TKW Discography Anthology

My first poem was written in the late '70s. I was awrded first place in the local paper for a Mother's Day poem. It felt so rewarding to turn my own thoughts into word sculptures. I couldn't draw like the rest of my family, so I kept writing. Like most kids who don't have much control over the things that go on in their lives, poetry was the one place I could build an entire world and move about it freely. Shy about my poems, my high school English teacher secretly collected my work and submitted them to various scholastic contests. I was awe struck when I actually began winning. and in 1989, I won the New Jersey's Governor's award for my poetry portfolio. I dreamed of going to NYU to pursue my passion for poetry, but due to a string of family tragedies, college would not be in my future. I began working in a record store my junior year of high school and music became my new passion. I ended up dedicating my entire adult life to it. A low self esteem limits what one imagines for themselves and their future, but thankfully friends and customers gave me the confidence to dream about joining a band. I taught myself how to play guitar and suddenly my volumes of high school poetry became a springboard to writing songs. 

By the early '90s I transitioned from writing poems to writing songs. I used to regret that I never kept journals, or write more poems, but writing lyrics has been satisfying in ways I could have never imagined. My songs offer glimpses of nearly forty year of my life. Most poets don't have the opportunity to place their own words put to music, no less create all of the melodies for them. I have never been one to applaud my work, but I am proud that in the 4 decades I have making music, the words and vocal decisions have almost always been my own. 

My poetry has mostly remained a secret other than when I created tiny poetry zines and left them anonymously around Richmond in the early 2000s. This poetry blog has been my outlet to offer me somewhere to keep writing and reworking older pieces. My discography is the closest I will likely ever come to having an anthology of my poetry. Eventually I will have working links to all of the music and songs (1991-2025), but for now, this is nearly everything. Some of the music listed below has never been available for streaming until today.

My Bands:

Broken Mouth

Dahlia Seed

Little Twin Stars

The 17th

Souvenir

Scissorettes

Down with the Ship

Calico Ghost Town

Ringfinger

Positive No

Outer World

Guest Appearances:

Dunebuggy

Small

The Figgs

Me & Dave

Idle

Forensics

Long Arms

RVA Xmas Indie Rock Collective

Gotobeds

Gauchiste

The Start of My Thirties

 1.

Have you ever played hide and seek with a dead body? That December we found my brother's ashes 

seemingly forgotten in my parent's garage. My family is not heartless, they couldn't bare to part with their oldest. My sister and I used humor to dampen our grief of this morbid discovery. We brought him to a bar with a note the read "Hello my name is Pete and could I really use a drink.", knowing he would have approved of us offering him one last happy hour. 

2.

Have you ever held a grown man between shaking hands and begged him for forgiveness? That fall I carried another brother for my father who could not, and my mother who struggled in her wheelchair to part with her favorite. I am the clinging little sister who was being asked to let go of him for one last time. I still imagine him, resting next to pop-pop, patiently listening to an eternal string of stories about navel ships, locomotives, and the other things only Chris appreciated and loved. 

3.

Have you ever driven in a car with your father resting in your lap wondering where all of his has gone while praying as an atheist that he doesn't come spilling out? That April, my father took his last swim in the Atlantic Ocean among his family. We were so grateful that your pain was over, how you would have loved to see your girls all together again, and most of all, that you were finally at the beach without that miniscule blue bathing suit that spared us nothing. 

(2004)

Acknowledgement

To aim to be 

nothing doesn't mean 

what what you think

it does.

A nothing is not a nobody.

My vibrant self 

is an ancient echo 

only I can hear. 

I am a cunning 

                       continuous 

                                       current

without a category

constantly moving 

through a borrowed body

working towards 

a purpose 

only I can define.

To be invisible 

is to embrace

my truest self 

whose identity

refuses to be 

                       confined

Sacred is the person

who I am 

when 

I

am 

                       alone

so when the time comes

the voice calling me home

is unmistakably my own.

 

 

One New Memory

Before telephones 
were hidden inside
pocket size computers 

and memories 

became notifications

delivered into the 

lining of my pants,

moments of my past

appeared randomly 

like a leaf blown in

from a tree I could 

never quite determine, 

on a breeze I never

saw coming. 

I was slapped in my face 

only once. My father’s 

hand had an electric 

message for my 

left cheek that 

told me in no 

uncertain terms that 

My mouth was not 

as smart as I thought 

I was. 

I marched this stinging 

feedback upstairs and 

my mirror held onto 

the moment for as 

long as I wanted this

one new memory

to stare back me,

a burning angry flame

only I should be able to

extinguish or reignite.

 

Math Happens

To calculate the sum of two,
once one was me 
and one was you.

Math happens.

People 

div ide.

[1998]

N R

The color of both
unbaked cake and a
cheap plastic doll,

this subway floor 

neither makes me

hungry or interested

in playing house. 

[1999]

Poem Back

 For Frank O'Hara
"All the mirrors in the world don't help me, not am I moved?"

Now I am moved.

There was no face of 50 

to distort into mangled innocence.

Relief! 

In death, they would not confront you.

O' Frank without a reflection

the has nothing depraved to melt.

[2001]

N.J. Transit

 1.

Disorganized clusters,
tiny frozen atoms,
dots of light
confetti colored;

a floor to make an impressionist smile.

2.

Peacock fans in aqua

an infinity of rows

precisely stacked

like the tops of

of one million untouched Q-Tips.

[2000]

Animals

 Nose to nose
our cars are practically touching.
Engines running, they are
animals, pausing 
having caught a scent.

SHIT! BALLS! GOD DAMN IT!

I realize now

both set of windows

are open.

I have never seen a man 

speak to his lap

in such a way.

Arms in a frenzy,

shifting something,

head looking down, and

his hands appear to 

be very busy.

His cursing grows 

quiet, I think

I have been caught

watching his 

dashboard puppet show.

Out of car, behind his door,

his hands are hard at work.

I am ashamed

to be staring 

but my eyes are transfixed. 

It is now his tiny

dog on a tangled leash

holding my 

attention.

[2002]

Madame X

 I

Vain Artemis
lacquered in lavender
and crowned by the moon.
I know where YOU are,
but whatever became of 
your lovely dress?

II

Heated, her 

ear the color of 

nipple and forbidden 

velvet cannon

is rearranged to

become a mouth.

III 

Pappa est mort.

Valentine est mort.

Grandemere est mort.

I am the lean

                     i

                       n

                         g

tower of women,

catch

me.

IV

Exotically positioned,

erotically charged,

her ivory is being dissected 

by darkness.

HOW FRIGHTENING!

Shadow is eating 

her alive. 

V

Death,

show me your face.

VI.

Victorians digested arsenic 

to preserve their 

white death complexion.

Researching this 

vulgar vulnerability

Google waved 

a white banner

NEW MOTHERS, HELP IS HERE

BABY NAMES HERE.

A new onset of 

consumption suggests

How about Virginie?

VII

Once you ruined Sargent's career

and now you define it. 

Which made you more proud?

[2003]

Poem (For Ted Berrigan)

 It is 9:39 pm and three minutes

after the last time

I looked at the clock on the VCR.

                                                   I memorize minutes.

The eight Path takes between Hoboken and the Prince St. station.

The twenty it takes me to walk a comfortable mile.

The single tic it takes for my eyes to spill 

                                                   my saddest memories.

The six it took me to write this all down

and call it a poem to you.

[2002]

(There is a solution)

 Your body is telling you
a serious change is needed.

You need a new you.
One we can both live with

[from 1996]