“Strangers” in The Dispatch

In May, one of my typewritten poems was featured in an article in Issue Four of The Dispatch, a magazine published by Folk Rebellion. How appropriate that this was “The American Dream Issue”. I couldn’t imagine a better title for something I’m honored to be a part of.

For everyone that missed it, you can order a back copy here: https://www.folkrebellion.com/shop-the-dispatch/.

Thanks to Nancy Hill who included me in the stories of her cross-country journey. The poem about “Strangers” really rings true. What a beautiful spread. Ecstatic to be the icing atop this American pie of folks living out their dreams and inner discovery across the country.

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“Strangers” in The Dispatch

Travel By Haiku

Just received another stack of Travel By Haiku in the mail. If you have enjoyed following my journeys on here, y’all should be sure to grab this piece of the road for your personal collection. In there you’ll find little glimpses of the natural beauty found across the continent. And some of the wild rides I’ve taken to get there. They make great gifts and are sure to inspire the beat within us all to pursue their dreams on the road.

Get one from my website, http://bit.ly/TravelByHaiku

Travel By Haiku: Volume 1-5, Still Trippin’ Across The States is a collection of poetry written during travels across the United States in 2014 and 2015. Each haiku brings the reader along on the road across the country taking brief pauses to admire the air, the sunsets, the beaten earth, the tall trees on high mountains, and the breath of the ocean surf. Readers will find themselves transported to a humble place with a still mind and a new found admiration for their natural surroundings.

Travel By Haiku

The StoryTeller Project

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The StoryTeller Project by Dan Bandel

Yesterday, I was featured on The StoryTeller Project with a freshly written poem about storytelling. Go check it out and see some of the other incredible portraits Dan Bandel has taken around Santa Fe, NM in an attempt to capture the local flare and dynamic culture of this multifaceted city.

The StoryTeller Project

Water Is The New Precedent – Update

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WATER IS THE NEW PRECEDENT – UPDATE

Read more about the collection here: http://bit.ly/TheNewPrecedent

It’s been almost two years since my time in North Dakota, and yet I still feel like I never fully came back. I just contributed $85 to L’eau Est La Vie Camp – No Bayou Bridge from money collected for these essays over the last several months. Based in Louisiana, the protectors there are up against the same companies that we faced in 2016.

Thank you to everyone who has grabbed a copy of WATER IS THE NEW PRECEDENT in person or online!

You can read about the collection and grab a copy here: http://bit.ly/TheNewPrecedent

Otherwise, please donate directly to say #NoBayouBridge here: https://www.gofundme.com/nobbp

Water Is The New Precedent – Update

Pecha Kucha Night Taos, Volume 28

Marshall Kavanaugh – Pecha Kucha Night Taos Volume 28 from pechakuchataos on Vimeo.

 

As part of The PASEO Festival 2018 in Taos, NM this year, I was invited to discuss my work as an installation artist and services as a Dream Poet For HIre at Pecha Kucha, Volume 28. I decided to take the opportunity to wax poetic on the archetype of The Poet and how they fit in with the larger world based on the things I’ve learned and experienced over the years while typing poetry on the street. Here is the video from that night. Enjoy!

Pecha Kucha Night Taos, Volume 28

The Paseo Festival 2018 – Recap

Give the River a Voice at the MANIFESTATION STATION

Objective: Through community dialogue and art creation we seek to give the river and surrounding watershed a sovereign voice, both as a means of creative expression and eventually legal reasoning.

Manifestation Station: The Manifestation Station is a lotus tent acquired for water protection in 2016. Since then it has been utilized as a shared community space to release fears and trauma that hold us back so we can open up space, personally and collectively, for the manifestation of positive dreams to emerge through these challenging times of planetary changes.

For the Paseo Project outdoor arts festival on September 14-15, the Manifestation Station will be a collaborative installation in the park at the John Dunn Shops created to raise awareness about our local watershed and allow the community a meeting point to discuss the future of our watershed. The installation will involve a series of audio and visual projections based around the surrounding waterways. Sounds of the river will be amplified above the conversations this will create, while video of these same waterways will be screened inside the lotus tent and on surfaces surrounding the installation. Inside the tent there will be two typewriters connected to an infinite scroll. Upon the scroll, community members will be instructed to write out prayers for our watershed, in the form of hopes and dreams for the world they would like to cultivate and leave behind for future generations, and fears and doubts for the world that is currently being manifested by the industrialized culture we live in.

