Shots in the Night: The Poetry Show!

http://www.kkfi.org/program-episodes/shots-night-poetry-show

This is an unusual Shots in the Night show. Tonight’s show is about our city, its people, its feelings, and its life, described through poetry by local artists.  If you think you don’t like poetry, you are in for a pleasant surprise, because many of these poems are more like storytelling.

Featuring: Gregory Cenac, Linda Kay Davis, Patrick Dobson, Sharon Eiker, Kathy Hughes, Silvia Kofler, Will Leatham, Michelle Pond, Jeanette Powers, Jason Preu, Larry Welling, and Brandon Whitehead.

Poems read by Rosena Baumli and Jason Preu.

Shots in the Night: The Poetry Show!

This Sunday in Kansas City, Come Get Your Sweetheart a Custom Love Poem

I’ll be at the Made Market, composing one-of-a-kind love poems at your request.

In other news, I took a longer-than-typical winter break from Devious Bloggery. Mostly because last year’s Waterwood project wore me out but also because sometimes you just need to take a longer-than-typical break.

I want to remind any of you that haven’t yet to sign up for my monthly newsletter at https://tinyletter.com/ballsauce. If you enjoy this blog, you’ll enjoy the newsletter, too.

How are you? How’s your family? Are you staying strong in spite of the true retardation of American government? Are you watching your breath? Are you watching your neighbor’s breath? Has your neighbor stopped breathing? Shouldn’t you do something? Call someone? Put some clothes on first. You’ll likely be questioned.

This Sunday in Kansas City, Come Get Your Sweetheart a Custom Love Poem

The Waterwood Box, 92

Catch up!

Adam continued to swim backward, starting at the vast expanse of Ocean before him. Ramata’s head popped up above the surface of the water, startling him. Ocean flowed in and out his ears and nostrils, mouth and throat. Adam choked on fresh gulps of crisp air and spat out gooey blood and salty water. He heard the sounds of his own tortured gasps inside of his head and then Ramata’s voice came to him:

“Adam, come home, please come home. There is a world here and your time above the water is long past. Sesre had to leave the water behind, Adam. She’d changed forever. Change is neither bad nor good, Adam, it just is.”

Adam was now above the water, staring up at the sky while the sun beamed down upon him. It killed him to breathe, but he chose to keep at it, tears in his eyes, one painful, labored inhalation at a time, for just a while longer, long enough to whisper, “Goodbye, Mom and Dad.”

Before taking one final, painful breath of the salt-tinged air, Adam turned back to the islands. He lowered his mouth into the water to ease his hurting lungs, but left his eyes above the water. As he scanned the island chain, he thought he saw something – something gray and wispy rising high to the very sky above. A column of smoke! Impossible.

The noonday sun filtered down through the surface onto Adam’s back. He relished the familiar taste of Ocean; a taste that reminded him of impossible things, of hope and change. The taste of Ocean reminded Adam of life. The column of smoke reminded him of life yet still to live.

END BOOK ONE

Well, constant readers, that’s the end of the first book in The Waterwood Cycle.

Thanks for accompanying Adam, Spot, and Ramata throughout the year while I delivered the book. I hope to write the second sometime this year (but can’t say that I’ll present it in this same way). At any rate, I appreciate any time you took out of your day to read this site.

Have a happy New Year and, don’t forget, my latest book is available for purchase here.

The Waterwood Box, 92

The Waterwood Box, 91

Catch up!

What’s wrong? May I help?” Ramata asked.

“No, the suit isn’t coming off. Let’s swim closer to shore,” Adam said. He swam to where the water lapped up against the mountainside. “I’ll take the suit off later. For now, get behind me and squeeze my chest with both of your arms. You’ll have to squeeze fast and tight to force the breather out of my throat.”

“I’m going to miss you.” At the water-folk’s words, Adam turned from the mountaintops toward Ramata. “Adam, I’ll try to get other Tiskaloons to come help. We’re free now. We can move through Ocean again.”

Adam turned back around and rested his knees on the gentle, rocky slope. The top of his head lightly touched the surface of the water. “NOW!” He took a deep breath and Ramata wrapped their arms around him.

“Don’t forget where you’ve been, Adam. From where you’ve come.” Ramata squeezed quickly and with great force. Nothing happened.

“AGAIN!” Adam yelled.

“Why won’t you choose to remember Sesre?” Ramata asked and squeezed once more. Still nothing.

“AGAIN!” Adam yelled and flecks of blood sprayed into the water. Ramata did squeeze again and, afterwards, a steady stream of blood began to flow from Adam’s mouth. Adam swam backward to the shore, coughing and choking.

“I’m killing you, Adam!” Ramata cried.

Adam swam backward, struggling to break the water’s surface. Every exhalation brought bright blood along with it. He pulled his body halfway out of the water. In front of Adam loomed the vast spread of water that the planet had become. Behind him stood massive islands of seemingly barren rock, with nooks and crags that could both deter and shelter an inhabitant. Behind him waited the unknown.

The Waterwood Box, 91