The Tattooed Poets Project: Nescher Pyscher

<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Today's tattooed poet is named Nescher Pyscher and hails from Cambridge, Ohio.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Nescher offered  up his right wrist for us here at Tattoosday:</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXZEdYEbSaSZs4s49STaHP8o966TzBj_Ei5cgb3wDDMFJbcfeFoauMWxWh37a7vYibC6KS8Rhg2IWCzVU1k2Z80egXixjpAniXggjbF8KEcYp_4FrfKs84xY_B7EYq1pDEM5Mj1H5MhDk/s1600/Geir.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXZEdYEbSaSZs4s49STaHP8o966TzBj_Ei5cgb3wDDMFJbcfeFoauMWxWh37a7vYibC6KS8Rhg2IWCzVU1k2Z80egXixjpAniXggjbF8KEcYp_4FrfKs84xY_B7EYq1pDEM5Mj1H5MhDk/s400/Geir.jpg" width="351" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo courtesy of Nescher Pyscher</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">Nescher explains:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><blockquote><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;">"The tattoo was done in two parts. The first part was my wife's name in Chinese, surrounded by an infinity symbol. It was my wedding present for her. I designed the tattoo myself, and I was inspired to do so by a ink-stamper-thing-y my wife's father brought home for her from </span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;">China</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;">. The second part, my son's name, was my wife's Christmas present to me when our son was born. I do not remember the name of the tattoo studios or the artists, but both tats were procured in the </span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;">Akron</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;">, </span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;">Ohio</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;"> area."</span></div></blockquote>As a matter of clarification, I asked Nescher about the kanji representing his wife's name. He told me that the "three symbols mean--so I've been told--'Mother,' 'Earth' and 'Love.' " He added that she is a geologist, by occupation. <br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjky0sUN-r5-5uz2achYVHMDyl3hQTeph1qqMXvk4n4E60dCEgv9jtVz78rBgyNb84lJWyOjWTPUiKbZhGQxyvJCzpKd4GhGsS1opfygeaVk2Nao9ujyIyyv8TkILbwjEonjTyRJd69ksU/s1600/Geir+detail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="382" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjky0sUN-r5-5uz2achYVHMDyl3hQTeph1qqMXvk4n4E60dCEgv9jtVz78rBgyNb84lJWyOjWTPUiKbZhGQxyvJCzpKd4GhGsS1opfygeaVk2Nao9ujyIyyv8TkILbwjEonjTyRJd69ksU/s400/Geir+detail.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo courtesy of Nescher Pyscher</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">As for his son's name, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Geir">Geir</a>, he clarified that his name means Spear, which is Icelandic or Norwegian, in origin. Nescher added that "names with value and freighted with meaning are important in my family. He is the strong weapon in my right hand, the spear we cast into the future."</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">As for a poem, Nescher, offered up this piece:</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;"></div><blockquote><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;">dustbitten</span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">i plant the seed of myself within myself-- </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">mutated, cloned, half-life-whole that</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">gropes toward darkening life-- </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">and watch the poisoned weed of me grow.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">i am the frozen feathers of a bird in flight, </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">locked to dead tree, dying in estrous, </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">decayed in birth, and forgotten before the wind</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">could sweep through feathers.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">i am eye, </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">i am face, </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">i am ear</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">i am the frozen corpse at the bottom of the well</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">leaking into life; oozing into being;</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">draining into dream and desire</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">i am fist</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">i am nail</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">i am bent, broken finger</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">i water the tumors of me with the salt of my tears</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">the iron tang of my blood, </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">the sweet toxin of my urine.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">i am teeth</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">i am tongue</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">i am busily working lips</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">i eat my flesh, taken straight from crippled vine</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">and wince at the taste of my self-inflicted pain,</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">juices running unchecked down my pocked and hairless</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">chin</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">i am blister</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">i am burn</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">i am wounded, weeping sore</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">my madness drives me, sings inside me</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">and keeps me warm</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">the feel of meeting teeth on my broken skin feels</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">like warm rain in the evening;  </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">sun setting on life forever</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">i am stone</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">i am flesh</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">i am dust</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div></blockquote><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"> ~ ~ ~</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivDUGH2YaQcB0xeh0YoasKGovn1h3-hW94Gz4QQ_ZJxpBgVt2HxP-hL-giCvwDzj_y2WSGvpsKVMVwAIqc09xE8i_ubGExGFBnXVGEFBqLI8IR45PQEMnuZBYteL1zbXR7K4dgRPBiHlA/s1600/nescher.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivDUGH2YaQcB0xeh0YoasKGovn1h3-hW94Gz4QQ_ZJxpBgVt2HxP-hL-giCvwDzj_y2WSGvpsKVMVwAIqc09xE8i_ubGExGFBnXVGEFBqLI8IR45PQEMnuZBYteL1zbXR7K4dgRPBiHlA/s320/nescher.gif" width="236" /></a><span style="color: black;">Nescher Pyscher--his real name. Honest!--is a happily married, thirty-five year old author and poet living, writing and staying at home with his son in the Cambridge, Ohio area. His writing can be found at <a href="http://nescherpyscher.weebly.com/check-it-out.html">Weebly.com</a>, <a href="http://www.helium.com/users/607400/show_articles">Helium.com</a>, <i>Pablo Lennis</i>, and his book of short stories, <i><a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1425118097/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=bill03-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=1425118097%22%3EItchy%20Whispers%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=&l=as2&o=1&a=1425118097%22%20width=%221%22%20height=%221%22%20border=%220%22%20alt=%22%22%20style=%22border:none%20%21important;%20margin:0px%20%21important;%22%20/%3E">Itchy Whispers</a>,</i> is now available from Trafford or Amazon.com. His adventures in ineptitude with his son, The Pants, can be read twice weekly at <i><a href="http://www.daily-jeff.com/">The Daily Jeffersonian</a>.  </i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">Thanks to Nescher for sharing his tattoos and his poetry with us here on Tattoosday!</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;"><br /><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?lt1=_blank&bc1=000000&IS2=1&bg1=FFFFFF&fc1=000000&lc1=0000FF&t=bill03-20&o=1&p=8&l=as4&m=amazon&f=ifr&ref=ss_til&asins=1425118097" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;">This entry is ©2011 Tattoosday. The poem is reprinted here with the permission of the author.<br /><br />If you are reading this on another web site other than Tattoosday, without attribution, please note that it has been copied without the author's permission and is in violation of copyright laws. Please feel free to visit </span> <span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://tattoosday.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">http://tattoosday.blogspot.com</a> and read our original content. Please let me know if you saw this elsewhere so I contact the webmaster of the offending site and advise them of this violation in their Terms of Use Agreement.</span></div>

