently mailed to me by Riley himself, who is a friend and colleague based in the Bay Area. Mahcic is the name of Tomás' first-born son, and the poems, reminiscent of the best work of Victor Hernandez Cruz (Snaps) and David Henderson (De Mayor of Harlem), show the scope of interrogations a 21st-century first-time father cannot help but make as he reckons with sociopolitical and family history. A swollen, visceral, tri-cultural, spanglish mash-up, spilled-out dictionary of words that fell just right, make your noggin go tight with a homegrown cool mint light that I like."
edited by Lesley Téllez.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
5th Annual Noche de Macondo at Esperanza Peace & Justice Center in San Antonio - Friday, August 3rd
Esperanza & Sandra Cisneros invite you to...
The 5th Ånnual
Noche de Macondo
FEATURING
Joy Harjo
www.joyharjo.com
(Hey, by the way--did you know there's a "nativewiki" site? You can read more about Joy Harjo at this nativewiki link. I LOVE Joy Harjo, in case you didn't know. A MAP TO THE NEXT WORLD, IN MAD LOVE AND WAR, THE WOMAN WHO FELL FROM THE SKY. Wow. I would've gone earlier this week to take a workshop with Joy, but I had to be here for my bicycle play performance. So many JOYS, so little time. I've introduced her before, at a very under-attended reading she did at Waterloo Ice House on Lamar St. in Austin. It was quite embarrassing, actually, cuz the promoter(s) did very little to publicize and Joy looked very flummoxed for a minute--but soon came back to her graceful poise and whipped out some great poems. I also interviewed her for live and simultaneous broadcast on the radio and the internet. Pretty cool. What a day that was, at Alma de Mujer. At least 4 of my living heroines were out there, on that beautiful spread of land west of Austin, at that moment: Joy Harjo, Winona LaDuke (running mate with Ralph Nader, as you may recall), Millilani Trask, and Roberta Blackgoat. Wow.)
Esperanza Peace and Justice Center
Friday, August 3, 2007 • 8pm
featuring the poetry and music of
Joy Harjo
w/ guitarist Larry Mitchell
and poetry and performance by Macondo Writers:
Tammy Gomez (emcee)
Monica Palacios
Yael Flusberg
Liz Gonzalez
Carlos Cumpian
Daisy Hernandez
Angie Chau
Jackie Cuevas
Alex Espinoza
Lucha Corpi
w/ Sandra Cisneros
$6-$10 Suggested Donation
Arrive on time! Standing Room only expected! (no doubt, no doubt)
Books available for sale by performing writers & Resistencia Bookstore,
For more info, contact the ESPERANZE PEACE AND JUSTICE CENTER - one of my all-time favorite spots in San Antonio...!
Esperanza Peace and Justice Center
922 San Pedro Ave • San Antonio TX 78212
(entrance on W Evergreen, 1/2 mile north of downtown)
210.228.0201 || www.esperanzacenter.org ||
The 5th Ånnual
Noche de Macondo
FEATURING
Joy Harjo
www.joyharjo.com
(Hey, by the way--did you know there's a "nativewiki" site? You can read more about Joy Harjo at this nativewiki link. I LOVE Joy Harjo, in case you didn't know. A MAP TO THE NEXT WORLD, IN MAD LOVE AND WAR, THE WOMAN WHO FELL FROM THE SKY. Wow. I would've gone earlier this week to take a workshop with Joy, but I had to be here for my bicycle play performance. So many JOYS, so little time. I've introduced her before, at a very under-attended reading she did at Waterloo Ice House on Lamar St. in Austin. It was quite embarrassing, actually, cuz the promoter(s) did very little to publicize and Joy looked very flummoxed for a minute--but soon came back to her graceful poise and whipped out some great poems. I also interviewed her for live and simultaneous broadcast on the radio and the internet. Pretty cool. What a day that was, at Alma de Mujer. At least 4 of my living heroines were out there, on that beautiful spread of land west of Austin, at that moment: Joy Harjo, Winona LaDuke (running mate with Ralph Nader, as you may recall), Millilani Trask, and Roberta Blackgoat. Wow.)
Esperanza Peace and Justice Center
Friday, August 3, 2007 • 8pm
featuring the poetry and music of
Joy Harjo
w/ guitarist Larry Mitchell
and poetry and performance by Macondo Writers:
Tammy Gomez (emcee)
Monica Palacios
Yael Flusberg
Liz Gonzalez
Carlos Cumpian
Daisy Hernandez
Angie Chau
Jackie Cuevas
Alex Espinoza
Lucha Corpi
w/ Sandra Cisneros
$6-$10 Suggested Donation
Arrive on time! Standing Room only expected! (no doubt, no doubt)
Books available for sale by performing writers & Resistencia Bookstore,
For more info, contact the ESPERANZE PEACE AND JUSTICE CENTER - one of my all-time favorite spots in San Antonio...!
Esperanza Peace and Justice Center
922 San Pedro Ave • San Antonio TX 78212
(entrance on W Evergreen, 1/2 mile north of downtown)
210.228.0201 || www.esperanzacenter.org ||
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