Patasola’s Parlor

April 18, 2013 in conflicted eXXistence blog, Events, Poetry, Poetry Events, Poetry I Wrote

Last night I read about ten minutes of poetry at Patasola’s Parlor, a monthly reading and performance series coproduced by Lisa Marie Basile and Emily Linstrom, two powerhouse NYC poets for whom I’ve had immense respect for ages. I’ve participated in The Poetry Brothel with LMB for a while now, and have never once failed to be blown away by her work, so I was thrilled to be asked to read at her event, alongside poet Katie Longofono, storyteller Mike Amato, and burlesque artists Coco Te Amo and Zee Valenteen. But I was nervous.

Poetry is kind of my privileged child. I love to write poems, but I’ve never become much of a student of poetry. I’ve never gotten into the poetry “scene” or gotten familiar with the zines and journals. I don’t read a whole lot of poetry. I don’t attend many readings. I guess that or me, poetry has always been one form of expression that I enjoyed creating in kind of a vacuum. It’s not that I don’t want other people to enjoy it–I totally do. But if other people DON’T enjoy it, or want to publish it, or whatever, that’s fine with me. It’s my baby. My little bubble of self-expression that I don’t really work at. I’ve shared it at Poetry Brothels and put a few poems out into the world in a few publications, but it’s never been My Thing. So I have no real idea if anyone out in the world would enjoy what I write, aside from the often-drunken crowds at the Poetry Brothel who always politely listen and clap, but never give much feedback. Who knew if anyone else would want to listen to me read?

Last night I got to find out! First off, Lisa Marie gave me the most STUNNINGLY awesome intro EVAR. I asked her to introduce me however she wanted, and holy moly, I got more than I expected. I wish I had a video of the whole thing, because I forget the specifics, but the word “brilliant” may have been in there, along with the word “respect” and something about how I write about sex in a way that doesn’t suck. I was totally amazed and honored to have a woman for whom I have so much respect and love say such awesome things about me. Wow. Frealz.

And then I got up in front of everybody and started reading this poem called “Monster Side,” and when I was finished, everyone clapped and someone in the crowd yelled, “I LOVE YOU!” I mean. Holy shit, people. My stars were aligned. People were clapping and cheering and laughing at the right parts, and everyone enjoyed my poems. It was fabufreakingtastic.

After everything was said and done, one of the people in the crowd told me that he found my poetry very visceral, which I take as a massive compliment. It’s not that I don’t see an appeal to esoteric poetry and philosophical weirdness, but for me, poetry comes from a very deep well of emotion. I almost never write it unless I’m on a high or a low, and it usually hurts or pleasures me to do it. So yes, visceral indeed.

And then I met the girl who said she loved me, and she is lovely, and a poet, and she might come over to my house sometime to work on some art projects with me and my partner Jayel.And I won a raffle and now I have two of Lisa Marie Basile’s chapbooks to read (yessss) and I even got a free drink ticket!

So, yes, world. My poetry is apparently quite good according to other people. And life is beautiful. Oh, and Lisa’s press, Patasola Press, is accepting submissions until the end of the month, so GET ON IT!

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A Litany for Survival

March 7, 2013 in conflicted eXXistence blog, Lynsey G, Poetry at Large

I can’t believe I’ve never read this before. Mind = blown.

For those of us who live at the shoreline
standing upon the constant edges of decision
crucial and alone
for those of us who cannot indulge
the passing dreams of choice
who love in doorways coming and going
in the hours between dawns
looking inward and outward
at once before and after
seeking a now that can breed
futures
like bread in our children’s mouths
so their dreams will not reflect
the death of ours:

For those of us
who were imprinted with fear
like a faint line in the center of our foreheads
learning to be afraid with our mother’s milk
for by this weapon
this illusion of some safety to be found
the heavy-footed hoped to silence us
For all of us
this instant and this triumph
We were never meant to survive.

And when the sun rises we are afraid
it might not remain
when the sun sets we are afraid
it might not rise in the morning
when our stomachs are full we are afraid
of indigestion
when our stomachs are empty we are afraid
we may never eat again
when we are loved we are afraid
love will vanish
when we are alone we are afraid
love will never return
and when we speak we are afraid
our words will not be heard
nor welcomed
but when we are silent
we are still afraid
So it is better to speak
remembering
we were never meant to survive.”
―Audre Lorde, The Black Unicorn: Poems 

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Thirsty

January 23, 2013 in conflicted eXXistence blog, Lynsey G, Poetry, Poetry I Wrote, Shameless Self-Endorsement

Thirsty

I cannot get enough water in me.

I am forever melting things:

Drenching your hands until they slide away,

I shiver down your torso into a puddle,

Panting and parched.

I am now dripping droplets all day without you,

Slowly;

Greedily, I gulp under the showerhead;

Duck furtively to lap from the faucet;

Arch my neck to capture the sound of satiety

As I pour glass after glass

Through the overused filter in the fridge;

Sip down too much tea;

Slosh through booze of every variety,

With a brimming glass of water between each drink.

And still I wake, dry and itching,

A crusted, crackled stack of needs.

The sunrise separates inside the transparent tumbler,

The liquid prisming sunlight into my eyes.

I wait for you to open yours, too,

To crinkle a smile and whisper,

“I’m still thirsty.”

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Husk

November 27, 2012 in conflicted eXXistence blog, Lynsey G, Poetry, Poetry I Wrote, Shameless Self-Endorsement

Photo by Guido Mocafico

Rub your spine against me

To scrape off the old skin.