Conclusion: The goal of this art installation is to transform our understanding of community, and to encourage people to get involved in the safeguarding of our watershed through positive, co-creative actions based in reverence for life. Break-out groups will form that will take up this call and form the necessary values that will protect our collective future here locally. The first steps are to meet and greet each other at the “water hole,” ask important questions together, raise awareness and begin crafting positive solutions together.

at The PASEO

September 14-15, 2018

Taos, NM

a collaboration with Taos Water Protectors

The Paseo Festival 2018 – Recap

POEMS FOR THE PIGS

I jump into the fray again. This time unintentionally. When I show up to Santa Fe, I find out the republican governors from all over the country are meeting at the conference center to discuss conservative policy. Somehow I didn’t get the memo. There are protestors on every street corner. But it’s nothing like Philly in 2017 when the GOP showed up a week after the inauguration.

We protested for over a week, with snake marches leading to organized marches, leading to dance parties, leading to tens of thousands of people surrounding the hotel all those pigs were hiding in. Inside, the traitor in chief probably told everyone that his supporters had come to celebrate his victory, but outside the energy was livid. The marches didn’t really lead anywhere, but that was the beginning of so many activist groups finding alliances in the streets. It was a time to see each other and find hope in the multitudes that love was still possible even in tyranny.

In Santa Fe, things are a little more low key. Mostly Women’s Marchers sans pussy hats holding signs that outline that Santa Fe is a sanctuary city and accepts refugees. No action, but frankly, it’s just exciting to see so many signs walking through the streets, mixed in with the usual amount of summer tourists, heading towards relieving a group who’s held a corner for a few hours or stopping to take a bathroom break. The retired mothers of the city taking their time off to push through some progressive messages to the backwards Man, himself.

They stand outside the El Dorado hotel picketing the buses full of governors’ aides that pull in. They stand outside the Cathedral of St Francis de Assisi catching the evangelicals who want to see architectural history. Anywhere where the buses drive through, they are there to greet them.

I set up my typewriter in the plaza next to a group doing a silent vigil for the children at the border separated from their families. They hold signs with simple mantras like “Free The Children” and “Everyone Welcome”. In front of them there are a dozen or more baby shoes. The symbols there are heavy.

Meanwhile, I write poems for children about dreams of mermaids and family road trips. The dialogue being translated through poetry. It doesn’t escape me how there’s no difference between these children who get to live out their freedom and the ones currently locked up in cages, maybe never seeing their parents again.

An afternoon turns to evening and I change my location several times, till I find my prime spot for the late night dinner crowd, and that’s when it happens. I’m not quite paying attention because there’s so much going on. But out of the corner of my eye, I see one of those huge busses pull over and a dozen or more suits get off of it. They are surrounded by police and secret service, who seemingly appear out of nowhere. Suddenly, the streets around me have been cleared.

It’s Mike Pence who stops and reads my Dream Poet For Hire sign. He’s chatting to Susana Martinez, who I guess is giving them all a tour of her state’s capital.

“Write a poem about me and my wife,” he says.

Obviously, I’m boiling over with malice, but I’m the Dream Poet and with my mask on I put on a good show entertaining his midwestern interest.

The poem writes itself, keys mumbling away. It talks about how love can’t be defined by time or place, age or gender. It’s a spark that speaks beyond the limits of our patriarchal understanding. Love thy brother, love the human race in all of its manifestations, love thy mother, love this planet and all the ways she holds us in nurture. Love is love is love and hate for the love between two men or two women or two people who choose not to define themselves within a binary does not erase the divine essence within that love, something that is so magical it inspires all of us to keep living through the madness.

I fill the page and read it back to him. His icy eyes look at me with a smile that says he knows I gonzoed him, dropping the bill in my case anyway, and slipping the poem in the breast pocket of his suit jacket. He moves over for the next one, which happens to be Governor Martinez.

“Write a poem about immigrants,” she says.

Again, I smile and put on extra airs. The poem coming full throttle. I write about the state of New Mexico still being a foreign country. How families are just moving between their ancestral homes. I write about the Pueblos. How this is their land and our borders hold no power. I write about the railroads, about the white settlers, about the slave owners. I write how an elected official in a state that is still Mexico, and before that stolen land, better reflect on who she represents. Amnesty for all refugees, I write. Open the borders.

There’s a silence after I read the poem and I think I’ve gone too far. But again, there it is the bills dropped and the poem stowed away somewhere safe.

Next it’s one of their aides.

“Oh, you write haiku, I see. Write a haiku about Washington DC.”

Sinkholes everywhere
the swamp sinking as it drains
swamp things go kerplunk.

Someone asks, “Are you related to Brett Kavanaugh?”

“No relation. The Kavanaugh’s are a proud clan of peacemakers. No way he’s really one of them.”

And then that’s it. They get bored and move on. And I’m left there wondering if it really was even them, or perhaps just another tour group of Texans.

POEMS FOR THE PIGS