SOCIALIZING ... (cont'd)

The chain of open-mic poets was only broken by the featured entertainment of the night: Jason Crane and THE POETS JAZZ TRIO.

Jason Crane

Mr. Crane read a selection of moving and mind-provoking pieces (but ii was a little miffed when he informed none of what he read that night would be found between the pages of his chapbook, Unexpected Sunlight, a poetry collection ii had just purchased). However, because ii was so thoroughly enthralled by his words and the delivery, thereof, ii am more than happy with my newly-bought "jewel".

Not to be outdone by Jason Crane's natural ability to knit words together, the precise musical accompaniment by the remaining trio, Dan Wilcox and Tom Corrado, were a most appreciated enhancement to the poet's spoken words.

The Poets Jazz Trio

By the way, Mr. Wilcox was also the host and MC for the night and Mr. Corrado read a poem of his own during open mic.

Dan Wilcox

photos/text (c) kvkhai 2010
all rights reserved

SOCIALIZING @ The SOCIAL JUSTICE

FACEBOOK (FB) is a world unto itself, as you may know, and being as such, it is a playground for those out-of-this-world events to which one would not be, otherwise, privy. Nothing "crazy", mind you, but something different and wonderful in its autonomous nature to share the lost, the found and, on occasion, the downright sublime.

II received a public invite (via FB) from Dan Wilcox - poet/writer extraordinaire - to attend The Third Thursday Open Mic at The ALBANY SOCIAL JUSTICE CENTER this past week, the 15th of July (a day after my birthday, just so you know :-). Since ii had never been to that location, prior, and was running a little late for the 7:00 start time, ii took a cab and paid $6 for a ride that was only seven blocks away from my own studio (yes, it was a waste but it happens). The best thing about the cab ride is that it was air-conditioned and, even though it was a mighty quick jaunt, spoiled me and heightened my sense of my right to be cooled on a hot, muggy day. Of course, that "right" was quickly dispelled upon entering the center at 33 Central Avenue in downtown Albany for the air/fan/circulation-less dwelling was beyond sweltering. II was greeted by the man, himself, and ushered into an open, office-like setting that neither technology or time remembered. Their byline, "Promoting social justice and welfare since 1981", lived up to being founded that year because the decor, itself, had not been updated since.

Now, do not think ii was disenchanted because ii was, actually, quite charmed by the place and its, obvious, steadfast passion to fight wars for people unable to fight their own - ii understood there was no passion left for decorating (although, ii must admit, ii couldn't shake images of the HGTV & the DIY Networks' various decorating and how-to shows that could help those update any decor lost in a time-warp).

Alan CatlinEd BlochBob SharkeyBrian ListonDon LevyW. D. ClarkeTom CorradoNow on to the festivities: there was a sign-up sheet for anyone who wanted to share their words and about sixteen writers wanted to do just that (only criteria: one poem & a 2-page limit per reader); and the Featured Guest for the evening was Poet Jason Crane of THE POETS JAZZ TRIO (including Dan Wilcox - yes, the same one - on Alto Sax + Percussion and Tom Corrado on Bass).

Alan CaslineMoses Kash, IIIJulie LomoeMalcolm WillisonAveryEd RinaldiD. Alexander HolidayTerry Bat-Sonja

II was creatively inspired by many readings, tickled by a few and was called to action by a couple. II look forward to catching more of these open mic events in the coming months and, perhaps, on one of those occasions, ii'll be inspired to read something of my own (but don't hold your breath ( :-D).

photos/text (c) kvkhai 2010

"say Hello to my YELLOW friend!"

