Kate's Miscellany ~ For Valley Writers

Friends and Writers,

As you may have heard, this spring, I’m celebrating the selection of my first poetry collection for publication–that lovely book over there to the right! It’s set to come out in September 2015.

This beautiful chapbook bids me take a moment to muse on the importance of literary community.

So here we go: This book contains poems written over a period of ten years (most of them are from the last six years, but “Hand Song” comes out of my graduate school thesis). In that span of time, I have written with, and learned from, hundreds–literally! hundreds–of other writers. The title poem is one that I drafted at a Sacramento Poetry Center Spring Conference a couple of years back, in the workshop of Thomas Centolella. Several of the poems were drafted in classes (or while the participants were in classes) when I coordinated The Tomales Bay Workshops under the direction of Pam Houston, who has been a great supporter of my work (check out what’s happening workshop-wise at Tomales Bay these days!).

Friends,

Spring is definitely in the air! The birds are chirping, the bees are buzzing en masse around my baby Indio mandarinquat and Mexican lime trees and their buds, and the days are lengthening, filling me with energy to write! I hope you, too, are feeling the call of your own words.

There are so many wonderful opportunities to connect with other writers this spring. Here is a sampling of the best writing conferences in our area in the next few months. The first two are in April–so get your calendars ready! (I am pleased to be a featured speaker at the Sacramento Poetry Conference and I hope to see you there!)

Also: Though the conference is in October, the scholarship deadline for Writing by Writers Workshop @ Tomales Bay is May 1. The lineup of workshop leaders this year is insanely good–Dorothy Allison, Steve Almond, Mark Doty, Joy Harjo, Pam Houston and Lidia Yuknavitch…having worked to support Dorothy, Mark, Joy and Pam in the past (when UC Davis offered the conference at Tomales), I can tell you, these are amazing writers and generous-spirited people. I’d recommend applying for the workshop–and for a scholarship, if the price tag is tough for you.

Happy writing!

~Kate

Our Life Stories Conference ~ Saturday, April 18, 8:30-4:30

See the wonderful conference schedule and speaker bios here!
Saturday, April 12, 2014
8:30 am to 4:30 pm
Cosumnes River College
8401 Center Parkway, Sacramento, CA

Conference Fee – $35.00 (Includes morning refreshments, lunch, workshops, and materials)
Registration Deadline: April 3, 2014. Space is limited.
Late Registration Fees (After April 4): $40

**

Sacramento Poetry Center Annual Spring Conference ~ Saturday, April 25, 8:30 – 4:00

See the fabulous workshop leader lineup (including yours truly!) and the day’s schedule at sacramentopoetrycenter.org!

I am pleased to announce that I have been asked to present, and will be offering my Lectio Divina: Reading into Writing Workshop again! If you missed this opportunity in March, do join us! The drafts that come out of this process are fantastic. (Even if you did come in March, join me again–the readings will be different!)

Sacramento Poetry Center at 1719 25th Street
All events $40 (Includes access to all three sessions for talks AND all readings AND lunch)
Pay at the door or send check to: SPC 1719 25th Street Sacramento, CA 95816

**

Gold Rush Writers Conference ~ May 1-3

Come join the ninth annual Gold Rush Writers Conference, May 1, 2, & 3, at the historic Leger Hotel in picturesque Mokelumne Hill where writing professionals will guide you to a publishing bonanza through a series of panels, specialty talks, workshops and celebrity lectures. Go one-on-one with successful poets, novelists, biographers, memoirists and short story writers.
The conference includes a picnic supper in a Victorian garden Friday evening, as well sa Saturday dinner and Sunday brunch.

$160 (early) or $180. For schedule and speaker information, head to goldrushwriters.com.

**

SummerWords: The American River College Creative Writing Colloquium ~ May 28-31

$95 ~ View program presenter bios and schedule, and buy your tickets here!

Join American River College’s vibrant and accomplished creative writing faculty for three days and nights of workshops, panels, and readings featuring a keynote reading by nationally acclaimed poet Carolyn Forché.  Click the links at the left for more information or click below to purchase tickets. Sponsored by The Albert and Elaine Borchard Foundation and the American River College Foundation.

**

Annual Conference on Creative Writing at University of the Pacific ~ May 29-31

An information packed three-day conference at the University of the Pacific’s beautiful main campus May 29-31, 2015. Details and registration here. Various pricing options available.

