2010!!!

Desktop Wallpaper & MySpace Layouts

"REALLY, REALLY"

I was sitting for the gallery on a particular day (i forget which) when one of the "patrons" was a lost soul finding art for the first time. How wonderful ... until he got close ... and the following was my found art:

REALLY, REALLY

My head is really, really hurtin'

'cause your booty really, really stinks

you haven't washed in a bazillion years -

that's what me really, really thinks.

A shower with a whole lotta soap

would serve you really, really well -

then you'd smell like Heaven

'stead of the ass-crack of hell!


k.v.khai (c) 2009

WHERE, OH, WHERE ... ?

It was a sad, sad day when only Mary and Keith from Albany Poets showed up for tonight's Open Mic.

Where, oh, where were the poets, the audience and the questionable? Out shopping for the season (if that's the case, where the hell is my gift ;-)??

We waited until 7:45 to officially cancel it and then lo & behold, someone tried to come in just before eight o'clock ... sorry buddy, better luck next time. See you in January ... hopefully!

WHEELED ON LARK

"JUST NOT ENOUGH"

Finding contentment is slightly difficult after surviving so much pain but being able to thrive (ie. happiness, good health and success) is a rare bird not seen too often in my parts. But i keeping looking for her.

JUST NOT ENOUGH

i am of no worth
here
on this earth -
every breath i take, i waste

for when i fell down
and
broke my crown
i lost my sense of grace

my innocence and beauty
felt
it their duty
to leave and never return

so, i sit and wait
although it's too late

to unlearn what i've learned

i have learned this
and
barely, just this:
this life must be lived and loved

each breath that one takes
must not be a waste

Surviving is just not enough.

k.v.khai (c) 2006/2009

OOPSIE!

Check out ALBANY POETS to see how last night's Open Mic went,

Although, I was there - saw, touched and heard things - my ability to render any coherent description has been, obviously, shredded to pieces and buried somewhere off the coast of Maine.

AND i forgot my camera (she might take crappy pics but at least she tries to do her job) and ...

The next Open Mic is sometime in December (???) ... see you there ... maybe ... not ...

It's one of those daze!

MAKING MERRY & MAYHEM at the MIC

Emceed by Mary Panza, the ALBANY POETS did not disappoint when they sponsored another Open Mic at the UAG a couple nights ago. Anyone, whether a member or not, could sign up to read their poetry, songs, thoughts, ideas, short stories, etc and perform them for an eager audience.



Three of my favorites: Dan Wilcox, read a few pieces which encompassed "The Beach" and "Zombie Gourd" (a nod to Halloween, no doubt); Cynthia Solywoda (below) performed an original song (a cappella) and read excerpts from a piece that included a language she created (and its translation); and Don Levy's "Getting Older by the Minute" struck a cord in everyone above the age of ten.


Other people at the mic were Thom Francis & Keith Spencer (better known as "Murrow"), Michael Purcell, Chris Borzek, and Bob Sharkey.

All were simply brilliant!!!

"TO FORGIVE"

I had been thinking about forgiveness and struggling to find its true meaning for many, many years. I have, basically, come to the conclusion that it's a concept and is, in actuality, an abstract. Not as concrete as I'd like to believe.
Certain questions usually arise: How can one truly forgive and honestly forget? Why is one's expectation for forgiveness visited on the other person and not on one's self? How do I, specifically, lesson the cost of forgiveness without diminishing its decisiveness? ...

I want to forgive my mother (and myself) so, a few years ago, I wrote the following:

TO FORGIVE

Let us kiss and make up before we die
Burn our sorrows over charred coals

And look for truth not in those lies
That our memories eventually wrote

Let us dance and sing before our demise
Let us speak what we should have spoke

And simply see through each other's eyes
To let go of out hearts remote.


Copyright 2006/2009 KVKhai,

POETS PRODUCE PASSIONATE PROSE at The UAG

The Upstate Artists Guild of Albany, NY

was the place to be last night.

Not only were figurative

and photographic art on

display, but so was the

written kind. The writers

from Albany Poets added

a touch of intellectual

ambiguity to a backdrop

of in-your-face outsider,

graffiti, and street art

(current exhibit is

TAG IT

and runs 'til the 25th

of September, 2009).

Though prose was

highlighted, rhyme also

had a place among thoughts, wonders and actualities that were

recited and then hung in the air before disappearing to that place

where all things go to disappear.

If you missed last night,

not to worry: POETRY

OPEN MIC NIGHT will

be held the 2nd Friday

for the next three

months -

Oct, 9th;

Nov, 13th; &

Dec, 11th

from 7ish to 9ish pm.

Again, the guild will host these nights at the gallery -

247 Lark Street - and Albany Poets will sponsor them.

These events are FREE but DONATIONS will be GREATLY

APPRECIATED (;-D)!

At The MIC:

1.Sylvia Barnard

2. Alan Siegel

3. Tom (just "Tom")

4. Kevin Peterson

5. Todd Fabozzi

6. R.M. Engelhardt

7. Matt Galletta (not pictured)

Plus a special reading with musical accompaniment was done by

Thom Francis and Keith Spencer of MURROW (I was moved by their

piece about 9/11).

