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Monday, May 14, 2012

http://www.marcopoloartsmag.com/#Lost-Angeles
My poem Lost Angeles in Marco Polo Arts Magazine












Lost Angeles

Adam speaks now.

In sentences, not only pointing, expressing hunger or the need to potty. The moment happened in between answering emails, and smelling meatloaf. A divination performed without a rod.

“Is it still edible, or goes to the dogs, or will it bring bad omens?”

A kite found.

I am no expert at flying, you have the pilot license, my wings clipped. A parakeet hops on the granite countertops tossed aside. My lost angel wings from Halloween sold in the garage sale.

“I determine to glide the thin hawk.”

Adam speaks now.

“Mom ’les go to Crestwood Hills Park. You run fast.” He brings the string wadded up, “No stroller, I’m a big boy.” It’s a simple kite, not a tetrahedral box of infinite variant. I cut messengers arcs of origami pieces of lavender paper. Neat slits in the centers thread holes. The string slides through to the prayer button.

“ ’les put a note to Dad on them.”

A respectable height.

We count slug bugs. Adam waves at the man with cardboard sign: Maps to Stars homes. The smell of summer dirt mixes on Adams hands and pocket rocks in the washing machine. Los Angeles County court system does not adjudicate to the best interests of children.

“I am blessed with hours never to be replaced by ghosts or movies.”

Adam speaks now.

“Mom, mmm peanut butter. My kite’s great.” He pats the thin frame before my dash. Down the hill, I sail pulled by the framework towards heaven. Catching wind chants my parachute propelling on L.A. Westside air. My breath blows night blooming jasmine, “Jupiter and Venus dance together in the sky.”

We lift off.

Wednesday, May 2, 2012

Drive in Writing Your New Life

This white canvas represents the remainder of your life.
Please fill in the blanks with important information.
Tell me about how it feels to hold your only child,
 share the fading sorrow of losing your first goldfish,
dare to try something, and fail horribly; then get up,
smile while we work until our legs cramp at night.
Create stories to make us
stay up all night with a flashlight.

Together
we can fix it.
Ask me,
I will pray
for your courage,
wisdom and
a little fortune.


Copyright Caroline Gerardo 2012

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Win The Pulitzer Fiction Prize


"Writer as Circus Dog Howling Stories"


No one wins in fiction?
It seems Un-American.

As a writer, I sometimes feel the marketing, competitions,
and ranking is contrary to creating art.
Winning a Pulitzer is after all, big business. A Pulitzer sells through your next couple of books, aligns paid speaking engagements and lines up the glory of tenured professorship. Thank you very much Columbia.

All three are shortlisted books are five stars.  However, I am going to speculate on why none of the front runners actually "won." My opinions here are as from the mind of a judge, wringing their hands on making the right decision. I believe failing to make choice is wrong, bad and flawed .

Three books were "shortlisted" Swamplandia by Karen Russell, Train Dreams by Denis Johnson, and The Pale King by David Foster Wallace. It is not that there were no good books to read in this past year, I believe the problem is in the three choices. 
First, Russell's (I loved it- the southern topic and the dazzle of her writing) -but book is quirky right from the cover. It is an American story, but a tad too contrapuntal with the ordinary and the bizarre the first person narrative jumping to third. The Pulitzer for fiction is ultimately supposed to represent the best American telling a great American tale. Second, Johnson's Novella though beautiful and moving is just too short to win. I can only fault the number of pages as the reason why it cannot stand in history with some of the other big boys  (save two exceptions) And finally The Pale King, Wallace's look into the dull soul of the IRS and the lonely secrets of mindful moments. It is a wonder. Again I add my hat on head as Pulitzer judge, it is unfinished and I dare say having met the man and read the other works some of the voice is "over-edited," (may not all be his ?).

Pony who leads the show


In the light that no choice was made I ask all my writer, reader, and friends with opinions to vote for the Pulitzer. You may nominate your own work, you may vote as many time as your little heart desires. Open your heart and your brain to vote in my comments section. Vote for one of the three above.
You ask - Prizes?
Winner with most votes (comments) will be mailed the Not a Pulitzer trophy ( being created from duct tape as you read this), $20 Amazon gift Certificate hopefully you will be buying books, and some nice brain cactus ( if your country of origin allows me to ship).  


Copyright ©2012 Caroline Gerardo
All photographs are Caroline Gerardo's and not to be used in any format without written permission

Friday, April 20, 2012

Merlin Magic


Spring in my knees.
A new feeling,
let go of blanket,
muffled moths
in the sound of my voice.
After grieving for a long calendar
(one that friends and foes told me was too long)

Throw it in the compost pile.
Red worms reduce paper to silt.

Orogolomistician surgery on my soul
 performed overnight after months without sleep.
Thanks Merlin for your healing magic.

Something is upon me,
fire burned the farm to the cellar 
creating better soil.

Courage and my sword return
after Arthur borrowed them from my stone.

I do not care about your cruelty -
it grew change.

Not the I don't care girl-

I adore faces, relatives, friends who remain. 
They magically block my cell phone to avoid any slip.


Copyright © 2012 Caroline Gerardo All rights reserved for photographs and poetry.