So I've been immersed in poetry lately...I've been attending open mic readings, giving readings, and attending workshops. I'm taking an awesome poetry writing class at UCLA with Suzanne Lummis, and yesterday I attended a fabulous afternoon workshop with Brendan Constantine...I got a poem written and last night I stayed up late and somewhere in the wee hours of the night opened my notebook and wrote again for a while. It was beautiful...the rush of writing and reading and mingling with poets is quite affirming...poetry is my home, my place of worship. It's my way of bearing witness to experience. This mother's day, I had a champagne brunch with my mom and the rest of the family...I bought my mother a bouquet of roses...since I have decided not to procreate, I had no child wishing me happy mother's day today...I'm certainly old enough to have a child by now...but at the risk of sounding nerdy, I'll say I view my poetry as a kind of progeny...it doesn't spring from my womb but it is the outcome of fornicating with my muse, so to speak...it is the consequence of some visceral impulse...so happy mother's day to me too! :) Wife of muse and parent of nonsensical rhymes. My poems bought me nothing for Mother's Day and didn't take me out to breakfast...but I think they've been conspiring all day in my notebook for a surprise party later tonight...maybe Plath, Bukowski, & Whitman (my favorite three) will show up as well for a nightcap.