"KEEPING COMPANY"

She thought it was a small cat scurrying across the lanes, skipping yellow lines two at a time, trying to avoid the eastbound red and white truck impregnated with cola products and the line of thread-connected, bumper-to-bumper cars headed west. She watched as its slick black fur glistened with patches of white as it drank in and reflected the rays of the sun. At second glance, it must be a skunk, she thought. She wrinkled her nose in an anticipated disgust, bracing herself against the odor the poor, frightened animal was sure to give off.
But the stench never materialized.
She kept staring and thought she saw quills rise and fall within its pelt. A black porcupine? Is there such a thing, she asked? Or maybe it’s one of those possum thingies. Oh-possum is the correct name, Sarah, she reminded herself - opossum.
She adjusted her glasses. Not the ones she usually wore (she couldn’t find those). But the old ones, the old emergency ones, gold-rimmed and scratched which were tucked away in her nightstand drawer. She adjusted them again and blank twice, setting the book she was reading down beside her.
But then she thought better of it and picked up her purse, retrieved her book and moved further down the park lane to the bench closest to her building. She sat down and then noticed that the little guy had made it across the roadway.
“No! It’s not a damn porcupine, you idiot”, she blurted out, half chuckling. It has to be one of those rare, black squirrels I saw on the Discovery Channel, she thought. “With that Hannah guy. Or was that Letterman?”
She tried to go back to the book that had so enthralled her moments before but couldn’t concentrate on the word-worn pages. She lost sight of him, briefly, and wondered if he were hungry and had a family. Or was he a loner like she? When he reappeared from behind the park’s fence and started to make his way down the lane towards Sarah, she reached in her purse rummaging for that granola bar she swore she had yet to devour. She found the empty rapper.
“Sorry, kiddo … I must’ve eaten it”, she said into her purse.
And when she looked up, she shook her head in disbelief, causing her ill-fitting glasses to slide towards the tip of her nose.
“You, idiot”, she said aloud to herself as he blew across her boots, landing a few steps away from the bench and settling in a patch of sun-burned grass. “It’s a damn plastic bag!”
She huffed and sighed and continued shaking her head. And when her phone beeped, alerting her that her break time was over, she gathered her things, stood and as she walked away, she saw the black bag keeping company with other unwanted trash and said, “I guess you’re not alone after all.”

* * * THE END * * *
k.v.khai (c) 2009

GOING, GOING, GONE

Well, the extended deadline has come and gone ... and without so much of an once of work from yours truly!

Not to worry, there's a bazillion other contests that I will surely enter, pay for with my hardly-earned money, and lose to someone else whose work is more questionable than my own.

Have to go and get ready for ART On LARK (more about that: studioofhand-kraftedart.blogspot.com

May everyone's week be wonderful and unfold into a weekend filled with love, laughter, and fun!!

I MISSED A FEW ...

Due to the annoying illness that sidelined me for the better part of the Spring season, I missed a few deadlines (mostly, pertaining to my crafting). But even my writing has suffered: the initial deadline for the Annual Writer's Digest Contest was the 15th of May (needless to say, I missed it). But thank Goodness they also offer a later, final deadline of June, 1st at an additional cost of $5 per entry (price depends on category and amount of work to be entered). So try as I may, I am steadily moving towards completing at least one new short story (although my goal is to enter 3 pieces for this contest that I always dream of winning). I was trying to write all brand new pieces but might have to go into the "once upon a long, long time ago" vault and dust off an oldie. Only time, and the ability to hold onto my sanity, will tell if this is doable.

I won't be posting any of those entries until after the contest but here is something else:

NEW YORK LOST

I thought of you today
as the forgotten clouds slept
and their rains ceased
to exist
to drown
to wash away those long, lost days

And thoughts of you when I
was hollow at eighteen
and you filled me
with promise
with hope
with pride in a new me, yet to be -

A better one than what I was
when you touched me
and gave to me
a place
a wonder
a kinship to remember

But that was before the eleventh
of that broken September.

Copyright - KaVA, Ink - 2008/2009

"FAILING TO REMEMBER"

I honestly believe that if more people picked up a pen (or a paintbrush, a few crayons, a needle and thread or an extra can of tuna) there'd be no room in one's nervous fingers to pick up a handgun. Creative endeavors are therapeutic wonders that I wish everyone could enjoy. But I, like others, sometimes find myself at a loss for words and with a pound less of energy to "create" anything.

There are two times in the year when I promise to make amends of not creating enough: the "New Year" in January (or, depending on the culture, any other month deemed to be the beginning) and the "REAL" New Year's Day for everyone - their BIRTHDAY! Mine begins mid July and to mark this occasion I sometimes write a poem. In 2005, I wrote the following piece questioning my lack of writing and the hope that my new journal would hold a plethora of pleasurable word excursions (just so you know, out of 200 journal pages, only six were punished with my ramblings):

What happened during those years
When I failed to pick up a pen?
No words were painstakingly written
No parchment was my friend

No hushed secrets did I whisper
No fighting thoughts did I think
Mere sentences were not treasured
No darkened wells lost their ink

Those years are now buried
Scattered deep along a past stroll
My memory fails to remember
Those that are now way too old

But another year is upon me
What new things will it birth?
My journal, alone, will hold them true
Loved and pregnant with their worth.

Copyright - KaVA, Ink - 2005/2009

IT'S A WRITER'S BLOG FOR ME - WOO HOO!!

This blog will be a dangling but connected thread to my other blog:

studioofhand-kraftedart.blogspot.com

As you may or may not know, I'm an artist/designer/illustrator/crafter/yadda, yadda,yadda and also a writer. And with this journal, in particular, I'll continue to keep abreast of local, new and favorite happenings in the written world of those anti-socialists with pens in hand ... much like the Poetry Readings at the UAG (previously reported on SOH-KA).

But mostly, I will be selfish (fingers crossed) and list my own written works that are in-progress and/or completed. Just so you know, I write poetry, mostly short stories and am presently working on a couple of children's books, a graphic fantasy novel and a few other things I have yet to wrap my psychosis around.

Please continue to follow my other blog for my and other's artistic and crafty endeavors.