Kevin and I before the show 

Our weekend with Kevin’s family was awesome.  They were wonderful house guests and I hope that they return soon.  We had a great time entertaining.  Kevin borrowed the Wii from a friend and we played until our arms nearly fell off.  We also took them out for some fun dinners and we went and saw a couple of cover bands at the House of Blues.  The weather wasn’t good enough to go to dog beach with the puppy, maybe next time.   I really enjoyed having them.  I was sad when they left :-(  Even the puppy cried.

This weekend we host one of my best friends, Cliff.  Looks like we’re getting plenty of use from that spare bedroom!

I just want to thank every one who voted for me for the Slam Idol Contest.  I also really really want to thank Kevin’s brother Jeremy.  Had he not taken a poem I was not fond of and put it to great music, it would have just been another dead poem.  His music really made a great and powerful piece of spoken word.  It was great to watch my words come alive, winning isn’t bad either.

I must have been
written in pencil
somewhere on your surface
the depths of you
reserved for someone else
I lift, flake
and am gone
with one quick breath
soft and bruised
I linger
my shell translucent
and you are
for all the world to see
carved in my bones

(c)2005 Patricia DeGenaro

Geraldine Connolly write a great poem entitled, The Summer I was 16. I love the images she paints with her words. She does such a great job, I feel as if I was there.

The Summer I Was Sixteen by Geraldine Connolly

The turquoise pool rose up to meet us,
its slide a silver afterthought down which
we plunged, screaming, into a mirage of bubbles.
We did not exist beyond the gaze of a boy.

Shaking water off our limbs, we lifted
up from ladder rungs across the fern-cool
lip of rim. Afternoon. Oiled and sated,
we sunbathed, rose and paraded the concrete,

danced to the low beat of “Duke of Earl”.
Past cherry colas, hot-dogs, Dreamsicles,
we came to the counter where bees staggered
into root beer cups and drowned. We gobbled

cotton candy torches, sweet as furtive kisses,
shared on benches beneath summer shadows.
Cherry. Elm. Sycamore. We spread our chenille
blankets across grass, pressed radios to our ears,

mouthing the old words, then loosened
thin bikini straps and rubbed baby oil with iodine
across sunburned shoulders, tossing a glance
through the chain link at an improbable world.