The Tattooed Poets Project: Nescher Pyscher

Today's tattooed poet is named Nescher Pyscher and hails from Cambridge, Ohio. Nescher offered  up his right wrist for us here at Tattoo...

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The Tattooed Poets Project: Sue Swartz

Today's tattooed poet, <a href="http://swartzsue.wordpress.com/">Sue Swartz</a>, hails from Bloomington, Indiana, and offers up her forearm for all the world to see:<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB1078lq0hLuP-QDdHYIJovm6kpsbVAD2A2ftD5v64vzXh4zYo0YBp6R23lEI64ImsGTBR-ZgkeBFWIH-icQT9KNclD2Ve-e110dFaiCUIHqUfXk_ELxhOzFVBM05lvvgGvfB_xLJp7Ko/s1600/Sue+Tat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB1078lq0hLuP-QDdHYIJovm6kpsbVAD2A2ftD5v64vzXh4zYo0YBp6R23lEI64ImsGTBR-ZgkeBFWIH-icQT9KNclD2Ve-e110dFaiCUIHqUfXk_ELxhOzFVBM05lvvgGvfB_xLJp7Ko/s400/Sue+Tat.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by John Narmontas</td></tr></tbody></table>Sue explains: <br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><blockquote style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">This is a 2-part tattoo story. On my 54^th birthday, I had the Hebrew word for truth (<i>emet</i>) imprinted on my right (i.e., writing) forearm in traditional black Torah script. I wanted a useful reminder for my art; also the word contains one letter that is a stand-in for life/God and two others that spell out the word “dead”. Okay, it was a little heavy. Two years later, this past November, when I couldn’t take looking at the damn truth anymore, <a href="http://www.volutatattoo.com/Voluta_Tattoo%3A_Fine_Art_Tattoo,_Indianapolis/Dina_Verplank__Indianapolis_Female_Custom_Tattoo_Artist%21_Oil_Painting,_Portraits,_and_colorful_Fine_Art_Tattoos%21_Stutz_Building,_Voluta%21.html">Dina Verplank</a> of <a href="http://www.volutatattoo.com/Voluta_Tattoo%3A_Fine_Art_Tattoo,_Indianapolis/Welcome_to_Voluta_Tattoo%21_Indianapolis_Fine_Artists_and_Tattooists,_Stutz_Artists,_Downtown_Indianapolis.html">Voluta Tattoo</a> in Indianapolis beautified the baldness of the lone word with a branch from the Tree of Life and a spiral/root system. </span></div></blockquote></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwjox76feox9LRs4j3DxGrbVWyZlECR5Z5wYQnthS9jgUwXLO-d3b1VpzySpgH5SsK7bhq8pu833-S2Z5KHjUY8QJ9kJPjQpxx6kIeDqEE0s-FtDX6nJT3moMbXCg-_O0UHvnYqX0NR9M/s1600/Auntie+Sue+Tat+detail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwjox76feox9LRs4j3DxGrbVWyZlECR5Z5wYQnthS9jgUwXLO-d3b1VpzySpgH5SsK7bhq8pu833-S2Z5KHjUY8QJ9kJPjQpxx6kIeDqEE0s-FtDX6nJT3moMbXCg-_O0UHvnYqX0NR9M/s320/Auntie+Sue+Tat+detail.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by John Narmontas</td></tr></tbody></table> And Sue offers up this poem:<br /><br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">MID-LIFE</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span></div><div class="MsoBodyText"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;">Damn. Another 3 a.m. flying dream. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;">This time I’m on a cement slab hurtling toward over-grown lawns </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;">covered with large plastic pigs and spiked coat hangers. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;">This is not what normal people dream.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;">Awake, I tilt (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">normal, not normal</i>) on a giant seesaw of guilt </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;">by association and realize: </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;">I might not really know what normal is—</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;">My dead – crazy bastards every one – left far too many clues, </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;">though not one legible note of navigational instruction. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;">Minds overtaken by spirals and whirligigs, Greek letters </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;">and the rising price of toilet paper, they wore the warp & weave </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;">of their affliction stoically. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;">Seamlessly, one might say, and with understated finesse. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;">Running off to Florida on a Tuesday-morning whim: </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;">In the realm of normal. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;">Snapped-on pills for breakfast: </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;">Mildly normal. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;">Washing, washing again, again, again. Refusing to shake </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;">the hand of strangers: </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;">Undeniably normal (well, yeah – you never know </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;">who’s got what). </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;">With garments torn & heads made bare, they bob in and out </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;">of traffic, sit close to me in restaurants, carefully chewing</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;">with their electrode mouths.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;">My dead have secrets. That much is abundantly clear. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;">I listen for whispers of their generous madness, find </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;">they’ve come while I’m asleep. Bad timing is all I’ve got. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;">That, and fingerprints left on the towels. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;">No, I don’t shush them away: then I’d lose the true nature </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;">of everything. If I don’t know what normal is, why not </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;">claim these people as kin? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;">How else to name my own impurities and small derangements? </span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">~ ~ ~</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Sue Swartz is a poet, hired-gun-political writer, amateur ballroom dancer, favored grandparent, social justice activist, occasional <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yogini">yogini</a>, and creator of alternative Jewish ritual. Her work has been published in <a href="http://www.cutthroatmag.com/"><i>Cutthroat Magazine</i></a>, <a href="http://www.lilith.org/"><i>Lilith</i></a>, <a href="http://www.5ampoetry.com/"><i>5 a.m.</i></a>, <a href="http://www.smartishpace.com/"><i>SmartishPace</i></a>, and elsewhere. She wishes she had a book you could buy. You can find her blog Awkward Offerings at </span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><a href="http://swartzsue.wordpress.com/"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">http://swartzsue.wordpress.com/</span></a></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">. She makes her home in Bloomington, Indiana and believes that <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Book_of_Leviticus">Leviticus</a> </span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">(</span><i style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">You are not to make gashes in your flesh for the dead nor incise marks on yourself.</i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">) goes a bit overboard.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Thanks to Sue for sharing her truthful tattoo with us here on Tattoosday! </span></span><br /><br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;">This entry is ©2011 Tattoosday. The poem is reprinted here with the permission of the author.<br /><br />If you are reading this on another web site other than Tattoosday, without attribution, please note that it has been copied without the author's permission and is in violation of copyright laws. Please feel free to visit </span> <span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://tattoosday.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">http://tattoosday.blogspot.com</a> and read our original content. Please let me know if you saw this elsewhere so I contact the webmaster of the offending site and advise them of this violation in their Terms of Use Agreement.</span></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span> </span></div>

The Tattooed Poets Project: Sue Swartz

Today's tattooed poet, Sue Swartz , hails from Bloomington, Indiana, and offers up her forearm for all the world to see: Photo by John N...

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The Tattooed Poets Project: Noemi Soto