LITERARY AGENTS AND PUBLISHERS AVAILABLE FOR PITCH SESSIONS!

HELP WITH BOOK MANUSCRIPTS WILL BE AVAILABLE!

Interactive workshops and presentations will cover all aspects and genres of creative writing, from brainstorming techniques to submitting work for publication, writing creative nonfiction articles for publication to writing children’s books, murder mysteries, science fiction, and westerns.

**

Amherst Writers and Artists Festival of Writing ~ July 11

9:30am – 6:00pm
Pacific School of Religion
1798 Scenic Avenue, Berkeley

Register and view schedule and workshop leaders/offerings here.

Come write with other writers in a supportive environment. The all-day event will feature writing workshops, a reception, and a talk with Amherst Writers & Artists (AWA) founder Pat Schneider, author of Writing Alone and With Others and How the Light Gets In: Writing as a Spiritual Practice.

With the insight that “everyone is born with creative genius,” Schneider created the AWA method more than thirty years ago to provide a safe, encouraging environment for writing.

The Festival is open to all – no experience necessary. Morning and afternoon writing workshops will be led by experienced AWA method-trained workshop facilitators.

Take advantage of many nearby options during the lunch hour, or bring your own lunch and eat on the beautiful PSR campus.

A late afternoon reception with Pat Schneider will offer an opportunity for participants to meet and talk. The Festival will culminate in a keynote speech by Schneider in Pacific School of Religion’s Bade Museum.

Hello Friends,

It’s hard to believe my running mates and I made it through this crazy poetry writing marathon! I want to give a last shout out to Carol Willette Bachofner, Mackenzie Carignan, Sarah A. Chavez, Ryder Collins, Clare Louise Harmon, Patty Joslyn, and Carlene Kucharczyk. These truly inspiring writers made it happen every day, and because I knew they’d be showing up, I showed up, too. Every day! For them, for me, and for you.  Read their full bios by clicking here.

Thank you to Lynne, Carrie, Helen, Cece, Connie, Amy, Ana, Rich, Kate, Cinamon, Lisa and Julie for joining me in the Desire as Purpose fundraiser workshop on 3/29! Your participation generated $240 for Tupelo Press! Thank you also to Shelley Blanton-Stroud, Susan Flynn, Kristen Lee, Doug Asche, Maggie Cullen and Carol Darlington for generously donating to Tupelo Press since the last roundup, on behalf of my month-long poetry writing “marathon”! And, thank you to the six people who registered for my private workshops in the month of March; on *your* behalf, I will be donating $120 to Tupelo!

Friends, with your generosity and help, we have to date raised over **$1000** for Tupelo Press–and I know a couple of donations are still working their way through accounting. THANK YOU, on behalf of Tupelo Press and poetry and my own writing practice, for your support of independent literary arts and artists!

I want to share with you a favorite poem from each of us on the March “running” team from the final days. You’ll find these below. Enjoy!

And, if reading this poetry moves you, THERE IS STILL TIME TO DONATE IN MY NAME! Head over to the 30/30 Project website to read all of our daily poems, our bios, and to *donate*! Want a gift in thanks for your donation? Check out my special 30/30 Project webpage and view what I have on offer, including the below one-of-a-kind gratitude poems and also the below limited edition broadsides–check out last week’s roundup to view samples of these!

Here’s to poetry!

Kate

**

Here is the final poem I wrote for the project, a found poem using lines from poems each of us wrote during the month. Enjoy!

**

Nest / by Carlene Kucharczyk

(composed of lines from 30/30 poems by Kate, Claire, Carol, Patty, Mackenzie, Ryder, Sarah, and me)

When we lived as birds,
I ate baby animals—

pink flaking flesh,
they were delicious.

We danced all winter,
swing and sway. I wanted

to know the silence
as ours alone, feel it entirely.

We’ll never have
that recipe again. But maybe

it’s not the empty pan,
this one bowl—

I am hardly ready
to be buried.

**

No Luxury / by Carol Willette Bachofner

Poetry is no luxury.
It is the insect bite
on the inner thigh
that swells and reddens
like fire and pulse.

Poetry is first sex,
hard member into soft
pushing away the pure
door to reveal a new home
furnished with big chairs.

Poetry comes hard
as childbirth, bloody
wet words gushing out,
falling to the mattress
and wailing for a breath.

Poetry is no luxury
at all. It must be hunted
down, dragged over the hearth
and eaten raw.

