All of my social networks--this blog, my Facebook page, my Twitter--are rooms in my house. If you're here: welcome--it's nice having you over! But let's make some things plain in case they have not been made clear already: 1. You don't get to come in just because you knock. Introduce yourself and/or state your business. [...]
Author: darlene anita scott
Jonestown Turned 35 Yesterday
Marrow is my collection of poems about Jonestown (currently making the rounds with publishers). Many of the voices I re-imagine in it are those of black women. Why did they stay? Where would they go? Here's one answer. Why Did So Many Black Women Die? Jonestown at 35 Sikivu Hutchinson 35 years ago, on November [...]
How Love Works
The Velveteen Rabbit or How Toys Become Real by Margery Williams DOUBLEDAY & COMPANY, INC. Garden City New York To Francesco Bianco from The Velveteen Rabbit HERE was once a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid. He was fat and bunchy, as a rabbit should be; his coat was spotted [...]
I Voted.
I voted. It's a simple gesture--my polling place is a few blocks from my home. The screens are touchscreen and simple to handle. So I voted. Also, this morning while waiting for the polls to open so I could vote, I sat with 2 young white women talking about fartleks and teaching; and with an [...]
Monthly Meter (July, September, & August editions)
I am ridiculously behind on posting my stats. So for all 10 of you who keep track of my publication oohs and oh-ohs, here they are: July fellowship/publication submissions: 0 fellowship/publication acceptances: 1 fellowship/publication rejections: 3 books: Sister Outsider - Audre Lorde Secret Shame: I am in a love/hate relationship with Sleep. Mantra of the [...]
Here we go…
Blonde Angel?! Aww hell.
8 Million Stories
This happened. Two weeks ago. And it sits with me still. Artists: y'all know how they do--waiting to be told. So I tell for now. I'll revisit it later. "There are 8 million stories in the naked city Some ice cold and told without pity." Kurtis Blow, 1984 I was standing in front of a [...]
An Invocation for the Day
I rebuke you, poor performance, in the name of all success that ever was and may (or not) buoy, anchor, or barnacle and I cast you in the Sea of F*ckYouNess. Owned. I am not convinced that is a descriptor that will suit and so it, too, to the Sea. When I was a girl, [...]
50 Reasons Not To Date A Poet
Well damn.
**tucks toes to save them**
It may sound romantic, but in search of that elusive metaphor, poets can be somewhat “eccentric.”
- If you date a poet everyone will think you are the jerk they are writing about.
- You will be the jerk they are writing about.
- They have an unnatural affection for book stores and office supply stores.
- They have deep conversations with Animals, Clouds, and Grecian Urns.
- Excessive use of “poetry hands.”
- Excessive abuse of “poetic licence.”
- Excessive use of “melancholy.”
- Excessive use of “dramatic emphasis.”
- They collect obscure words that have not been in circulation for at least 100 years or more.
- They insert these antediluvian words into conversations just to rebel.
- They think children’s books are sublime.
- They refuse to care where the remote is.
- All of their furniture are positioned around windows, for them to stare out for hours at a time.
- Your parents will think they are possessed.
- They are possessed.
- You…
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Forgiving the Dark
Sleep’s tentacles loose and tickling should not be the enemy nor the medicine. And when Day stands in its way, it collapses under the demand. Parables, too, reach beyond night, never stay taped with snapshots on wood paneled walls and turn history even in the present. Dreaming to understand them only means understanding will never [...]