Today's tattooed poet is <a href="http://noemisoto.com/dreamland/">Noemi Soto</a>, who sent us this lovely, colorful photo of her tattoo:<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnm8DgHyr0KZ1b2sptJQg8DaEOLb8rTclf6eun5KerF2dZH9bsnMGeNnZQQzoE7Suz57PaMACGbKUjoRHJWngK72DenkG_9tTvBIF5zWxBllodphiaNLZfjHb-StYYP5msQDI1sBj8VlY/s1600/HeartTattoo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnm8DgHyr0KZ1b2sptJQg8DaEOLb8rTclf6eun5KerF2dZH9bsnMGeNnZQQzoE7Suz57PaMACGbKUjoRHJWngK72DenkG_9tTvBIF5zWxBllodphiaNLZfjHb-StYYP5msQDI1sBj8VlY/s400/HeartTattoo.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo Courtesy of Noemi Soto</td></tr></tbody></table>Noemi explains:<br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><blockquote><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">"I designed the tattoo for myself during a pretty rough period after a major breakup about 6 years ago. I wanted it to represent the heartbreak that I was feeling at the time but still hold hope for the future. The artist who tattooed me was Danielle Distefano while she was working out of <a href="http://www.daredeviltattoo.com/">Dare DevilTattoo</a> on </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Ludlow Street</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"> in </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Manhattan</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">." </span></div></blockquote></div>Danielle is currently tattooing out of <a href="http://www.onlyyoutattoo.com/">Only You Tattoo</a> in Atlanta, Georgia.<br /><br />Noemi offers up this poem:<br /><br /><br /><div style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><u><span style="font-family: Arial;">The Beginning is the End is the Beginning</span></u></b></div><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Back when I was younger<br />My mother tried to protect my heart<br />Always telling me to never bare my insides for a man<br />to never let him in fully so that he may devour what I hold dear<br />to not let a man do to me what had been done to her</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Her backbone used to show signs of strength but now lacks the stamina to withstand the battle<br />She was once a woman so strong in her will<br />but with every man in her life taking pieces of her for themselves<br />she has now become a mere shell of herself<br />The stink of her childhood still lingering in her hair</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">I was witness to the tug of war my father and her used to play<br />saw the push and pull of their hearts<br />there was nothing unconditional about their love<br />not even when it came to me<br />there is nothing sentimental and heartfelt in the throwing of pots, pans and fists<br />“I love you” cannot be said through the gnashing of one’s teeth</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">So when it came time for my will to be tested<br />I acted on what I saw and not what I was told<br />What I was shown was that to be a woman meant having to bend your spine so far back to please your man that you broke yourself in two<br />To stretch those parts of yourself out so that you may give him the smoothest of surfaces in which he may stomp your hopes and dreams into<br />To ignore his faults and accept them as your own<br />How dare you even think otherwise?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">I was taught that… to be a woman meant having to pick up the pieces that were left behind from his war path<br />making sure only your feet bled in the process to save his<br />Being a woman always meant never asking any questions<br />to let him roam and if he comes back … well… what more do you want?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">I followed all of these lessons very carefully<br />made sure I folded the laundry just right<br />had dinner ready when he came home<br />and always made sure to give him his space<br />only to find myself face down on the floor, arms pinned behind me, with all of his weight pressing his right knee into my back<br />I waited until he left the room to get up</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">I stayed in silence<br />still willing to be the woman behind the man<br />Still willing to be the glass which he slammed his fist against<br />shattering any sense of self worth I had just for him</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">I began to wonder if this really was what it meant to be a woman or just the kind of woman who was so lost in herself that she was willing to let a man tell her what she should be<br />and if it did …. Then I had to learn to become my own woman<br />and I couldn’t do that by being underneath his thumb</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">So I bent back each one of his fingers till they snapped at the joints to show him how serious I was<br />It was the only way to break free<br />and while he screamed in pain and cursed me for having been born</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br />I cleared a way for myself through the broken home which I was sure would last forever<br />letting him know that he no longer had a hold on me<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">~~~</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal">Noemi Soto is a Brooklyn, New York native who was born and raised in Coney Island and is a recent transplant to Queens. Her poetry has been featured in a variety of publications such as <i><a href="http://www.acentosreview.com/Home.html">The Acentos Review</a></i>, <a href="http://theliteraryburlesque.com/"><i>The Literary Burlesque</i></a>, <a href="http://litupmagazine.wordpress.com/"><i>LitUp Magazine</i></a> & <a href="http://www.southjerseyunderground.com/"><i>South Jersey Underground</i></a>. She is a Pushcart Prize nominee and is currently working on her first book. You can read more of her work  at her website <a href="http://noemisoto.com/dreamland/">here</a>.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Thanks to Noemi for her contribution to the Tattooed Poets Project!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;">This entry is ©2011 Tattoosday. The poem is reprinted here with the permission of the author.<br /><br />If you are reading this on another web site other than Tattoosday, without attribution, please note that it has been copied without the author's permission and is in violation of copyright laws. Please feel free to visit </span> <span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://tattoosday.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">http://tattoosday.blogspot.com</a> and read our original content. Please let me know if you saw this elsewhere so I contact the webmaster of the offending site and advise them of this violation in their Terms of Use Agreement.</span></div>

The Tattooed Poets Project: Noemi Soto

Today's tattooed poet is Noemi Soto , who sent us this lovely, colorful photo of her tattoo: Photo Courtesy of Noemi Soto Noemi explains...

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The Tattooed Poets Project: Stephen Roger Powers

