Sometimes it’s my skin,
stretching for countless flat miles
on hot, humid, melting asphalt road
that jumps free at night,
it doesn’t hold make up,
it doesn’t hold water on flooding roads
it just keeps the pot holes on the road
and the scratches of where I once been,
that’s Houston.

Sometimes it’s my eyes,
engrossed in detail and architecture
rebuilding images in detail
jumping from painting upon painting
upon rooms full of rows and columns
buttress that bend like majestic trees
inside churches that make me weep,
that’s Italy.

Sometimes it’s my vocal chords,
quiet when I eat, quiet when I watch
quiet in the evening sun setting on Hun roads
quiet inside temples of golden Buddha
loud when it sings to the elephants
and talks to the people
bargaining for gold that no one else notices
that’s Thailand.

Today it’s my feet,
the one that follows the sounds of the gushing stream
on uneven road in spring monsoons,
runs to the top of the temple
that blesses the rice fields below and roots beside
moves past the bonsai nursery,
sitting in the middle of a cricket symphony rice crop,
the clay tennis court beside cabbage fields and houses
and the elders that built it on the land they farm
keeping a quiet tradition and identity for the community,
running past the curtain of trees that limit the wind
to the garden of a thousand flowers where
a landfill use to be…
that‘s Korea.

I used to think that I should have asked for a different city,
Somewhere that pays more, closer to city, has more room,
I used to think that I was here to forget
and change all the regrets there were about me.
I use to think it was difficult to be quiet and alone.

Reality: Learning means you can’t forget,
on the border of the city and the country,
smiling at cloudy and moody mountain peaks,
on a border land that challenges space and time,
looking ahead, working inside with sounds and words
I’m exactly where I was meant to be.

On the professional horizon: Can your boss ever get dooced? (Dooced meaning fired for blogging.) Well, not if they never keep one. Considering just about every teacher is being forced to head that direction, already there with a personal blog, built one for their class’ e-portfolios district mandate…well shouldn’t the boss blog too? My take is that being an administrator is not easy and dealing with a small school of 500 students really means that the administrator affects the lives of 2,000 people or more. A blog can only increase sensitivity and liability for that person. However, as a teacher, I really have no respect for a someone who has no idea the amount of work a blog requires and will therefor not compensate accordingly or have realistic expectations. Via Education & Tech

FREE: You gotta love it, and not just for educators only! Ever wanted to go to college for free, yes I said FREE, well check this out Universities with the Best Free On-line Courses. While it wont give you your degree or prepare you for the massive amounts of writing you’ll happily do, it will remove much of the anticipation, give you a good heads up on the class and make learning a reward onto itself.

FOR EDUCATORS: Giga pixels is here, hurray! Remember those really cool pictures from Mars? Well the people who made the camera at Carnegie Mellon University are hoping to preserve the images of the world’s heritage sites by partnering with schools to take pictures of them. They hope the technology will be available for the public on a later date and at a far less cost than your mega pixel camera. Check out the giga sexy visuals from learning.com. Can you imagine movies with this technology? While you’re there peek in on the Grock It debate of the overhaul of the educational system. I both like and dislike the idea of peer learning because it changes class sizes but even now as a graduate student, I feel like the instructor is copping out when I get this kind of work. The educational experience then depends on the students if they are able to contribute to the class and make it worth while…so why am I paying the university to teach? It has worked for the people at Carnegie Mellon’s IT and education department but that’s a very extraordinary example. The jury is still out on this one.

Well folks, love to hear your input! Remember, you’re never lost, you just don’t know where you’re going yet.

Connections that run through my mind: If 30% of the English language in compromised of the Anglo-Saxon warrior tribes and 60% of the Greek/Latin philosophers, does it mean it takes less words to fight than to farm in any language? One of the worst punishments on a human psyche is to want something they cannot have but be so close to touch. Sisyphus knew this pushing his rock up a hill. Legend has it that so did the Shah Jahan, the king who built the Taj as a testament of love for his wife. The Shah was legendary for his guardianship of the structure making contractors and workers alike swear to never work on a similar project and beheading those who wished to replicate it. Yet, when one of his sons desired the same, he was was placed under house arrest on the top of one of the minarets with a window over looking the Taj. Years later, that same son killed his brothers, claimed the throne and placed his father under house arrest, except this time the window to the Taj was sealed shut.

I’ve chosen to celebrate my birthday this year by visiting the Taj Mahal and the Rajastan region for my friend’s wedding. I contemplate on the reality of the situation and how my thoughts reflect so easily in this country. India in mid July is not something I can predict. I doubt that she ever predicted out of all her friends, I would be the one attending. She tells me not even her family will make it, and it makes me wonder if I’m the only one who views “family” without the prerequisite of blood, time and/or location. The warnings from previous visitors are plenty: beware of the lice, the dung, the heat, the smell, the water, the crowds, the air, the pickpocket children, and more. I think about Colombia and the kidnappings, drug wars and the roofies to render a person unconscious. I wonder if the visible filth is worse than the implication of filth.

Truth is, I don’t get it. I don’t get how people speak of pride for a place/culture/nation and turn around to use violence against it. I don’t get how politicians in countries so rich with resources like Colombia and India can engage in corruption, sacrificing many for their own gain. I don’t get many things but among it all, I remember my friend who spent many years quiet and alone without dating. I thought it was unhealthy treating herself this way…soon, she’ll be getting married. Thinking of the Taj Mahal, I finally get that she put herself in the minaret for safety and not for punishment. It’s not that we see what we want to see, sometimes. It’s that we remember what we understand and choose the direction of that which we don’t.

