http://www.aspenpoetsociety.com en e.kinkelaar@comcast.net Copyright 2008 2008-11-05T04:13:00-07:00 http://www.aspenpoetsociety.com/index.php/site/november-4-2008-830-pm-mountain-standard-time/ http://www.aspenpoetsociety.com/index.php/site/november-4-2008-830-pm-mountain-standard-time/#When:03:13:00Z A country like this grows from possibility and improvisation the kinds of things you cannot buy at Wal-Mart and you cannot find in profits It’s soul might get tangled in misdirections but beneath freedom’s sky sunny men and women cannot resist the rising Light Poems 2008-11-05T03:13:00-07:00 http://www.aspenpoetsociety.com/index.php/site/wineglass/ http://www.aspenpoetsociety.com/index.php/site/wineglass/#When:00:54:00Z I wish I could be that Subtle play of light In your wineglass - The breeze around the edge, Painting legs from the rim, Tasting you as you are tasting me And slow to warm from the heat of your mouth. Poems 2008-10-31T00:54:00-07:00 http://www.aspenpoetsociety.com/index.php/site/heaven/ http://www.aspenpoetsociety.com/index.php/site/heaven/#When:00:49:00Z Nobody sees that the camera made you With a power to reach And how much this image Captivates like new religion. You can sell heaven In just one smile. Poems 2008-10-31T00:49:00-07:00 http://www.aspenpoetsociety.com/index.php/site/cast-away/ http://www.aspenpoetsociety.com/index.php/site/cast-away/#When:00:41:00Z A mute and unwilling voice – A fire and a sword That has slept in my hand For the ghosts of love castaway. “If thy offend thee, pluck it out.” Still a bitter glow in my dark eyes - The pulling arrows; Ones not taken from Cupid’s quiver But penetrating my loving beauty. O Child!  To finally embrace you! Up from the holocaust Of that dark mill that claimed you – To hold you high inside redemption! Poems 2008-10-31T00:41:00-07:00 http://www.aspenpoetsociety.com/index.php/site/hotel-lenado-poetry-night-october-2008-recitation-by-ryan-johnson/ http://www.aspenpoetsociety.com/index.php/site/hotel-lenado-poetry-night-october-2008-recitation-by-ryan-johnson/#When:00:06:00Z Two years, 730 days, and how many poems?  There may have been a few weeks there, on eggshells, but unlike our dear friends on wall street, we orchestrated not a bailout, but an upgrade.  Let me repeat, upgrade.  Transition is the nature of poetry, once your poetry has become stagnant, call it dead, but once it is bouncing and moving and tricking you with each word, it will live with you, perhaps more than you want.  That is also true of Hotel Lenado, quirky, cramped, cozy, friendly, resonating, yes, resonating.  Once a month, at the Hotel Lenado, poetry is committed, not just read, not just shared but committed.  We have all types here, visitors, commuters, regulars, mountain men, 9 to 5ers, first timers and every once a while an old pro.  Our crowds differ from month to month, as perhaps they should, but the main message is we have an audience, and our poets are, heard. For the most part our poets are realistic in their intentions.  Almost no one is looking for fame or fortune, very few dream of being the next great American poet.  Some of the poetry is amateurish, some heartfelt, some dull, some really fucking good, so good it pisses me off and some just plain hot, smoking hot.  We are a group of people that in one way or another have been turned on to poetry.  Turned on to hearing poetry, yours, others, poetry not only being read and heard but lived.  There is presence in this poetry. Our format has changed, morphed but is essentially an open mic and feature format, similar to great poetry readings around the country.  It is my hope that more and more our open mic poets will go on to be features.  After testing their chops, realizing what works and what doesn’t and spending countless hours and emotions on their poetry they will find their way to that immortal 15 minute spot and make sure everyone in the room leaves changed after it. For me, Hotel Lenado Poetry night is a way to live.  It is a way to breathe and scream and laugh, shout and whisper.  It’s a place where I’ve made friends and colleagues with people from all walks of life with a hundred different stories.  A poet and dear deceased friend David Lerner once wrote “poetry is the rock of tomorrow not that pop music is in spiritual receivership. I wish I could read my poetry in front of thousands of people like a rock star because I know that if I did, I could eventually make them weep, hurt, be silent and at some point actually listen.  But even if all that came true, if all my idealistic dreaming saw some light, I would still ramble down aspen street, notebook in hand, order my whisky and coke and listen to the best goddamn group of friends, people and poets a young man could ever ask for. Poetry Night @ Hotel Lenado 2008-10-27T00:06:00-07:00 http://www.aspenpoetsociety.com/index.php/site/american-haiku-36/ http://www.aspenpoetsociety.com/index.php/site/american-haiku-36/#When:04:52:00Z sitting in the back of a pick up truck barreling down Rt 30 hot summer day 1974. i saw a fly buzz from cooler to cooler it’s going 2 mph but the truck is going 70 and so i’m beginning to understand the universe. rughead said damn, that sun is hot! rughead, i said that sun is billions and billions of degrees hot yet the first atom test was hotter than the center of the sun (it’s true). rughead looked at me and so did leon, westagon and itchy. i forgot what happened next it was very humid the kind of day that philly will throw at you in august or october :  ) we were doing tree work for crazy ed taylor. Poems 2008-10-18T04:52:00-07:00 http://www.aspenpoetsociety.com/index.php/site/closed/ http://www.aspenpoetsociety.com/index.php/site/closed/#When:04:16:00Z When love dies, it stands at the door Like a cold and crying child wanting to come in. When love dies, it is the seething poison in your veins. The thoughts stand up like bookends And holds the loneliness erect. When love dies, it is only the soul of an echo. When love dies, it erases the grace – Every inch of faith. The wedding band – the circle of love – But when love dies, it is another circle closed. Poems 2008-09-27T04:16:00-07:00 http://www.aspenpoetsociety.com/index.php/site/the-stage/ http://www.aspenpoetsociety.com/index.php/site/the-stage/#When:04:14:00Z The wings – Material – The boards – The wood – My shadow is held offstage Until the walk under light. And somewhere between the shafts Of dust, will also Hang the rogation; A fragile curtain of skin. But when only the vents are on, This vessel – This place – Smells of expectation; A sterile prostrate space. Poems 2008-09-27T04:14:00-07:00 http://www.aspenpoetsociety.com/index.php/site/of-glass-and-steel/ http://www.aspenpoetsociety.com/index.php/site/of-glass-and-steel/#When:04:09:00Z For the Army of those Who dare to dream And for the dreams made real - The warriors of plans and tools. From the paper beginnings and The drafting of the dream - The apparition, the edifice To rise like shafts of light. The glass - a promise of light From a prism of sand - A bower or vision Between heaven and the city. Steel is a brotherhood of spark And cinder, fired with imagination - The strength - forged and forced Into the first person “I”. It is that gaunt possibility, The shell of the ways and means - To stand with the people, To stand with the eternal city. Poems 2008-09-27T04:09:00-07:00 http://www.aspenpoetsociety.com/index.php/site/american-haiku-45/ http://www.aspenpoetsociety.com/index.php/site/american-haiku-45/#When:12:40:00Z on the seventh day god rested, let’s wake him now. Poems 2008-09-09T12:40:00-07:00