I drove over the crest of the hill to my home,
just as the sun was departing in a glorious inferno of red orange yellow.
Oh Nature, you can be such a show off!
I had to pull over and pause to pay tribute,
pause to marvel,
as human eyes have marveled for millennium.
I have never seen a creature not human
watch the sunset in awe,
and I muse that perhaps this is our raison d’être,
to simply pay homage to the magnificence of creation. [Read more…]
Geo-Poetic Spaces: Trump’s Toupée
Isn’t
Donald’s farting mouth that troubles me
his defecating lips
have done more for Democrats
than Quayle did for potatoes
or Palin’s Russian garden
did for geography
Isn’t the millions of dollars
Trump pisses into America’s living rooms
it’s the toupee that Whigs me out [Read more…]
Heroes and Fire Ants
In this season when we should be enumerating all of the reasons we feel grateful, many of us are feeling so overwhelmed by the number of critical issues that need to be addressed that it is nearly impossible to summon up gratitude.
We are disheartened by the pervasive tirade of mean-spirited, uninformed yelling coming from mass media and our neighbors. The temptation is to cocoon – to crawl into our personal space, lick our wounds and resign ourselves to defeat.
We can’t! We know deep down we can’t stop! [Read more…]
Excerpt From Sunshine/Noir II: Excavating San Diego Noir — A Jumping-Off Place
In Mike Davis’s seminal discussion of noir in City of Quartz he defines the genre as “a fantastic convergence of American ‘tough-guy’ realism, Weimar expressionism, and existentialized Marxism—all focused on unmasking a ‘bright, guilty place.’” Born in the minds of the “Depression-crazed middle classes” of southern California, the “nightmare anti-myth of noir” trafficked in alienation and a distrust of the morality of capitalism. More specifically, Davis notes how “noir everywhere insinuated contempt for a depraved business culture while it simultaneously searched for a critical mode of writing or filmmaking within it.” Thus in the “through-the-glass-darkly” novels of this new genre, early noir writers created “a regional fiction obsessively concerned with puncturing the bloated image of Southern California as the golden land of opportunity and the fresh start.” In so doing, they transformed “each charming ingredient of the booster’s arcadia into a sinister equivalent.” [Read more…]
Geo-Poetic Spaces: Aftermath
While the world
paints itself into corners
flowers of evil bloom:
Borders close
troops are called in
security tightens its grip on the free
liberty, abandoned for barricades [Read more…]
Geo-Poetic Spaces: Miosis
Under glaring lights
pupils constrict
earth gets smaller
Overwhelmed tide pools shrink
breathing becomes labored
fish run out of water
inches from sea [Read more…]
Geo-Poetic Spaces: Lying Through Teeth
It sucks
when grandma lies through teeth
chewing gums
selling machine embroidered cloth
as handmade lace
Blame it on the financial crisis:
doublespeak
for unnatural selection [Read more…]
Nana: Remembering an Island Girl
By Olympia Andrade Beltrán
Brown skinned and beautiful,
Island girl the youngest of six.
Inner fire bursting forth from dimpled smiles.
Her Island rises up from the streets of Sherman Heights,
a great temple where love and family are revered.
Ancient smells of chocolate and roasted chiles
mixed with silky ballads of Jorge Negrete
coloring her walk to Stockton Elementary school
with piñata vibrant flair.
Obsidian hair, wild and unruly,
whips behind her as she defies gender stereotypes
with a line drive to center field.
Playground boys high five her when the game is over,
despite sideways glances from starch pressed girls
tightly clutching their school books. [Read more…]
Excerpt From Sunshine/Noir II: The Rock – Resistance Barrio Logan Style
By Brent E. Beltran
Juanito held the rock firmly in his hand—almost too firmly, as his knuckles turned white from the pressure. He stood there shaking, and tears slowly fell from his reddened eyes. A wheezy cough escaped his tight lungs as the eleven-year-old stood on Harbor Drive facing the towering cranes that loomed over this toxic barrio. Every breath he took was a challenge. The setting sun cast a powerful glow of purples and oranges across the radiant, polluted sky.
He had grown up on these neglected streets, a Barrio Logan native in more ways than one. He stood there with rock in hand as semi trucks rumbled past, hauling bananas picked by people that looked just like him. The vehicles added more pollutants into the atmosphere as they traveled to various points north and east. That rock, smooth from centuries of ocean water beatdowns, weighed heavy in his trembling hand. [Read more…]
Geo-Poetic Spaces: My Family Thinks I’m a Pot Farmer
Got to wonder
if my family has a contact high
when they call out of purple haze
to ask if I’m a marijuana farmer
Hydroponically speaking
I don’t have a pot to piss in
not that I’m opposed
to organic chemotherapy
or the buzz of tax revenues
instead of drug wars [Read more…]
It Was in the Back of my Mind …
By Jeeni Criscenzo
It was in the back of my mind
in line with everything I’ve meant to do,
to visit you
and get a personal tour of your gardens.
But days flew by
and well, you know how it goes,
though our paths crossed occasionally
elsewhere,
I never got there. [Read more…]
Excerpt from Sunshine/Noir II: Samsay on the Porch
Editor’s Note: We’ll be publishing excerpts from Sunshine/Noir II: Writing from San Diego and Tijuana, an anthology of local writing about San Diego over the coming weeks, starting with the chapters written by SD Free Press writers. As City Works Press co-editor Jim Miller says in his introduction: “…San Diego is still a city in need of a literary voice, a cultural identity that goes beyond the Zoo, Sea World, Legoland, and the beach. With Sunshine/Noir II we persist in our romantic, perhaps Sisyphean, effort to address this need and expose the true face of “the other San Diego.”
By Anna Daniels
The sudden attentiveness of the cats alerted me to the faint sounds coming from the front porch. Moments before they were curled like fur commas around the suitcase that was splayed open on the bed. I straightened up from the suitcase that I had just finished packing and turned toward the window and the darkness beyond. [Read more…]
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