The prince left his town at 30 to find answers for the suffering he saw for the first time at 30. His name was Siddhartha, but later he came to be known as Buddha.

It’s one o’clock in the morning.
Waiting for the curtain’s to animate,
I hear my neighbor across the street.
Tonight, he has a soliloquy,
performed on the paved hot road
with quarreling cats and swindling rats,
Drunk and missing home, he says, drunk and missing home.
He’s a teacher too, but we’ve never met
first impressions should be coherent and content,
so I just listen.

Zucchini is in season, so I have five
Funny how this raw vegetables looks
on the palm of my hand:
reticent and protective,
porous, listless and dry–
Sometimes I think that sadness is a dried heart
if not too skinny with lost affection
too plump walled from affection
Like Zucchini, soak in hot water and right attention,
the core will get thick and heavy,
soft and present,
gliding aromatic wave of playfulness,
sweet and semi crunchy talkative invitation:
“Dance with me, dance with me!”

The wind is back,
The rats scurry off to the sewers,
Heat that revives is different from the heat that hangs
Cold that dries is different from the cold that sooths.

I was born in a generation that watched the flesh of my country scar and people dive hundreds of stories, screaming, charred skin, seared mouth, and from somewhere hearing: do we have a list? Angered and pained, I supported Congress to war. Seven years, 4,000 soldier bodies, and a thousands of dollars lost on a depreciated economy, I’m regretting that decision. I sat on the pinhole of a gun in slum raids at three o’clock in the afternoon, and in the cockpit watching bombs fall to a mushroom in a part of the world that I thought were only markers of my parent’s generation. After we won the war, we’d leave, right? But war is never that simple and I wonder what was I cheering for on the tv? Say mister, is that an extended cab, 12 cylinder engine SUV?

Or how about the financial uncertainty since the fifth grade that there would no Medicare/Social Security funds for me? Nothing better than a 15 minute surgery that costs me two months paycheck even with insurance. Welcome to the land of the free and watch your step, don’t want to get injured and fall financial uncertainty or foreclosure with medical bills. But those with money aren’t really affected, right?

Do you want me to say the fairness of affirmative action? No, that ended the year I applied to law school. Watching the lawyer across the way living in a one bedroom to pay quarter million school loans to get a job that pays a teacher’s salary just didn’t equate. So this artist/teacher wonders why one job should be more prized than another while society complains on issues of crime, child endangerment, etc.? You get exactly what you pay for returned with the respect that you give it. Were we better off trying to balance a situation of inequality or asking a child to be responsible even if they couldn’t get all those extras tutorials and experiences on the other side of the tracks? Or was that just a band aid for a bigger issue of inequality that no one has dared to touch?

So, is it any wonder if I choose something that can be proven, logical, and needs no translation to inspire me? I am part of Generation Bacterium. I am Googlized, idealized, generalized and egocentrically privileged to hide in the world I want…just look at my avatar. I am part of a generation of extreme information and inverted emotional disposition; just check my blog or Facebook to keep up and don’t forget to show comment love. I am the generation that has watched documentaries of thousands starving in third world countries since 1986 fed by the UN except now, there are no more crops. I wish it would be about survival, but that would be standing on those that live on hands and knees. I watch for haphazard encounters, like worms on vermiculated wood, looking for the few to change the world for the world’s sake and not to benefit their pocket.

As for the I never get political argument, I would, but it would be a two headed dog in a New York avenue looking for some time to kill.

1. Poets.org has 30 ways to celebrate the month by: adding a verse to your signature line, hosting a reading, taking your favorite poet out to lunch or giving out a pocket size poems to your friends like this one or this one. My personal favorite is the mp3 ring tones and the phone friendly poetry web page. Think how cool a phone ringing with “Do not go gentle into that good night, Fight!..” would be!

2. Gas is expensive so check out your favorite poet on the net with University of Cali’s TV. I love the way the camera allows you to see the relationship of the author to the audience. The second option: Download a chapter a day from the best books in history or checkout a podcast. A little difficult with the monotone reading and there’s no time to look for really cool words.

3. Find other poetry blogs with blogged poetry. Because I believe poetry is personal, technical and artistic, I surf through many web pages before something hits me. I recommend Ms. Hamm’s beautiful poetry blog and my next interview. Though modern poetry breaks with the author’s natural breath, I still have to wonder where is the line between poetry and prose? Mr. Rappleye, for introducing me to the words of Rothke, “I used to think of poets as helping one another; as advancing consciousness together.” It’s difficult to find a community of poets.

4. Go Shexy! After I’m done with this semester (Research Analysis: 100!), I plan to celebrate poetry month by dressing in my hottest black number and passing out my poetry to Asians on the street. In this harebrained idea is the newest member on my blogroll: Epik Justino, teacher, camera dude and human rights activist.

I was fortunate to see Madam Butterfly as a teenager at the Kennedy Center, Washington, D.C. I will be visiting the inspiration for this play, the second city to get hit with an atomic bomb: Nagasaki, Japan. I am looking forward to seeing the poetry the place inspires within me and taking lots of great pics from the 9-13th.

Stay tuned for these images and as always, write and send me poetry. Orale! Bali, Bali! The sun sets slower on your side of the world.