Today's tattooed poet is <a href="http://www.stephenrogerpowers.com/">Stephen Roger Powers</a>, who is sharing this tattoo of an iconic figure from the music industry:<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM8tzpMuobxnqTAY7CXuFShFIErcyO_q3eJfnQbOaPEfVPQBvwHaA7pTr90mOPDWlsd6LINMduUSwpc5lOZrzCtPLjgipX5DDOsFsKOE0ZgXAJ0uyQDl1t22iO4BHVnIwsoFaWyHVvCZE/s1600/Dolly+Tata.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM8tzpMuobxnqTAY7CXuFShFIErcyO_q3eJfnQbOaPEfVPQBvwHaA7pTr90mOPDWlsd6LINMduUSwpc5lOZrzCtPLjgipX5DDOsFsKOE0ZgXAJ0uyQDl1t22iO4BHVnIwsoFaWyHVvCZE/s400/Dolly+Tata.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by James Morton</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Stephen explains:<br /><br /><blockquote><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;">I've been a <a href="http://www.dollyparton.com/">Dolly Parton</a> fan since my family took a road trip to </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;">Tennessee</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;"> in 1987.  We stopped at <a href="http://www.dollywood.com/">Dollywood</a>, and I fell in love.  When I was in college I wanted a Dolly tattoo, but I never went through with getting one.  I kept the thought of it in the back of my mind for years, and when I started writing poems about Dolly and my frequent trips to Dollywood to see her perform benefit concerts for the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dollywood_Foundation">Dollywood Foundation</a>, the idea slowly crept forward again.  Then <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1907056203/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=bill03-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=1907056203%22%3EThe%20Follower%27s%20Tale%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=&l=as2&o=1&a=1907056203%22%20width=%221%22%20height=%221%22%20border=%220%22%20alt=%22%22%20style=%22border:none%20%21important;%20margin:0px%20%21important;%22%20/%3E">my book of Dolly poems</a> came out in 2009, and I knew it would soon be time.  One day last year my friend Liz, who has 14 tattoos herself, told me to stop thinking about it, stop talking about it, and just do it.  Sounded reasonable to me.  So Liz drove me to <a href="http://www.libertytat2.com/">Liberty Tattoo</a> in </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;">Atlanta</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;"> and introduced me to <a href="http://www.libertytat2.com/tattoos/michael-shack-shackleford/">Michael "Shack" Shackelford</a>, the artist who'd done most of hers.  Shack drew up a stylized, cartoonized version of Dolly from the cover of her 1977 album <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Here_You_Come_Again">Here You Come Again</a>, taking some creative license by adding pokey nipples, which was fine with me. </span></div></blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2-cwipB01ATwgBx31oP6pbjI5b-P2a9UqE8jRqbk8uAc4Is5Mvh1k2KcZkedfPysW7S4CM1VqYKtNkCGTiVtJ5XJGdJvt6jcoeWeHqKUS9oni3cpzPwhyphenhyphenIMU3-IidfjyvO-eH3ArBm3o/s1600/Hereyoucomeagain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2-cwipB01ATwgBx31oP6pbjI5b-P2a9UqE8jRqbk8uAc4Is5Mvh1k2KcZkedfPysW7S4CM1VqYKtNkCGTiVtJ5XJGdJvt6jcoeWeHqKUS9oni3cpzPwhyphenhyphenIMU3-IidfjyvO-eH3ArBm3o/s1600/Hereyoucomeagain.jpg" /></a></div><br /><blockquote><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;">Liz kept saying she wasn't going to let me back out of it now that she'd driven me there and gotten pulled over for an illegal u-turn on the way, so Shack sat me down, we got started, and today I have Dolly Parton inked on my forearm.  While the tattoo is based on a full body shot of Dolly and it runs down my entire right forearm from elbow to wrist, the photo here is a close-up of just her face and torso, which I think makes Shack's details easier to see.</span></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;"></span></blockquote><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;"> Accompanying this Dolly tattoo is Stephen's poem, "Dolly and the Frog Strangler," which appeared originally in <a href="http://www.wlu.edu/x31904.xml"><i>Shenadoah</i></a> and can be found in his book <a href="http://www.salmonpoetry.com/details.php?ID=168&a=164">The Follower's Tale</a> (available <a href="http://www.salmonpoetry.com/details.php?ID=168&a=164">here</a>):<br /><br /><b style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Dolly and the Frog Strangler</b></span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I was writing a song with Dolly when we ran out of gas</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">near exit 201 going south through a sudden downpour in Indiana.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The first verse was something about how hay bales grow</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">darker in the rain and the sides of barns turn from red to brown.