**

You think you know my secrets / by Ryder Collins

What secrets do you know besides angry mu shu? Besides the relatives to avoid and the relatives to suck up to? The ones that have condos and timeshares we could use before the babies pop? Do you know the secret words or the secret flowers to blend with secret herbs to give me as tea so that I birth all daughters? Do you know my regrets? I can list them for you: I regret OkCupid, I regret my ex, I regret being mean to the one man who rode me up a hill on the back of his bicycle, I regret sleeping with his slut friend. You probably know all this. I miss my pit bull; I regret putting her down. She was a fighter more than me even. She had cancer all over and used her leg tumor as a headrest. You want to be my headrest. You want to be my tumor even. You want to be inside me, but, tallman, you are too tall. Your bicycle’s too short for your legs, and you never ever offered me a lift up a hill over a bridge after midnight. You never kissed me on that hill. I never said I would call you. I called him, though. Over and over & over that hill that bridge that moonlight those kisses I called.

**

**

I Still See You In My Dreams / by Sarah A. Chavez

You wouldn’t remember this,
but the night you knocked
on the front door of my mom’s place,
just half past midnight: Docs muddy,
pants stained, a crumpled paper
grocery sack carrying the shreds
of shirt left after they cut it
off your chest in ER, (a souvenir
you said) I washed your hair
in the kitchen sink.

And because you don’t remember this,
you won’t remember how we tipped
the chair against the edge of counter top,
propped with an old edition
of the Webster’s dictionary shoved
under the front legs – fitting
considering the ways words
had always carried us.

And because you don’t remember that,
you won’t remember you closed
your eyes, while I ran the water
until it was warm, used a cup
to wet your hair, just the way
my mom used to when I was a kid,
placing my hand at your hairline,
making sure to shield your eyes.

The shampoo smelled of lilacs,
the scent intensifying while steadying
your head with my fingers, my thumbs
rubbed circles over your scalp. Foam
building suds dripped down
my wrists, skated through your hair.
You kept your hands folded
in your lap until I pressed
closer to the counter to turn back on
the water, fill the cup once more.

I wish you remembered this:
as I leaned in to rinse
the remaining lather, your eyes
still closed you unfolded your hands,
wrapped palms to my hips, pulled me
down onto your lap, the weight of both
our bodies balanced precariously
on those two shuddering legs.
You never opened your eyes.
Just rested your cheek
against my breast. Silent.

And that is how we stay
forever in my memory.

**

**

the Eve of my Larry’s Birth Day / by Patty Joslyn

Later, I will tell you about the things
that keep me here
it’s a long list
no order
names
places
smells
moments
and life times.

Tiny things like sesame seeds.
Big ones like you.

A bowl of polished abalone
shines in the sun
I remember there is nothing
I really need
except your hand in mine.

Hello Friends,

It’s hard to believe my running mates and I are already in the final stretch of our month-long, daily-poem-writing marathon!

Thank you to Julie Woodside for generously donating this week to Tupelo Press on behalf of my month-long poetry writing “marathon”! Julie kept the energy going and donated since the last round-up.

I want to share with you a favorite poem from each of us on the March “running” team this week. You’ll find these below. Enjoy!

Want to support Tupelo Press and Kate’s “run” while boosting your own writing practice? Join Kate *THIS* Sunday, March 29, for a $20 one-day fundraiser workshop! DESIRE AS PURPOSE: A CHARACTER-BUILDING WORKSHOP (all genres) is offered in partnership with Shut Up & Write! – Sacramento. Join the event at the SU&W!-Sac Meetup Group or email Kate directly at asche (dot) kate (at) gmail (dot) com. Space is limited and as of this posting, half the spots are filled. Full description is also on Kate’s 30/30 Project webpage.

And, if reading this poetry moves you, head over to the 30/30 Project website to read all of our daily poems, our bios, and to *donate*! Want a gift in thanks for your donation? Check out my special 30/30 Project webpage and view what I have on offer, including the below one-of-a-kind gratitude poems and also the below limited edition broadsides–check out last week’s roundup to view samples of these!

Here’s to poetry!

Kate

**

**

**

**

Dear Carole, I Wait To Stop Feeling Hungry / by Sarah A. Chavez

You once said eating with me
made you nervous:
I can see you counting calories
when you dish out food.
But what you really saw
was my mental resistance not to count,
not to see exactly where that food
would end up when I didn’t exercise.
It has been exhausting trying
to undo what had been done
for so many years and all
I wanted was to get to the point
where I could just say,
Fuck it and eat.

