Denise R. Weuve

Ink Damage and Other Permanent Stains

Archive for the tag “Napomo”

Day 11 ~ Elena Karina Byrne


Screen Shot 2015-04-11 at 10.57.37 AMTonight Beyond Baroque brings the rare treat of two amazing women poets that have given their hearts and efforts to the City of Los Angeles. Yesterday I spotlighted Suzanne Lummis, and today I spotlight the renouned Elena Karina Byrne. She has worked so tirelessly in the arts for so long, that many of you already know and admire her. Her poems “irregular Masks” was featured in The Best New American Poetry 2005 and she is a Pushcart Prize winner.

She curates poetry readings at Ruskin Art club and is the moderator for Poetry at the Los Angeles Times Book Festival.

If you are at all near the Venice area tonight. Perhaps taking in a lovely dinner, than you need to get over to Beyond Baroque to hear this woman read along with Suzanne Lummis.

More importantly you can be part of the celebration when she is awarded the George Drury Smith Outstanding Achievement in Poetry Award and Distinguished Service Award, tomorrow night. Elena Karina Byren epitomized both outstanding achievement and distinguished Service. A wise choice by Beyond Baroque, and you can see her accept this award by purchasing tickets.

Here is a taste of the poetry you will be treated to, tonight, courtesy youtube.


Day 10 ~ Suzanne Lummis

This Sunday, LA is honoring two powerhouse forces in poetry. The first I am spotlighting is Suzanne Lummis. This woman is indeed a fabulous poet, but she is also a teacher, editor, performer, historian, and an inspiration. To inspire is to breathe life into and there is proof that she does this, not just through the many students she has taught via UCLA extension courses and her workshops but her very words.   What Ms. Lummis does for poetry in Los Angeles is far reaching and celebrates the city’s history. There is an interview on NPR with Suzanne conducted by Jacki Lyden that you must listen to, the interview covers Suzanne in the city of angels, from her mugging to her love of the L.A. River.  She loves this city, and she celebrates her with the poetry of the noir.


Suzanne has been a staple in the L.A. Poetry scene for over 30 years, recently releasing her book Open 24 Hours that won the Blue Lynx Poetry Prize (2103). The Wide Awake: Poetry of Los Angels and Beyond had the great fortune of having her as an editor. But I first saw her work in a very used copy of Stand Up Poetry that she co-edited with Charles Harper Webb. In this anthology she showed us all that humor is possible in poetry as is with and mastery of the word. I always sold my books back to the bookstore, always, I was poor. I didn’t give that book back, and I still have it in my bookshelf nearly 20 years later. (Side note, I reread the whole anthology before writing this, and confirmed it will go nowhere). The New Yorker featured poems from Suzanne about six months ago, and you can hear the poem here.


There is no wonder that this Sunday Suzanne is receiving Beyond Baroque’s

George Drury Smith Outstanding Achievement in Poetry Award and Distinguished Service Award. And she epitomized both outstanding achievement and distinguished Service. A wise choice by Beyond Baroque, and you can see her win this award by purchasing tickets.


If you haven’t the time to make it to the award ceremony, but find Saturday night open, Suzanne will be reading her work (with her co-recipient, Elena Karina Byrne) at Beyond Baroque and you can be there to hear it. Check out all the information here.  Hope to see you at one or both of these events as we celebrate Suzanne Lummis


The Perfect Man
         By Suzanne Lummis

     For the men who’ve asked me,
      “Why isn’t there a perfect man
      in any of your plays?” 

.                 He’s lonely.
There is only one of him.
He’s like the last-of-its-kind
someone captured
and shipped back to the zoo.
.                  Except he
has never been captured, only
by the mirror which captures
his image, speaks
the same reassurance:
you are the fairest…
He sighs and straightness his tie.
It’s terrible being a myth.
Why can’t he do goofy
ordinary things —
cruise down boulevards,
be in a play?
.                  He turns
and moves through his rooms,
their identical
fields of light, their curious
absence of shadow.

Why can we not find him?
.                  Late,
very late, when the women
of this earth lie asleep,
he sighs, then packs up his costumes:
the formal wear, leather jacket,
the ski gear of a down-hill racer…
You see?
He’s obliged to break into our dreams.
Now he will begin his long run,
through cities and provinces, from
sleek condominiums to the Highway’s
last chance hotels.
It’s a delicate task
getting in.
If we wake we might catch
the tapping of his small
silvery hammer, its ping
We might think we hear
for a moment,. just
as it vanishes, the sledge
of some convict, some far away
prisoner, crazy to get out.


