Lornayespeace’s Weblog

May 7, 2011, 3:24 am
Filed under: Los Angeles, Mom, Writing

For my mom

Rolled Hay - My mom's computer desktop images bring Canada to the beach as best they can.

As the city towers over me

I picture you

like me

though our city towered differently

when you lived here.

My mind tints the images to a coffee stained hue:


You’re on a motor scooter

in a miniskirt

maybe Hollywood Boulevard


You’re asleep at the door,

keys in the lock

[Your parents’ place in LA?  Laura lived there too?]


You’re in a bustling office building

saying no to a man

who sips from a coffee cup full of whisky


You’re outside

like me

peering up.

The sky an ocean.



Diving into the wreckage

we find popup books

timelines on our hands

that bleed through perfect pencils

growing filled and filling pages


We’re excavating memories

and un-memories

searching for the linchpin

that can give us air


reveal the reason why we breathe


Rolled hay

Arkansas sweat and tang

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph






like me

looking down

making maps

chronicling the evidence

seeking revisions to a storyboard

that will always thrive as incomplete


Mother’s Day
August 20, 2010, 2:29 am
Filed under: Mom, Writing

When I learned the word epoch

I shrank into a smaller me

That crawled between gravel

And traveled, meekly, upon the plankton of the sea

Laura Taught Me To*
January 2, 2010, 2:17 am
Filed under: Aunts, Los Angeles, Writing

Take Los Angeles down off that shelf

It doesn’t belong so far away

Fingerprints damage less than dust

Take the city down and flatten it

Use your hands to spread the city out

Turn the hills into braille under your palms

Use some lipstick to trace the highways

Including back-ways to avoid the freeways

You’ll make the maze of the city streets

And turn the barrios into different homes

That you can fold into your pocket

All the neighborhoods into mental maps

Until the stretch of Los Angeles

With its dark distances made to travel by car

Has your fingerprints and isn’t so far


*For some reason I couldn’t get the stanzas to space out correctly.  I think you can get the point, though

Words To My Mother
December 22, 2009, 10:27 pm
Filed under: Birthday Poetry, Mom, Writing

These words spread
like butter on morning toast
They warm
like cashmere and housecoats
They melt
like cheese on apple pie

These words keep me company
like late night phone calls
They lift me up
like a single eyebrow
They remind me
like leaving the house lists
photographs in books
cartoons on a refrigerator
notes on a mirror

These words are our words
un-ordinary dictionary
connotation collaboration
omission and completion.

December 20, 2009, 1:12 am
Filed under: Uncategorized, Writing

She calculated the freckles on her hand, noticing their
correlation to the black spots on the sun and the hole
in the O-Zone layer (which seemed to be hovering above
her head).

They're into working out, now.

Save 5s in their shoes

instead of buying cigarettes.


His continuous breath
between seconds --
how staccato
is many
and not just one --

 a mild hesitance
in the air,
that I can deny,
and do,
because I have no words for it.
There is the in-between,
and nothing else to prove
the feeling.

And so the air is heavier.
He feels it
I feel it
Perhaps physics offers an equation
To explain.

August 30, 2009, 5:54 am
Filed under: Writing

Sometimes I want to begin my thoughts with the word “oh”.  I want to articulate, commiserate, celebrate, with more than just silly subjects and verbs strung together like cerial on a string.  I want to onomatopoeia with a sigh, a long sigh, that adds thought and sound to my silent and simple expressions.

February 12, 2009, 9:18 am
Filed under: nada, Writing

i need to find an short piece of writing that exemplifies skilled use of the conventions of setting
for fourth graders

i hang around too many college kids, man
i’m writing too many college papers

how do little kids talk, again?
i wish i could member my youthful syntax

just reread the watchmen for class