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">We were also hauling a Dolly Parton pinball machine by Bally.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The backglass was in the backseat. The playfield, with rubber</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">flippers intact, cartoon Dolly barefoot in denim shorts, was too big to go</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">in the trunk all the way.  It hung over the bumper by bungee cords.  Every bump,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">my worn-out shocks groaned and banged like rickety roller coasters.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">We waited for a trucker to bring us a gallon.  Hail popped on the roof</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">like too many warped records playing at the same time.  We were bored,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">looking for ways to amuse ourselves.  Dolly tapped her dragon lady nails</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">on the dashboard.  I used my sleeve to wipe away windshield fog.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">After we hummed a middle C we wrote the second verse,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">something about long hair between your lips and mountain berry shampoo</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">scent in your nose when you kiss someone in the wind.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">We rolled down the windows to let the storm heat evaporate</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">some of the air conditioning.  Dolly’s wig got tangled and wet.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The strangest thing was happening: The pinball machine</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">kept flashing hot pink and lavender.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Maybe lightning hit the cord trailing behind.  Or else something lit it</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">up from our mind’s eye that saw corn tassels rolling in this gully washer</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">over the fields as applauding hands of cheering crowds.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Our chorus was something about how you look out</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">your rearview mirror and it’s still visible after a mile</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">passes, maybe two if the countryside is flat, but then it fades</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">away and is gone, and you can’t remember anymore what mile</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;">marker it was by when you passed it.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;"> ~~~</span></span></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;"><a href="http://www.stephenrogerpowers.com/">Stephen Roger Powers</a> is the author of <a href="http://www.salmonpoetry.com/details.php?ID=168&a=164">TheFollower's Tale</a>, available from <a href="http://www.salmonpoetry.com/details.php?ID=168&a=164">Salmon Poetry</a>.  His work has appeared in <i><a href="http://www.wlu.edu/x31904.xml">Shenandoah</a></i>, <i><a href="http://www.32poems.com/">32 Poems</a></i>, <a href="http://dislocate.umn.edu/"><i>Dislocate</i></a>, and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Margie-American-Journal-Robert-Nazarene/dp/0971904006">Margie</a>.  He divides his time between </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;">Wisconsin</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;">, </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;">Georgia</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;">, and Dollywood.</span><br /><br />A sincere thanks to Stephen for sharing his poem, tattoo and his love of Dolly Parton here with us on Tattoosday!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?lt1=_blank&bc1=000000&IS2=1&bg1=FFFFFF&fc1=000000&lc1=0000FF&t=bill03-20&o=1&p=8&l=as4&m=amazon&f=ifr&ref=ss_til&asins=1907056203" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe></div><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;">This entry is ©2011 Tattoosday. The poem is reprinted here with the permission of the author.<br /><br />If you are reading this on another web site other than Tattoosday, without attribution, please note that it has been copied without the author's permission and is in violation of copyright laws. Please feel free to visit </span> <span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://tattoosday.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">http://tattoosday.blogspot.com</a> and read our original content. Please let me know if you saw this elsewhere so I contact the webmaster of the offending site and advise them of this violation in their Terms of Use Agreement.</span></div>