From Caffeine Destiny



Suzanne Reading Femme Fatale (from


Day 3~He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Poem

By Cari Cunningham (photographer)

“What We Carry” By Cari Cunningham (photographer)

It seems we are either being carried or carrying something.  A wallet, yesterday, purse, groceries, grudge, love, resentment, a baby, cross.

We carry so much with ever asking why?  Or what am I really carrying here?

So today let’s make this simple.  Write about what you carry.  Metaphorical or Literal.  Have fun with it, write about where you are taking this (these) thing(s).  Why are you carrying it?  As you get ready to carry that laptop somewhere nice and comfortable to sit and pound a key or two, i’ll give you my offering on this one, and a few lines from students.


Sara Lopez-I carry the shattered pieces of my heart in a snack bag.  Every time there is a hunger in your angel eyes, I hand it over willingly, only for you to crush it between your teeth and spit it out just like before.

Brian King-I carry a God like presence that radiates through all time.

Sabrina Guttierrez- I carry boulders in my shoes.


Holy Mother


Once I crowned Mother Mary,

with baby’s breath, and mini peace roses

the color of blushing cheeks

woven with satin ribbons

of dove white and olive-green.


That Friday, as school

was winding down

my saddle shoed feet,

rolled socks,

plaid Catholic School skirt


through the church garden

past blooming bell flowers

waiting to bust open

for a bee’s pleasure,

in a rhythmic strut

to “Hail, Holy Queen”


My palms up

nothing to hide

nothing to gain

nothing to lose

just a silk pillow

and it’s royal content.

I glowed—halo strong.


Then Gracie Galindo “whispered”

Her mother paid for this.

No one would have picked her.

My mother said so,

and she counts the collection baskets.


I smiled, pretending my heart was deaf

lifting the crown above the veiled Mary

praying she was deaf.

resting the crown’s ribbons over her ears.


School day done,

I waited for two hours by the bell flowers,

placing their magenta bodies

between my thumb and forefinger

and squeezed,

forcing each to cry out with a pop,

while I wondered

if anyone would care

if Gracie tumble-down

the school back stairs


My mother picked me up,

2 hours late,

grumbling nothing in this life comes free,

not even a mother’s love

Day 2~Purple Regret, if only I chose Vermillion. . .


Screen Shot 2014-04-01 at 9.57.15 PMQuick, before you do anything, write down the last emotion you had before you fell asleep last night.

Got it?  Great now let’s move on.

I love unexpected pairings.  The tension they add to writing, the amazing sound you can get when combining them.  Right now you have the first part of the pairing, time to give you the second part of the pairing.  Write down your favorite color.

And now you have your pair. Emotion color.  these two words can not be separated, for the next hour, or until you finish a poem using that new phrase.  Hating your choice right now?  I don’t care, don’t change it.  Trust your instincts to lead you to an unexpected poem, that not only uses that phrase but somehow relates to this phrase.  Do NOT split the words up.  These two words must appear next to each other in one line of a poem.  And let’s try to make it 16 lines.


Here is your sample, by Chris Koo

Purple Regret

It all started with a single bet
In a shady backroom game of roulette,
That landed me thousands of dollars in debt,
And left me with nothing but purple regret.

At a casino, while watching a quartet,
I was approached by a beautiful brunette.
Or perhaps she was a blonde, I forget.
Anyways, she offered to me a lit cigarette.

Next thing I know, I was sitting with a set
Of men who looked more than a little upset.
As I began to break out in a cold sweat,
Whispered from behind a dim silhouette.

It assured to me that I’ve no reason to fret,
“There is nothing to worry about as of yet.”
Little did I know that the game was preset,
And all the money I owned was under threat.

Now I owe a sum I can’t possibly offset,
Only wishing for a button labeled “reset,”
With heavy feet, I trod into my kitchenette,
And pour myself a glass of purple regret.

–First Appeared on Eskimoe Pie.


Did you notice how this cat did a single rhyme for the whole thing. . .knock me out with his crazy over achieving self.

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