My mother counted calories,
constantly cycled through new diets,
pinched the fat of her belly,
refusing to look in the mirror.
She drank nothing but chocolate powder
and ice for months, then made nothing
but dry tuna patties and tomato slices.
The tuna water squeezed from the slit
in the broken seal, the pink flesh
plopped on a plate. Her hands soft & facile
making little mounds and placing them
on the dry nonstick frying pan,
my job to smash with a spatula
and turn over.

Our real diet was inconsistency.
It was who knows what will come today –
Pepsi and candy for breakfast, no more
than one cookie after lunch,
boxed Mac n’ Cheese, Hamburger Helper,
canned green beans,
these in any combination for dinner.

And I find myself here again
keeping track, except this time
it’s not about calories or pounds,
it’s about the consistency
of desire – the desire to stop desiring
all the time. It is distracting.
I sit down to write and every line
is an item from my pantry,
what food might be in walking distance:
peanuts, candy corn, Wheat Thins,
apples, Dove chocolates,
kale chips, left over pizza.

Each new tried food is logged
and cataloged, to determine
which will sustain me the longest,
make my stomach cease its endless
desire to be filled:
Plain bagel with peanut butter – 7:45 a.m.,
Hungry again at 9.
Egg and cheese on English muffin – 8:15 a.m.
Hungry again at 10:45.
Black coffee with each, thirsty again
after each mug drains.

**

**

Here lies / by Carol Willette Bachofner

Ezra, man of distinction in his day.
Here he is with his wife, Amelia
together forever under this stand
of birch, he on the left, she on the right
as they lay in their four-poster
fifty years. Are they happy now
that no plowing needs doing, no dishes
to wash by hand in cold water? Children
three plots east and west of them,
all but four never saw sunlight, gone
too quick for names. Here’s Junior
dead at 22 in the war, Eliza his twin
of heartbreak a month after him. Maryann
gone to influenza at 18 months, pretty red hair
damp against her pale face as she coughed
her last, Mama, Papa. Jacob at 15, drowned
in the pond out back of the house. You
told him not to dive. No one knows
the solitary meals you shared, holding
on to each other for fear of going crazy.
Here you both lie, sorrows like ghosts
over this place. Here you are. Hello.

**

**

enough / by Patty Joslyn

How much is enough?

Ten gallons
five hundred
half a stick of butter
two cups of sugar

the smell of your buttons stored in a tin box?

How much does wind weigh
your last breath
my thoughts of missing you?

Never enough.

Hello Friends,

This round up is coming a smidge late, due to some logistical factors outside of my control. But that doesn’t mean the poems won’t be delicious!

Thank you to Jennifer Basye Sander, Susan Kelly-DeWitt, Barb Barnes, Dawn (and Carly) Wessale, Ellen Johnson, Pat Nichol and Raquel Ruiz for generously donating to Tupelo Press on behalf of my month-long poetry writing “marathon”! These are the folks who have donated since the last round-up.

I want to share with you a favorite poem from each of us on the March “running” team this week. Enjoy!

And, if reading this poetry moves you, head over to the 30/30 Project website to read all of our daily poems, our bios, and to *donate*! Want a gift in thanks for your donation? Check out my special 30/30 project webpage and view what I have on offer, including the below one-of-a-kind gratitude poems and also the below limited edition broadsides !

Here’s to poetry!

Kate

**

One-of-a-kind Gratitude Poems~Kate’s gift to donors!

Would you like to receive, or to commission for a loved one, a new poem, written especially for you? Inquire to Kate directly at asche(dot)kate(at)gmail(dot)com to get the ball rolling for this donor gift! Here’s a sample:

Hands / by Kate Asche

(a poem in gratitude to Kathy, who supports Tupelo Press)

her hands work the dirt behind the house
into it her hands travel tomato seeds & squash
seeds for basil & Italian parsley
her hands mound soil neatly & carry water
her hands pull weeds, tender ones & cutting ones
her hands move in the chaos of shadows
her fingers twist & grasp red worlds, striped green worlds
galaxies of flowering thyme
she tastes what her hands have given her
she feels the tickle of juice on her lip
in its mineral sweetness: the flavor of her own blood
someday, too, her bones

Limited Edition Broadsides~Kate’s gift to donors!