The Tattooed Poets Project: Stephen Roger Powers

Today's tattooed poet is Stephen Roger Powers , who is sharing this tattoo of an iconic figure from the music industry: Photo by James M...

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The Tattooed Poets Project: Martha Serpas

<div class="MsoNormal">On this, our fourth day of the third annual Tattooed Poets Project, we are honored to have work from <a href="http://www.marthaserpas.com/">Martha Serpas</a>.<br /><br />Readers may wonder where we find all these tattooed poets. Most come our way by word of mouth, but a small handful, like in Martha's case, agree to participate after we send out e-mail inquiries, without even knowing if a poet is inked or not. Most poets don't even respond, a handful do, but are not tattooed, and once in a blue moon, we find a tattooed poet who is happy to participate.<br /><br />Anyway, here's one of Martha's tattoos:<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAw9BrbsJH03rs3Nt8AwdcT5sFL08JHLVxAhmVCYUZp4fpPszLnqeEiHPRxyVQxI5T2zJd0imOGEisSpvy5p500wYWZUiP43JOuwoZKFNYi5qYnriq1eAdEb-oNsCetpHyD8vH5FFv0HY/s1600/serpas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAw9BrbsJH03rs3Nt8AwdcT5sFL08JHLVxAhmVCYUZp4fpPszLnqeEiHPRxyVQxI5T2zJd0imOGEisSpvy5p500wYWZUiP43JOuwoZKFNYi5qYnriq1eAdEb-oNsCetpHyD8vH5FFv0HY/s640/serpas.jpg" width="488" /></a></div><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Martha explains:</div><blockquote><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">This tattoo is a montage over 20 or so years in the making. First work, Willie [at Willie's Island Tattoos] on Staten Island; <a href="http://www.manta.com/c/mm87f6p/daniel-williams">Dan [Williams</a> at the <a href="http://www.myspace.com/bpttattoo">Bridgeport Tattoo Shop]</a> in Bridgeport, CT; <a href="http://www.tattoobydesign.com/bonniejean.htm">Bonnie Jean</a> in Yachats, OR at [<a href="http://www.tattoobydesign.com/">Tattoo by Design</a>]; and a guy in Houston I never should have let reline it. Bonnie Jean <strike>was</strike> is old school and taught me that tattooing is like coloring in a book: anybody can do it if the lines are really thick. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The tattoo’s a chronicle of a tumultuous time in my life. The wind/water symbol (my design) traversing the image was first. It felt like a spiritual emblem. The bird represents a goal of peace (brought it in from somewhere). The moliere/Celtic cross  (graphic artist friend, <a href="http://www.etsy.com/people/cjanuska">Carla Januska</a> designed) is modeled after the one on the chapel at my divinity school and doubles as a setting sun. It is my graduation ring, of sorts. The feathery flame shapes (Bonnie Jean’s freehand) <a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=6058251288236499429" name="_GoBack"></a>within the wings and tail came last—my attempt to soften up the image when my life became more tranquil.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I have a small tattoo on my ankle that precedes this one(s); a memorial to my best friend on my thigh; a reverse hurricane symbol on my thumb (post-Katrina); and a symbol of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Perichoresis">perichoresis </a>(divine revolution) on my forearm. I’ve been told I look like a doodle pad. I get tattooed about every 5 years. If I ever become content with life, I’ll stop trying to achieve the ideal personal emblem. For now, I doodle.</div></blockquote><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">•••••••</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>Martha also contributed the following poem which, she explained, "was inspired by a photograph on the cover of <i><a href="http://www.easyriders.com/tattoo/">Tattoo</a>."  </i>One note, Martha adds, is that "<a href="http://www.studiotattoo.com/suzanne.html">Suzanne</a> owned the shop in Ann Arbor where I got my first ankle tattoo: Creative Tattoo by Suzanne. Great T-shirt: Go forth and live as art. I heard she passed away: Her breast piece was amazing."<br /><div class="MsoNormal"></div><blockquote><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Tattoo</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">She knows being chosen means to choose herself</div><div class="MsoNormal">and seals upon her breasts the Sacred Heart—</div><div class="MsoNormal">a thorn-bound garnet against open lilies,</div><div class="MsoNormal">a pink-and-white ink triptych on her chest.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Every shadow, a creed professed by lines </div><div class="MsoNormal">from votive needles to her deepest cells. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Her body gives life to art, reflects the fade</div><div class="MsoNormal">of dying flesh, and honors God’s design.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">No second thoughts, she thinks that pain</div><div class="MsoNormal">is easily a choice we make ourselves,</div><div class="MsoNormal">as is admiring her canvas skin</div><div class="MsoNormal">as it ages. Affirmed with words spelled</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">on a defiant ribbon across her chest,</div><div class="MsoNormal">her blazón: <i>Even the blackest sheep are blessed.