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Blake More
 

Virtual Event on August 11th–6:00 P.M to 8:00 P.M.

Blake More

Blake More is a writer, dancer, movement teacher and performance artist who combines poetry, costume, video, painting and dance.  She has performed in Tokyo, Amsterdam, New York, Los Angeles, and all over the Bay Area. Her freelance writings have appeared in Yoga JournalUtne Reader, and Tokyo Time Out. She has written two non-fiction books, one fiction book, and three books of poetry. She also teaches poetry through California Poets In the Schools, organizes and hosts a p&w sponsored poetry and jazz series, and hosts poetry show called Cartwheels on the Sky on KGUA FM. She has been a certified yoga instructor since 1996, and you can find out more about her at bmoreyou.net.

Jungle Princess

Yelapa is wet in October
Google says it isn’t
or at least, isn’t supposed to be
it is the start of the tourist season
but here I am in paradise
no walls
surrounded by downpour

it is fun for a day, two days even
everything reaching toward me
as if begging to be immortalized on facebook
a waterfall cascades into the seasonal creek from the canyon above
the ocean exhales a mere 50 stairs down
lush vines, fronds, flowers drape around limbs
and green, everything green,
peaceful green, serene green, alive green

it is a five star villa dream
but did I mention the rain
and five days of sweeping water out of my living space
so I can do yoga
and only one fan
and everything wet

now I understand
why nobody’s here

good thing
because I smell like Peter’s dog
I remind myself, this will change
it will dry up soon, November 1st according to locals
but my shirts and shorts are growing fungus
in embarrassing places

I learn the hard way
that I cannot wash anything
because everything must be line dried
which is completely out of the question
and no matter how many showers I pack into the day
no matter how many plunges into the sea
I still smell like Peter’s dog
but now his dog just got out of a sauna

I cast off my offensive clothes when the workers are gone
shower again
but I can’t slather the citronella oil fast enough
to keep the tiny monsters from biting me in places
also too private to mention
itching is not sexy

oh and speaking of bugs
did you know that they, unlike me, run riot in this clammy soup
for one full day, the ants and their friends
conduct a pink and green parade across the adobe tile
hoisting confetti-sized pieces of bougainvillea
toward some unknown destination
today I leave my breakfast on the counter
long enough to go pee
and return to a full-blown ant rave
good thing I’m not vegan

as I contemplate how to end this midnight poem
my screen dotted with light seekers
keyboard crickets hopping beside my typing fingers
a palm-sized flying thing bonks the back of my neck
I jump up to do the heebie-jeebies dance
and the sky claps with thunder
signaling another burst

as if on cue

Love Detector

I tell the truth
unabashedly
generally with good intention
I cannot help it
this is a talent
this is a curse
people say I am stadium lighting
a crystal megaphone
translucent waves of thought
flowing like water
into the depths of your ears
witnessing with 10 thousand watts of wonder
smiling into the open eyes
of anyone brave enough
to dare expose themselves
to the x-ray dream
of purposeful vision
it isn’t easy being me
people run
they hide
they throw stone eyes
and backhanded curses
but I don’t stop
I fly with hummingbirds
dive into the night
pop through the sun
wake up with a handful of stars
I understand
why I am scary
it is hard to be seen
without disguises
I am not
for the faint of heart
I am for the willing