Choose from these three designs! These low-res previews, for web viewing only, don’t show the lusciousness of these limited edition prints, produced using archival inks on sustainably manufactured bamboo fiber papers. Additional poems and/or alternate designs are available. Inquire to Kate directly at asche(dot)kate(at)gmail(dot)com!

**

Now, for my favorite selections from this week’s poems! Enjoy~

**

these little girls smash / by Ryder Collins

these little girls say, we know a way to tell if you have cancer
these little girls say, hold your hand in front of your face
these little girls say, your fate is marshmallows; your fate is chubby bunny
these little girls say, we get you, Gothel

these little girls climb into my hair

& when i go to sleep, bits of me fall off
small bits like skin cells & eyelashes, corneas & nosehairs
thumbs & pinky fingers

when i wake up
sometimes
i cannot button my buttons
i see double sometimes
sometimes my ear is pointed
sometimes my knees are janky creaking
like someone stole my ligaments or stretched them across the ceiling

& this little girl says, do you know you’re in a fairy tale

my hands are rampions; my tongue’s a rose thorn

this little girl says, look

this little girl holds her hand to my face

this little girl says, look again

**

Leaving Ken / by Patty Joslyn

Does anyone remember burning
their Barbie doll’s hair for the kink
it created

While Ken Carson lounged about
in his Bermuda shorts
skin tan and unblemished
all the while eyeballing the younger sister
Skipper innocently watching every move
the two of them made until Jazzie the cousin
arrived on the scene
a pink sports car
a palace of her own

I sawed off the heels of Barbie’s
shoes with a metal nail file (ruining it in the process)
allowing her to run
not walk into the arms of another
leaving Ken so he no longer have to worry
about messing up his hair or getting his white slacks dirty

The problems with me and Barbie
were plentiful and fanciful
and being her hair never did grow back
I gave her to my younger sister
who used the hard plastic body
to hit me on the head more than once
until our mother said enough that’s the end of that
as she took Barbie out with the other trash

That night I slept with a hairless Midge
hidden under my down pillow
and fell asleep with a smirk on my face

**

Dear Carole, Today I learned / by Sarah A. Chavez

that like humans, birds have
four-chambered hearts.
Can you imagine? In those tiny,
frail-boned bodies with feathers that float
right off in a healthy breeze.

That’s me as a bird, you’d said
one day on our drive home
from Food Maxx when I almost hit
a fat, slow, low-flying pigeon that ignored
the two thousand pounds of sun-hot, black metal
careening across the parking lot
as it focused in on a shiny
bag of Ruffles.

Stupid bird, I’d said. Get the fuck
outta the way before I hit you.

You’d hit me if I was a bird, you said.

You’re not a bird, I said, adjusting
the rearview mirror, checking
the bags in the back hadn’t tipped.

But if I was? you pushed. I’m fat and slow
and you’d just hit the fucking gas
and my fat bird body would splat
across your windshield. Dead.

Your fat bird body would probably
crack the windshield, I said, looking
right and left to merge
into Shaw Ave.’s midday traffic.
At least your bird death
cost me two hundred dollars.

You didn’t laugh.

Look it’s just Darwinism.
The slow get hit. But the smart?
They don’t. So what,
if you’re a fat, slow bird? You are
also a smart bird
who’d reason out waiting
till the death machine passed.
That’s when – when the only thing moving
across the parking lot is a dry wind
meandering through the Valley –
you’d tottle that round bird body
on its toothpick pegs
over to that shiny chip bag.
As a bird, you would have had it all.

**

Ode to Shoulders / by Carlene Kucharczyk

I love them. Two tall tents
side by side. A fire in between
and a little north. The fire
is your mouth. It burns,
it smolders, I kiss you,
pour water on it. It is easy
to love a man from the back,
the shoulders representative
of the body. My own, thin,
even when I am not (praise).
Not so obviously sexual
as the cunt, the cock.
Leading the body or held
back in repose. Shoulders,
lend me your grace, let you
stand for the whole.

