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coffee&poets

Poet Stuart Canton, thank you for subbing for Frank Graham who couldn’t be there for the Coffee & Poets podcast interview yesterday. Interviewers like you have the gift of making someone like me sound good. Thank you, too, for allowing me to read so many of my poems.

To the audience who gave up your Sunday morning, I so appreciated your support and presence. Lawrence Dinkins, Jr, you are perfect for creating this podcast.

Be sure to attend or tune in to the Coffee & Poets podcast interviews on the 3rd Sunday of each month at the Brickhouse Gallery at 2837 36th St. What an inspiring place and program to help keep poets alive in our community.

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DW coverFrank Graham of Sacramento Poetry Center will be interviewing me on:

Sunday: August 20

10 a.m.

Brickhouse Gallery

2837 36th St

Sacramento

I will be reading selections from my forth-coming poetry book: Dangerous Woman.

 

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Thank you, Frank Graham of Sacramento Poetry Center for posting the following:

I’m interviewing the prolific and adventurous author Frances Kakugawa for the podcast Coffee & Poets, produced by Lawrence E Dinkins Jr, at the Brickhouse Gallery in Oak Park on Sunday, August 20. We begin the one hour program at 10:00 am and we’d love to see you there to listen in as we discuss her life and writing.

https://www.facebook.com/events/132501957356630/

Address:

Brickhouse Gallery

2837 36th St

Sacramento, CA

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hibiscus 1

 

Hawaiian style morn

Seven blooms on the 5th day.

If only twas May.

8-5-17

Sacramento, CA

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Coffee & Poets Radio Program

Please join me:

Sunday, July 16

Time: 5:00 p.m.

Naked Coffee Lounge

1111 H St.

Sacramento, CA

Frank Graham of Sacramento Poetry Center will interview me for a live podcast on my being a poet. What an honor. I will read a few poems and discuss my poetry and personal life with Frank. It will  mean a lot to have a live audience for inspiration.

 

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During one of my poetry writing sessions with 3rd graders, this was my contribution. Not quite up to par with my students’ poetry.

 

                                  A Poet’s Declaration

 I am a star

In the Milky Way.

I am the crest

On emerald waves.

I am a dewdrop, crystal clear,

Capturing sunbeams in the morning mist.

I am that dust

On butterfly wings.

I am that song

Of a thousand strings.

I am that teardrop

You have kissed.

I am a poet!

I am! I am!

I am that rage

In the thunderstorm,

I am that image

Of a thousand form.

I am magic on each page.

I am a poet!

I am! I am!

 

   Frances H. Kakugawa

   From Teacher, You Look Like a Horse

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At our last poetry writing support group for caregivers, caregiver Bob shared the following poem:

 

I Began to Write

 

I began to write because I was angry.

I began to write because I was hurt.

I began to write because I needed to vent.

I began to write because Fran could not.

But along the way an epiphany.

I fell in love, I fell in love with words.

I find joy in finding the right word and

Like a jigsaw puzzle only one word will fit.

I love the richness and simplicity of the right word.

It has elegance and beauty in its own right.

I love the harmony of words together

With meaning greater than the sum of its parts.

I see stories unfolding to make you weep.

To laugh and move you to action.

This is the power of words.

©Bob Oyafuso

Bob confessed how he pondered over each word and of the time  spent
searching for  the right word. “It’ll take me 35 years to write a book,” he laughed. He explained so well the process of writing poetry.

Driving home, I thought of …
It took me years of reflecting and over six months of actual writing to write the following poem. When the episode happened, ( I was a young new teacher, I noticed a first grader missing…I panicked and went outside and saw him running across the playground with arms all out…running into the fog. I stood and watched him until he returned; he merely said “I couldn’t touch it.” We walked back to class without a word, my arms around his shoulders.)
I knew I had to capture it so I wrote a short story.
Somehow the story just didn’t do it. I wrote the story in various forms and finally settled on the following:

Run, Run, But Not Into the Fog

A little boy
Runs into the fog
As it slowly creeps
Over the field,
Softening edges
Into mists.
He runs and runs
And soon is swallowed
By the mysterious giant.
Then slowly, quietly
He returns to me
With wooden legs
And puddled wings.
“The more I ran
The more it disappeared.”

from The path of Butterflies.

No one ever said writing is easy.

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