The food was awesome and I got to take a nap two days in a row. I wished I had the courage to venture out in to the shopping nightmare so many stumble and grunt through with the whites of their eyes cracked with red veins, and their bank accounts thumping against the glass ceiling of living beyond their means.

I had a marvelous time with my mom, sister, nieces and Malcolm, my sister’s boyfriend, along with my husband, his momma the birthday girl, his pops, and the great Jackie Wilson!

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Free write

Nothing I buy is ever that expensive.  I am a bargain shopper so when I lose it or break it I don’t feel the sting. Everything
around me
is purposely
Cheap items are expected to break quick
I wait on it like fridays
Can’t wait to go and hunt down
The next cute worthless knock off of the real thing and that’s part of the pleasure
The hunt for the perfect plastic
Partition from commitment…

Eh. I will work on this.


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Cristine Craig – Crow Poem

I had to share this. I am reading “Jamaica Woman” an anthology of poems. And you as well should find it and read it. I am sure you will discover yourself in its pages as I did. Enjoy.


Crow Poem by Christine Craig

I want so much to put
My arms around you but
Extended they are feathered
Vanes, snapped, tatty things
No longer curving.

My voice wants to say things
About blue skies, blond sand,
Yet a rasping, carrion croak
Jets from my beak
Sharp edged.

Condemned to live a life for which
I am ill suited, improperly
Dressed. Perhaps there is out there
One crow, wheeling over the city dump
Convinced she is a woman.

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Napowrimo #3 April 6, 2013

Holding down the counter in my neighborhood hippie diner. All the witresses have tattoos, one chin and breathing dreams. There is local artwork on the walls. Potheads in every corner. Bluegrass in my earholes. A chill travels up my pant leg. Louisville just won. I just yawned. The owner is a redskins fan. I avoid eye contact. My stomach groans. Services are rendered. I pay and leave. I remember that my baby is sleeping peacefully four houses down. I turn around and walk
in that direction, thinking of the strangers I smiled at for practice, carrying dead flesh, hot for consumption. I hear her cries as I approach, my dream, alive and breathing.

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Napowrimo #2 April 5, 2013

Cinquain Form #2

Line1: A noun

Line2: Two adjectives

Line 3: Three -ing words

Line 4: A phrase

Line 5: Another word for the noun



hung, decapitated,

flapping, writhing, dripping

a mirror of blood on the barn floor while farm boy ponders-



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Napowrimo #1 April 1, 2013

Napowrimo #1 April 1, 2013.


so here we go people. hopefully they’ll get better from here. lol.


lizz :)

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Napowrimo #1 April 1, 2013

no poet lives here

no sir-ree

the women who lives here hasn’t

touched a mic in years

I hear she doesn’t even keep a pen

on her person anymore for

every time she leaves the

universe on a


no slick slang supplicating her literary

luminosity to piss off the academia

and i ain’t no snitch

but I have a feeling that wherever she is

she wishes her tongue was catapulting bricks in to the crowd

at a glass home owners association meeting

my mind is a wetland with red clay center

the ideas it produces are rooted in


fortified with a crackling layer of silence

that I fight like holy hell to dig beyond

I bet she and I would get along

maybe adulthood has also scooped out her gusto

with a wooden spoon

whipped up some unleavened dough from it

baked a good life

that gives her


a mother

worthy of the


but i ain’t no psychic either

my wildest guess is she is sucking cupcake

icing from hollowed fingers

crumbling sediment

in between home row keys

teaching her

child the rainbow of possibilities

that no longer shimmer

in between her


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