Press a thumb to the underside of the

Square corner of my jaw.

Remind me what life is

And where the throbbing stars lie in the heavens.

 

Each vertebra you grind into my knuckles

Is a wish for later years.

 

A whistle in the darkness

Can summon the spirits,

But I am dried up

Already, as I watch your shoulder blades in the kitchen

And try to summon tears.

 

What will become of me

In the empty winters ahead,

Never as icy as before the calamities

But never, either,

As painless.

I will ache here and there,

Red starbursts behind eyelids

And jumping from elbow to ankle,

Stretching myself naked along the leather of the sofa

And collapsing

In avalanche after avalanche,

Pondering tectonics into this whiskey,

And pontificating hollowly

Upon the Northern Lights I saw once

In a memory

Of a summer night.

 

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From the NYC Poetry Festival…

July 29, 2012 in conflicted eXXistence blog, Lynsey G, Poetry, Shameless Self-Endorsement

Shenanigans!

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Poetry, Poetry, Poetry

July 23, 2012 in conflicted eXXistence blog, Poetry, Poetry I Wrote

I’m going to go ahead and post a poem. Because I spent all weekend reading and listening to poetry at the Second Annual New York City Poetry Festival on Governor’s Island, and dammit, this shizzle is fo’ rizzle! (That rhymed! Ah, poetry is everywhere!!)

I stole this from The Poetry Society of New York's page. Yes I did.

Broad Strokes

I will never rip a single bird

from among its flock, spread low over the field,

and devour it raw

there amidst the ankle-high autumn cornstalks.

I am not that specific.

 

But it’s possible

I’ve been pulled so hard

from above and below

at one time,

stretched even by my own doing,

that near my belly-button

there could be a single

fine

strand

of me

stronger than the guts

that holds together stubbornly.

This piece may be

so fine

that if you were to twist,

you could paint what I am

in gorgeous script

on a single starling’s eye.

 

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Research, Readings, and WTF?!

July 19, 2012 in conflicted eXXistence blog, Events, Lynsey G, Poetry, Poetry Events, Poetry I Wrote

Several things you all should know about:

1) I’m researching the issue of adult performers and health care and have gotten some interesting leads. I’m trying to get in touch with Amber Peach about her article on Huffington Post, and have planned a few chats with performers about the issue.

2) The Second Annual New York City Poetry Festival is this weekend on Governor’s Island, and yours truly will be there! I’ll be doing a public reading at around 1:45 on Saturday afternoon (as part of the Poetry Brothel showcase), and will be lounging around before and after it, and some of the day on Sunday, waiting for people to pay me to read to them in my corset and sexitude. Drop by! Any event on Governor’s Island is basically an excuse for sitting on a blanket in the sun (this weekend is supposed to be gorgeous!) and drinking (covertly) all the wine you can.

3) And I stumbled across this sweet slice of utterly mind-boggling weirdness while searching for old Ren & Stimpy clips last night on the internet. Even for John Kricfalusi and Björk, this is BATSHIT. And it’s been around since 1996. And I’ve never seen it before. WHAT is going on here?!

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Poor Mouth Poetry this Wednesday

July 9, 2012 in conflicted eXXistence blog, Events, Lynsey G, Narcissistic News, Poetry, Poetry Events, Poetry I Wrote

Come one, come all, to my featured reading at An Beal Bocht‘s monthly Poor Mouth Poetry open mic night! I’ll be spouting poetry and the like for 10-15 minutes as the featured reader, and a whole host of other talented writers will read their work as part of the open mic. It’s sure to be tantalizing and inspiring and delicious–this place serves Irish bar food with the best of ‘em. It may be all the way up in Riverdale, but honestly, how often do you go Riverdale? And what could possibly be a better reason to venture north?

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Closed Circuit

June 16, 2012 in conflicted eXXistence blog, Lynsey G, Poetry, Poetry I Wrote

A closed circuit,

you said.

The intertwining of us so complex

we could not unlock our lips

at 5 am.

 

You struck

deeper

than I knew I was.

The colors of our eyes melted

into a new spectrum behind the sound of rain—

or was there thunder that night?

Or just the darkness?

 

In my body, a hollowing out,

an expansion.

My pulse did not quicken.

It broadened into echoes

in the cavern opening in my chest.

Our ribs scraped together,

and we erupted into flame.

 

A spreading wide of my fingertips,

in the way I’d thought

as a child

I would someday awake to myself.

The ridges rising silently

from my shoulder blades,

dug into the comforter or sheet or pillow.

Or was it the carpet?

 

And now the skin

has begun

to peel

from my knees, my knuckles, the tops of my feet.

I am transforming,

a wet and writhing thing

all tentacles or horns or claws or spirit,

wriggling, grotesque, massive.

 

And the buds on my back—

they may be molten leather wings—

could rip through the mattress,

surrounding us in a flurry—

an electrical storm—

of brown and white feathers.

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Poetry Brothel at Figment NYC this Weekend! Wheeeee!

June 7, 2012 in Art, Events, Lynsey G, Poetry, Poetry at Large, Poetry Events, Poetry I Wrote, Shameless Self-Endorsement

The New York Poetry Brothel will be at Figment this weekend on Governor’s Island, lounging our finest whore wear! The festival is going to be aMAZing and full of collaborative (and free!) art for attendees to admire and help create, music, dancing, face-painting, and weirdness of all kinds! I may be less my usual Fanny Firewater character than some pink-feather-haired fairy creature. But I WILL have my book-o-poems and lots of enchantment, so come out if you’re in the New York City area! All’s fair at Figment!

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