Abandoned garage: great place for thing-finding
Treasure-seekers, you know who you are . . . or maybe you don’t. Maybe “treasure” is a very different commodity for different folks. I have always loved discovering things–deliberately hidden or not. And I mean “things”: old bottles, colorful dead bugs, cash register receipts on the sidewalk, doll heads. Oh anything really. These things are the stuff of poetry.
I’m not sure where this love of finding things comes from, but I have some distinct memories of thing-finding, as Pippi Longstocking calls it: Continue reading
Oklahoma City University: I gave a presentation on the Poetry Friendly Classroom in Walker Center on April 3, 2013, and left this poem cache in honor of poet Terrance Hayes’ visit to campus. It has one of his poems inside. This is a different cache than the others–it’s inside a building, not outside….may be discovered and trashed by un-poemlike people. We’ll see. Continue reading
Kelly and Amos (our dad) in front of her store
The next time you are on scenic 412 and going through Locust Grove, stop at my sister’s shop Dust Bowl Debris. She has all kinds of cool homemade, handmade, and repurposed stuff for yourself, your home, your yard, and more. Gifts, goodies, books, cards, cool antiques and more. Continue reading
Cat stalking cacher at Gorda Park
Here are some photos sent to me from folks finding the poem caches I have up so far. Word of warning to those going to Gorda Park. You may be stalked by a horny black cat. So, depends on if you like cats or not. Also, I heard some black Labrador puppies come over and visit from a nearby house. No animal life surrounded me when I was placing the cache. I guess they’re on the alert now though! Continue reading
We used to play on the rocks across the river when the floodgates were holding the water back. When the dam whistle blew, everyone knew to clear off. This is one of the few places from my childhood that have remained virtually untouched by development or beautification or bought by private owners and fenced off. There are places we need to leave alone, where the mud should be allowed to suck around your ankles, the danger of rock-climbing continued, and the trees unassaulted by power companies. Continue reading
When my family moved to town in the 70’s, my sisters, brother, and I frequented this park, which was several blocks from our house. As far as I remember, it was always in a state of disrepair–bathrooms broken, grass always too high, weedy, broken playground equipment. We loved it. Everything is so safe nowadays.
This cemetery is just down the road from the Rural Oklahoma Museum of Poetry and my home. Many kinfolk are buried here. The poem “buried” at this site is about a girl, a friend of my grandmother’s when she was young, who died at the age of fifteen. You can see a brief photostory-video about her that I put together years ago.