Remaining with the theme of the previous post….



Lately I’ve been
Listening to old records,
Guilty pleasures
Lovingly encased in plastic,
Stored away in dusty places
I never thought I’d visit again…

Unwittingly the needle drops,
Bringing back moments
Painted and cast
Anticipated nights
Long drives long forgotten
Girls and worlds, to be touched again

It’s funny how a chord or
A melody that lingers
Brings you back in time
Effortlessly. Moon River.
Wichita Lineman. Songs
I didn’t even know I liked

Can make me cry
Even when they skip
Nostalgia fades away
But I still can’t understand
The boy who was standing
In the mirror so many years ago

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Moon River

For some reason I woke with “Moon River” in my head this morning. I don’t care how much this song gets covered, it’s bulletproof and it always makes me feel good when I hear it. So, for the weekend, I give you my “cousin” Audrey Heburn singing it (for real) in Breakfast at Tiffany’s  – and an older post recycled, i.e., Cousin Audrey.   Enjoy



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The Blarney Stone

Someone I know is becoming a mother for the first time and the conversation got me thinking about the magic and wonder of childbirth.   I wrote about it some years back in an essay titled “The Blarney Stone,” which was dedicated to my son Jude and then-wife Molly.   The piece first appeared in the Palo Alto Review, was nominated for a Pushcart Prize, and was later in my Bothering the Coffee Drinkers book.    I just re-read it and it holds true.   And, the magic continues to this day, albeit in different forms.  Here’s a link to a pdf of the essay, as well as a couple shots from those times (yes that’s me).

I give you and all the moms and dads current and to be…


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(first ever picture of Jude Aaron Hoekstra)

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Glad to share a brand-new Doug Hoekstra poem, “Uphill”, published at Broke Bohemian (apologies for the third person intro). It’s a Smoky Mountain feminist “go sisters” kind of poem; Broke Bohemian is a cool modern beat kind of tome, and proud to be a part of it.…/9/uphill

“Established in four different states, The Broke Bohemian seasonally publishes artists and writers all across North America and beyond. Our volunteer staff dedicate their time to discovering those whose words have gone unrepresented and disregarded. Whose art wanders freely, unbound, and liberated. We seek out those with the gumption to stand up and speak their minds.” Right on!

Enjoy and feel free to share the poem and zine

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New piece of Doug Hoekstra flash fiction, “Half-Life,” published at Friday Flash Fiction, a relationship narrative dotted with plutonium and poetry.  Enjoy at the link below.

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Don’t Touch My Ride

Found this pic from a trip to Stax, thought I’d take it somewhere, have some fun, and give a shout out to the great Isaac Hayes in the process.  Enjoy.

Don’t Touch My Ride

Don’t touch my ride
They used to say
In Memphis town
Back in the day
Pushing buttons
Like a true cliché
No automatic windows to
Box us in
Roll ‘em down
Feel the southern wind
Kiss my lips, feel my pulse
Wondering if
We can see ourselves
In the mirror
When the music plays
Things get close
And we get afraid
Feel the groove
Hear the words
Should be deserved
On every block
Of the cityscape
Paint your love
Feel your pain
Summer songs
Ruined days
Don’t touch my ride
They used to say
Just walk on by
Like Isaac Hayes

100_1474 isaac

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Ever since my son Jude was old enough to watch movies, we’ve had pizza party movie night. Usually weekly. Usually Friday. Most recently, he did a throwback dance and chose Wall-e, during which many fond memories of toddler Jude cascaded through my mind. But, I was also reminded of how good a film it is.

Wall-e is such a great character, an earnest hero, a selfless romantic, the ideal “person” we strive to be. And, in many ways the first half of the movie is like a Charlie Chaplin film, with Wall-e as the Tramp. Of course, Jude and I have watched much Chaplin together and we followed-up with a Chaplin short, Dog’s Life. Chaplin films (and Wall-e) manage to effortlessly combine ethos, pathos, and logos, not shying away from balancing heartache with sweetness, reality with optimism. Seems the best art of any kind does that, because at its essence, that’s life. Genius.

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I could write something else about Chaplin to add, but Hart Crane did it so well with his Chaplinesque poem, you can just click on the link.

That line, “a grail of laughter in an empty ash can” has always stuck with me.” Hart was kind of the bridge between Whitman and Ginsberg, in many ways, and I think he’s underrated. Enjoy the ride, folks.

(music box to the right a long ago father’s day gift to my dad)



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