B I B L E: Believe In Bountiful Life Everlasting

ii posted on my Facebook that the word BIBLE was an acronym for this: Believe In Bountiful Life Everlasting ... and the following comment was posted:

"Can you explain that to the victims of the inquisition, or the native americans, or any abortion doctor murdered, or any other sin committed in the name of your bible"

... and my reply:

"here are some facts about me: ii am a proud american of ethiopian/hebrew, cherokee/mohawk, korean, and italian descent, so ii descend from ppl who were incarcerated on the plantations, reservations, and concentration camps, for the most part, and have, personally, survived child/young adult rape, beatings, homelessness (the list goes on but ii don't want to bore u) and not once did the Bible, itself, commit any of those crimes ... guns don't kill, ppl do, but guns make it easier to do so ... so does blaming a "BOOK" for what crimes are carried out by EVIL ppl, no matter their beliefs, race, et al ... believe me, for every asshole who commits a hideous crime in the name of the Bible, there 10 others who do NOT (such as myself) ... it keeps my hope alive (what's wrong w/ that?) ... Love knows no boundaries and needs no cause - but HATE does ... ii pray your day is filled w/ love, happiness, and understanding ... God Bless and take care!"

just so you know, though ii am a hebrew/christian, ii am not religious ... ii accept all good, positive ppl into my fold, be they gay/straight, dark/light (can pertain to color and/or outlook), tall, short, fat, religious, agnostic, atheist (although ii am confused by their lack of belief in a Higher Power, ii love and accept them as He would) ... my job is not to judge (unless it's a murderer, rapist, terrorist, child molester, etc) - that is His job and if ppl stayed true to their own beliefs (w/out harm to others) this world would be a better place ... but alas, it's not suppose to be - that is the reason for which Heaven exists ( :-D)!

enough of this blabbering ... time for some fudge!!

La Traviata - 2005

Katy | MySpace Video

BREAKING AWAY

ii am beyond lazy and too darn broke to become the person ii dream of being. It is easier and less stressful (in the short run) to stay where ii am, who ii am and trust that God likes the me He made me to be and not the one about which ii fantasize. But still ...

ii want to break away

not run away

there's a difference, don't you know?

if ii break today and fly away

there'll be a place for me to go

instead of the hunger to run

leaving behind to become

the same one ii needed to run from.

kvkhai(c)2007/2010

D O R O T H Y

This poem was written for an elderly friend who had been in great pain and ill for awhile but was still excited about living and couldn't wait to greet every day with a kind word. II appreciated her fire and fervor for life and can only hope to live one with just as much passion.

For Dorothy G. Fischer (1929-2009):

Dance and sing on a silver cloud

O'er mountains built great and high

Revel in gentle sparrows proud

Of their sweetly-sung lullabies

Take a stroll along grasses plowed

Hop and skip through meadows by

Yellow daffodils snuggled in crowds

just delighted to be alive.

kvkhai(c)2007/2010

OPEN MIC-RONISM

Braving shrink-your-balls weather (even those without balls ... had them shrink, fall off, and roll away), a heartily determined small group of word lovers left the freezing temps outside and gathered in the warm air of the UAG Gallery to hear a trio of poets from Albany Poets recite their written work: Chris Brozek and Co-Presidents of the Hudson Valley Writers' Guild, Carolee Sherwood & Jill Crammond Wickham.

II, being of not-so-sound mind and delusions of impending greatness, made an attempt to record the festivities but, as you will see, fell short of completing that task to the best of my camera's ability (please forgive her - her name is "Camera D. Ass", just so you know ... she does make a gallant effort to record sound in which one can hear clearly - but she laughs in your face at your obvious ignorance to think that that is a given ... and on occasion, she does take a quality pic, however, that is only "on occasion" and at her discretion).

Please enjoy the video, anyway :-)

"NOT JUST YET"

I have a love affair:

NOT JUST YET

I am not ready to die -
not yet.
Not of want to shake His hand,
gleam wings among vapors
and mist.

Nor fruitlessly dodge
or side-step
the flames of eternity’s ire.

Not just yet.

I am not ready to be buried.
Not ready to burn -
ashes blown or thrown along
paths
I did not walk
when I was ash-less.

Not prepared
to leave …

Before I ping those wires -
thin,
sharp and taut - against
its neck.
And glide my fingers up,
down -
Caress and map blindly
its Italian bouts.

I am not ready to die.

Not even one moment
prior
to touching Antonio’s instrument.

k.v.khai (c) 2010

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!!