Red Room Where the Writers Are

Gone are the days of deadlines, exhaustive (and exhausting) research, scholarly discipline, operating within rigid outlines, assembling bibliographical references and inserting pesky footnotes...

I am POET now, see me roam!

Writing poetry affords me the ultimate freedom of mobility and I love it. The dynamics of seeking out ever-changing locales for writing enhances the flow of my poetry from my pen onto the pages of my notebook.

So no sooner than I return to SF than I discover a friend of mine, Helen Zia, writer and lifelong civil and human rights activist, decided to run the O torch for 2 blocks through San Francisco.  S

This week I received the following e-mail from a colleague titled,

My favorite cycling socks are those of the Soviet Olympic Cycling team. I’ve got a pair: they are blood red, with a bold yellow hammer and sickle on each side.