</i> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">            [Appeared in <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1930974175/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=bill03-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=1930974175%22%3ECote%20Blanche%20%28New%20Issues%20Poetry%20&%20Prose%29%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=&l=as2&o=1&a=1930974175%22%20width=%221%22%20height=%221%22%20border=%220%22%20alt=%22%22%20style=%22border:none%20%21important;%20margin:0px%20%21important;%22%20/%3E"><i>Côte Blanche</i></a> (New Issues, 2002)]</div></blockquote><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">•••••••</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><a href="http://www.marthaserpas.com/">Martha Serpas’s</a> two collections of poetry are <i><a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1930974175/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=bill03-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=1930974175%22%3ECote%20Blanche%20%28New%20Issues%20Poetry%20&%20Prose%29%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=&l=as2&o=1&a=1930974175%22%20width=%221%22%20height=%221%22%20border=%220%22%20alt=%22%22%20style=%22border:none%20%21important;%20margin:0px%20%21important;%22%20/%3E">Côte Blanche</a> </i>(New Issues, 2002) and <i><a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0393331431/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=bill03-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0393331431%22%3EThe%20Dirty%20Side%20of%20the%20Storm:%20Poems%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=&l=as2&o=1&a=0393331431%22%20width=%221%22%20height=%221%22%20border=%220%22%20alt=%22%22%20style=%22border:none%20%21important;%20margin:0px%20%21important;%22%20/%3E">The Dirty Side of the Storm</a> </i>(Norton, 2007). Her work has appeared in <i><a href="http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/poetry/2008/04/07/080407po_poem_serpas">The New Yorker</a>, <a href="http://www.thenation.com/node/22941">The Nation</a>, </i>and <a href="http://smu.edu/southwestreview/"><i>Southwest Review</i></a>, and in </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">anthologies such as <i><a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0802864643/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=bill03-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0802864643%22%3EBearing%20the%20Mystery:%20Twenty%20Years%20of%20IMAGE%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=&l=as2&o=1&a=0802864643%22%20width=%221%22%20height=%221%22%20border=%220%22%20alt=%22%22%20style=%22border:none%20%21important;%20margin:0px%20%21important;%22%20/%3E">Bearing the Mystery: Twenty Years of Image</a> </i>and the Library of America’s <i><a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/193108274X/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=bill03-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=193108274X%22%3EAmerican%20Religious%20Poems:%20An%20Anthology%20by%20Harold%20Bloom%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=&l=as2&o=1&a=193108274X%22%20width=%221%22%20height=%221%22%20border=%220%22%20alt=%22%22%20style=%22border:none%20%21important;%20margin:0px%20%21important;%22%20/%3E">American Religious Poems</a>. </i></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">A native of Bayou Lafourche in south </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Louisiana</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">, she is involved in efforts to restore </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Louisiana</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">’s wetlands. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">She teaches creative writing at the </span><a href="http://www.class.uh.edu/cwp/"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">University</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> of </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Houston</span></a><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> and is a hospital trauma chaplain.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />You can learn more about Martha and her writing at her website, <a href="http://www.marthaserpas.com/">http://www.marthaserpas.com/</a>.<br /><br />A sincere thanks to Martha for sharing her tattoo and poem with us here on Tattoosday! </div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?lt1=_blank&bc1=000000&IS2=1&bg1=FFFFFF&fc1=000000&lc1=0000FF&t=bill03-20&o=1&p=8&l=as4&m=amazon&f=ifr&ref=ss_til&asins=1930974175" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?lt1=_blank&bc1=000000&IS2=1&bg1=FFFFFF&fc1=000000&lc1=0000FF&t=bill03-20&o=1&p=8&l=as4&m=amazon&f=ifr&ref=ss_til&asins=0393331431" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe></div><br />This entry is ©2011 Tattoosday. The poem is reprinted here with the permission of the author.<br /><br />If you are reading this on another web site other than Tattoosday, without attribution, please note that it has been copied without the author's permission and is in violation of copyright laws. Please feel free to visit http://tattoosday.blogspot.com and read our original content. Please let me know if you saw this elsewhere so I contact the webmaster of the offending site and advise them of this violation in their Terms of Use Agreement.

