I come alive through my senses. I write because I can't live without it like I can't live without my emotions or my senses. I inhale and exhale words.
- Name: La Marqueza
- Location: Houston, Texas, United States
I am a poet and writer living in the suburbs of Houston. Texas is my home, the whole state, I love everything about it. I am also a teacher and attend many workshops on poetry. One day I will run my own workshop.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Tuesday, July 05, 2011
What do you do?
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Has it been that long?
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
I Am A Red Satin Shoe (8/9/07;wp)
Oh yeah, Saturday night. I wonder what dance floor it'll be tonight? Hopefully a better surface than last week's slumming disaster. Honestly what was she thinking dragging our well-respected 2-inch heels into Lola's? I thought she'd outgrown that purple-fenced sleazy dive 15 years ago. But noooo, there we were walking over cracked cement floors and resting our dainty thin-skinned feet against the graffitied bar. She was looking around the place scoping out the tattoos, long-tailed jeans wearing tight-assed muscle boys. Okay so maybe Lola's isn't bad in a pinch but still we've come a long way. While she was training her eagle eyes on the merchandise some steel-toed, seen better days pair of Doc Martens tried to cozy up to me. I stubbornly kept my pointed red toes facing the bar. I think I actually read "The time is nigh. Repent! Repent!" How did that get written down there? And I didn't know Doc Martens knew the word "nigh". Thankfully we left Lola's intact after almost getting a beer bottle smashed across our delicate satins.
Oh, she's getting the red sleeveless dress that goes so well with our red satin finish and sparkly studded ankle straps. Oh, I know where we're going.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Poetry forms (9/15/07;wp)
God, I am tired. Hungover. Achy. Jumped up and danced on a bar last night then fell down. The sweet, mechanical engineering master's degreed dark-skinned boy helped me up off the floor. Precious boys. Sweet young boys. I want to rub their arms and chests and stomachs.
Okay back to poetry forms. Sometimes I write ragged lines. I imagine lines with the edges torn off. My mind wanders. Let's see...green shirt that says "Books Rule" on it. What about "Book Rules"? He has a large nose. Brown hair with ragged lines cut in the back making it wavy and upturned. He wears glasses. White skin. Looks like pure white dough before it's kneaded and baked when the dusty white flour still coats it. On his arms the dark hair stands out.
No, no, no! Images of my ex-lover are creeping in. The old desire, the desire for his long hairy body. No! I hate him now. I despise him. He of the low brain, low class, and even lower tastes.
I'm rambling again. I'm hot and hungover sitting in a poetry class learning all my sonnets again. Sunbrained. HA! Just came up with that one.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
The Beach House (9/16/07;wp)
I do enjoy my coffee. Not with milk though but there's nothing for it. No creamer of any kind in this beach house. Kids slathered in sunscreen. A kitchen full of food I can't eat. But it's so worth it because my friends' husbands tell me I look great. So I think giving up all the food I like to eat to get a spectacular body is well worth the sacrifice. Hmm...maybe that's what my sonnet should be about. All the food I love but can no longer have.
Cheese: Gouda, Parmesan, asiago, bleu, all the rank smelly cheeses out at Central Market
Bread: Big, doughy, loaves soaked in olive oil mixed with spices
Crackers: Ritz, Saltines, Wheat Thins, Goldfish, Cheeze Nips, Triscuits with slices of ham, Colby Jack cheese, and olives with garlic in the pits
Chips: Pringles, the whole can, sour cream 'n' onion, bbq, salt & vinegar, habanero, jalapeno, so much salt on my tongue, splitting it open with fissures like the earth after an earthquake, my lips cracking apart, not bleeding only because I saturate them in lip balm
Eggs I can eat but not the way Johnny is eating them, baked in a dish with cheese, cream, sausage, and picante sauce smothering the top. Ah, I miss all that heavy food but heavy on the outside turns me heavy inside and out. The salt fills my cells and makes them expand pushing out all ridges, rolls, and my flesh hangs and jiggles. But with light food my body becomes light. The flesh shrinking, the curves becoming rounded, and soft. Not bulging and bulky.
Cake: dough turned black with chocolate and the sugar icing coating the top
Cookies: chocolate chip, macadamia nut, snicker doodle, cinnamon
Pie: cherry, apple, blueberry, lattice pies with that delicious crust
Nuts: pistachios, pecans, almonds, peanuts, cashews, especially peanuts in a bowl with Tabasco sauce and lemon juice. Eating the whole bowl, my lips, tongue, and throat on fire. If I let that happen then the oils in the peanuts would act like a catalyst to produce the oils in my face. Bursting, like tiny oil wells, all the acne ruining my face. No, that will never happen.
Back from the dead
I will be putting up my writing practices on the blog. All the stuff in my head. All the stuff I write raw from the depths. It's all going to come out. Names might be mentioned. But maybe not. How will the writing practice be distinguishable from the regular blog? Well now I just don't know. Let's see how it goes.