I’ve been working at The Montclair Times since March, as the Community Editor. Whee!
Plenty going on there. Plen-tee.
Here’s a few things:
— I started a column; it’s called Carpe Caffeam (ykno, Seize the Coffee). It’s about life and trying to be okay with it all. So far I’ve written two; a third is on its way. Here’s #1 (What a day a coffee makes). Here’s #2 (Less practice makes imperfect).
— I started a series; it’s called On Our Minds, and it’s about mental health. So far I’ve also written two; a third is coming down the pike. The first: “Are we there yet?” The second: “Crazy talk: Language matters in mental health.”
— If you want to keep up, I’m sometimes tweeting and instagraming on this kind of stuff. I’m pretty easy to find.
— Other than that: ::: : I’ve written about a soup kitchen getting extra-healthy (here); Rainn Wilson on spirituality — news story here and interview transcript here; a single-parents support group; farm camp; the capture of a young black bear; a local jazz composer and band co-leader; the first-ever Montclair food and wine festival; Dr. Richard Besser’s new book; the passing of composer Dean Drummond; Montclair Film Festival coverage: The Brothers Hypnotic, Zipper: Coney Island’s Last Wild Ride, Valley of Saints, and Computer Chess; the Montclair Public Library’s ambitious strategic plan; and more.
It’s been fun. Looking forward to what’s ahead.
A song that has completely broken my heart this fall.
lying by the riverside
the pages turned
blown against the wind,
it happened again
the new beginning wrote itself
It’s like the fingerprints in the ice blocks melted away
and i went stargazing into the purple canyons
where i found in the wet depths of the river the
letters of my name floating around.
what the devil of all hell is this.
there is a chicken coop in the
with the letters of my name floating around.
stupid banana jesus and mary magdaline,
what the devil is all of this.
my hair curls around the letters
as i go swimming in the lord’s funny business
working my way through the sun gas waterbeds
i am completely beholden to this trove.
The rivers are swelling,
spilling down the water wheel
against my breastbone.
It shares a glow with the moon’s thin air,
treads softly, aching and
No matter its trickle, it
brings the water through.
Tonight, though, my heart is crying,
Its tears swelling upward, to my throat.
Its memory, its print, shines far
beyond this one land, this one time,
To distant places, other spheres.
It does not speak — no. It turns, gives, receives,
Round, and round, tugging the edges
But moving round the center,
Dousing its panes for ever — for who would
stop this embrace?
These hearts — all these crazy, fiendish,
joyful hearts — are winding water around the wheel,
Breathing life to the little homes aside the
river, and beyond, where our love dwells.
– Sept. 2012 –
visions under the microscope
centers of blue-green harmonica
oysters in the trap dust sand
The Nephilian giants
stand far above the burial mountains
As the people look and wonder,
Where does it come from?
The turtle pushes off and floats away.
– 2010 –