**

**

**

Ghost / by Carol Willette Bachofner

1. inhabits my house like wallpaper, just underneath the new paint   2. no chain-dragger, she is elegant on the back stairs, holding her daughter’s hand for fear she may trip, make unnecessary noise to disturb us   3. she waits in the window of the front parlor, worries still about her husband, lost at sea  4. is this how it works, ghosts unable to find each other?  5. she wears black on holidays, her daughter too, though there is that red ribbon in her hair always  6. she warms to my smile, knows I am not afraid, knows I welcome them here  7. as if I had the right to decide who comes and goes 8. Last night she seemed unusually sad, crossing the room from the hallway with a slower step, a pinched look on her face  9. I decide to reach out to her, take her foggy arm to steady her gait  10. she fades at my touch and is gone until just before dawn 11. when I wake to a certain presence near my bed  12. it is her daughter who stirs me with a sigh  13. mother standing behind with a look that says to me   14. it’s fine that you are here in my house.

Hello Friends,

It’s been a manic week of poetry writing over here in my world! Thank you to Kathy Les and R.J. McComish & Peter Brown for breaking the ice and being the first to donate to Tupelo Press on behalf of my month-long poetry writing “marathon”!

I want to share with you a favorite poem from each of us on the March “running” team this week. Enjoy!

And, if reading this poetry moves you, head over to the 30/30 Project website to read all of our daily poems, our bios, and to *donate*! Want a gift in thanks for your donation? Check out my special 30/30 project webpage and view what I have on offer.

Here’s to poetry!

Kate

**

**

I Knew it Would Be Back / by Patty Joslyn

the feather I found
while walking
alongside the crashing ocean
was as black as my mood

I held it close to my face to remind me
of things familiar and lost

my own darkness complete
as was the feather

I slipped the silken barb into my trouser pocket
then turned to scare off the lone vulture
who turned its beaked face sideways to stare at me
I knew it would be back
for the eyes of the gray-white-gray gull

who can resist this shine

the caaaawww
woke me to the sound coming from my own throat
the ragged grief that had escaped

I knew the feather wasn’t mine to keep

my empty pocket
was what I’d be carrying home

**

At the End, a glosa variation / by Carol Willette Bachofner

— for Robin Williams, with 4 lines from Whitman

It’s hard to know who’s watching
so I stay in character until the weight
of the mask starts killing me, sucking my marrow.
The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me.

I watch the others, the hawks in the audience
or on the streets, where brass stars
in the sidewalk make false promises about us
He complains of my gab and my loitering,

this one hawk, the one with poison
on his beak. He swoops to peck
at my neck, but today I manage to hide.
I too am untamed, I too am untranslatable

I tell him. We are alike, we are dark
and prone to loneliness, have pierced
hearts, exist on our own carrion. I sound
my barbaric yawp over the rooftops of the world.

But he persists, circling day after day, waiting
just waiting for me to relax, to let go
a little. His yellow eye sees everything I am.
His blood-tipped beak opens and closes for me.

**

Miscarriage, December 2001 / by Sarah A. Chavez

The wind penetrates,
grips my ovaries,
purls the animal tissue
around in its spiny fingers
until dry,
they crumble
like winter husks
in the hands
of young boys.
I know
when I open
my legs,
only flecks
of frail bark will scatter
to the earth.

**

**

I Could Go On Singing / by Carlene Kucharczyk

The dogs with wavering eyes
walk through the mud and past
the tamaracks. What song will be sung
tonight by all of us here on earth
in one surprising chorus—soft
or biting—voices all in lift?

The sound. It is enough to ruin.
Earth with only its songs. Tough.
Important. Sharp and cool. Left
with only night and wanting
to stay open. It is late, there is
no time for talking. Nothing to hear

but cruel music. We have known:
nothing stays open. The frogs
go on chirping. The swings go creaking.
The clouds swim past and give a hiss.
A wolf howls and you think:
I could go on, I could go on singing.

**

in the basement pipes tube the floors/in the basement no one knows / by Ryder Collins

the sex that becomes the cigarettes that becomes Bette Davis that becomes Now Voyager that becomes now voyeur

your spectacle looks like a hat

your spectator becomes you miss

your big hat mint julep spectacle-spectator kentuckies you & there were never supposed to be horses & there are no pearls to clutch

the mens are watching. the mens subdued. the mens form a basement. the mens imperiled. the wolves they gone. in the woods. the mens are alone & the little girls have hoods. the little girls have baskets

the baskets hide things from basements. pokey things. like mangled wire hangers, curtain rods, pick axes, barbed wire

this park you take them to is like woods bereft of wolves. again. the wolves are gone. these men
stagger; these men chloroform. it is in them to gas mask;
it is always in them to laughing gas

& then pull teeth.

