January 27 – February 2, 2014: Peggy Dobreer and Jordan Brown

Peggy Dobreer and Jordan Brown

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Peggy Dobreer
peggydobreer@gmail.com

Bio (auto)

Peggy Dobreer’s first book of poetry In The Lake of Your Bones was published in 2012 by MoonTide Press. Individual poems have been published in Poemeleon, Malpais Review, Fogged Clarity, L.A. Yoga Magazine, Bicycle Review, and Matthew Mars’ Haiku Remix Project. In 2013, Ms. Dobreer was included in the anthologies A Poet Is a Poet No Matter How Tall, edited by Raundi Kai Moore-Kondo and Ekphrastia Gone Wild, edited by Rick Lupert, which also features the work of Nobel Laureate. Wislawa Szymborska. Peggy is a member of The Hollywood Institute of Poetics, and Beyond Baroque Literary Arts Center. She lives in Los Angeles with her daughter and currently hosts First Fridays at The Rapp Salo(o)n in dowtown Santa Monica. For comments or booking vist her at www.peggydobreer.com

The following work is Copyright © 2014, and owned by Peggy Dobreer and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Karma as first mode
of transportation

“The person who is always involved in good
Deeds experiences incessant divine happiness. ”

……………………….-The Rig Veda

Mars was my home planet then
I wore a white uniform and
counted pills like stars. Side effects
must be read later, otherwise no
one would ever dare. Was I an
abductee you ask, a foraging savior,
alighting from heaven to heaven?
It’s hard to know, memories escape
me like convicts with tools. I meant
to bring water to my legless cousin
but her feet beat me to the screen. I
wanted to stand out without shouting,
but returned a violet, no mouth. 

 


Jordan Brown
jordan@razoo.com

Bio (auto)

Jordan Brown, Washington DC, female, 26 years old, "project manager."

The following work is Copyright © 2014, and owned by Jordan Brown and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

The city said hello, politely

I had a dream I died and waved my hands
in the store where it happened
no one looked up.
Turning to sidestep, strangers scooted around me
on a different trajectory.

I washed Sunday dishes, took the metro
to work
never mentioning the obvious.
I looked for meaning to the weather
in my dream, it was summer and people rode bikes
without iPhones.

The city said hello, politely. Picking up lunch
at the street truck
named Groovin’ Peruvian
I called to tell you the news
laughing, said you were early to a meeting.

I waved my hands, the city waved back
a squinting passenger who spots an acquaintance-
unsure.