**

welter / by Mackenzie Carignan

for Violet

she will have been
the multitude
scroll of fractal cloud, wisp
the lift
tossed from glitter-skin folds
the place
to the softest cusp of arms
the reconciliation
how we couldn’t go there anymore
the smallest explosions imaginable
slate blue like the corners of ocean
the curve
alive and strings and bare and open
the scrutiny
she is the slightest form of day
the cleanest version of immersion
she will fall into you
the sphere
the storm
the space you didn’t know you had between your thoughts

For the month of March 2015, Kate is participating in the amazing 30/30 Project, an extraordinary challenge and fundraiser for Tupelo Press, a nonprofit 501(c)(3) literary press. Each month, a new group of volunteer poets runs the equivalent of a “poetry marathon,” writing 30 poems in 30 days, while their friends, family and writing communities “sponsor” and encourage them every step of the way. Read my and the other contributors’ daily poems here!

The volunteers for March 2015 are Kate Asche, Carol Willette Bachofner, Sarah A. Chavez, Patty Joslyn, and Carlene Kucharczyk. Read their full bios by clicking here.

Please support Kate by sponsoring her for any amount of money and/or by participating in one (or both!) of the low-cost fundraiser writing workshops she’s offering (see below) as she DRAFTS A *NEW* POEM EACH DAY ~ FOR 30 DAYS in a row!

View Kate’s special 30/30 project webpage for:

~ donation options;

~ Kate’s pledge to donate $20 from every private workshop registration received in March (Kate’s spring workshop is coming up, starting March 27!);

~ low cost one-day fundraiser workshops in all genres; and

~ *gifts for sponsors!*

And, watch this blog space as Kate posts poems, musings and thank-you’s to sponsors periodically throughout March.

Ready to sponsor Kate? Click here to donate; scroll down to the form at the bottom, and put “Kate Asche 30/30″ in the “Honor” field. Or, if you wish, email Kate at asche (dot) kate (at) gmail (dot) com to send your donation to Kate, who will lump all these together into one donation check at the end of the month; include your mailing address for both Kate and Tupelo to acknowledge you directly.

To read more about the Tupelo Press 30/30 project, including a complete list of our wonderful volunteer poets and to read their poems, please click here.

Dear Writers,

Ah, well, best laid plans…I have a secret strategy for new awesomeness for this blog, and life just seems bent on derailing it! So I have been pretty quiet. But I am ducking in for a short moment because I do NOT want you to miss out on this extraordinary opportunity to meet one of the best poets of our nation and time–and it’s free!

While I am at it, a quick reminder that my March workshop is filling; my summer and early fall workshops are also registering. Full info is here.

Stayed tuned for exciting things! And, if you haven’t yet, subscribe to my e-newsletter–write me at asche(dot)kate(at)gmail(dot)com to be added! (Yeah, that’s right. No sign-up form on the blog here. I am still old-school like that.)

Yours, as ever, in writing,

Kate

TOMORROW (Tues, 2/24): National Book Award Winner
Louise Glück
@ UC Davis

Time: 7:30 PM – 9:00 PM Location: Nelson Gallery

Louise Glück, former poet laureate and winner of the Pulitzer Prize, will read in celebration of Faithful and Virtuous Night, winner of the 2014 National Book Award.

This event is sponsored by the UC Davis Program in Creative Writing, the Nelson Gallery, the Davis Humanities Institute, the English Department, and Poets & Writers Magazine.

For more information please contact: Lucy Corin (lcorin@ucdavis.edu) Sarah Haughn (srhaughn@ucdavis.edu)

Hello, Writers!

The new year is right around the corner. What are you planning to support and strengthen your writing practice in 2015? Consider writing and/or revising with me! Registration for my 2015 workshops has been open for a few weeks now and they are filling. This year, I am also offering discount packages (with installment payment options) in addition to my usual value-priced single workshop enrollments. Based on some questions I have been receiving and to make the options easy to see, I developed this little info graphic. View the full workshop descriptions and details on the Workshops page of my website.

**BONUS: Remember that active workshop members get FREE use of ThinkHouse Collective for coworking on days the workshop meets! Also, current students and alums receive invitations to private parties and social events, designed to help you strengthen your writing relationships in the community–and, of course, have fun!

Email me today [asche(dot)kate(at)gmail(dot)com] with questions and for the registration form!

Yours in a new year full of good words,

Kate