The Tattooed Poets Project: Martha Serpas

On this, our fourth day of the third annual Tattooed Poets Project, we are honored to have work from Martha Serpas . Readers may wonder wher...

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The Tattooed Poets Project: Alicia Adams

Alicia Adams is today's tattooed poet. She contacted me back in February and told me she was moving out to Brooklyn from Southern California in March. So, last week we met in a large Union Square flagship bookstore and I snapped a photo of her stunning tattoo: <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpOiKf5AzR05WVTVj0bpYya9f5LsuvqccOASCQvh5gDeM9S5iC2_LNvy02HYHioMiEZ1niDkuQleugDAugGdb_7UkaH9zhHZ7YgP7oFWWlKuhaxnnte5IsstnTkb5e7Wa57gR3IvbZXjk/s1600/alicia+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpOiKf5AzR05WVTVj0bpYya9f5LsuvqccOASCQvh5gDeM9S5iC2_LNvy02HYHioMiEZ1niDkuQleugDAugGdb_7UkaH9zhHZ7YgP7oFWWlKuhaxnnte5IsstnTkb5e7Wa57gR3IvbZXjk/s400/alicia+1.jpg" width="388" /></a></div><br />I'll let Alicia explain the story behind this beautiful piece:<br /><blockquote><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This tattoo was done by an artist named <a href="http://shaybredimus.com/">Shay Bredimus</a> at <a href="http://www.outerlimitstattoo.com/">Outer Limits Tattoo and Body Piercing</a> in </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Long Beach</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">, </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">California</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">, the city where I was raised and educated.  I had always known I wanted a tattoo, but I could never settle on exactly what I wanted.  When I went in to Outer Limits, I still didn’t know.  I decided flowers were pretty and timeless and could mean whatever I wanted them to mean.  I decided on a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peony">peony</a> because I had just seen my first one and fallen in love with it.  I didn’t know what peonies symbolized, and I didn’t want to know.  I decided I had a lifetime to figure out what it meant to me.  </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was getting my MFA in fiction writing, and when I met Shay he told me he had his MFA in painting.  For hours we talked about art and literature and grad school and our lives.  It was the best tattooing experience I could have hoped for, and I fell in love with the finished product immediately.  As I was leaving he invited me to his gallery.  I went when he wasn’t there.  His pieces were huge, each one taking up the better part of a wall, and they were exquisite and done in black tattoo ink only.  I wrote him an email telling him how amazing I thought his art was, and he asked me to come back in for touch ups, and that’s when he added the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cherry_blossom">cherry blossoms</a>.  </span></div></blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD45M3JZoRowdkq-HGL8ezlQN3sK51o9u2e-RA0kLvbKDJN7nnKg3pEdKo9gM7URLQy3f6RiAf7VRTMDzEC4u_2MJxn9HGu_xBSaMpCsb9Vymq8AAVsBpLL4T4L9U-h56zJ5DVBzW1UO4/s1600/alicia+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD45M3JZoRowdkq-HGL8ezlQN3sK51o9u2e-RA0kLvbKDJN7nnKg3pEdKo9gM7URLQy3f6RiAf7VRTMDzEC4u_2MJxn9HGu_xBSaMpCsb9Vymq8AAVsBpLL4T4L9U-h56zJ5DVBzW1UO4/s400/alicia+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><blockquote><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I buy cherry blossom shampoo now and cherry blossom soap.  It’s a silly thing maybe, but it makes me feel pretty and reminds me that I am part of a work of art.</span></div></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote>In addition to this tattoo, Alicia is sharing the following poem, "Red Room," <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;">which was originally published in <a href="http://themastequilareview.wordpress.com/"><i>The Mas Tequila Review</i></a><i>:</i></span><br /><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;"><i></i></span><br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">Red Room</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">By Alicia Adams</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">You wish you had been born from your father’s head.  </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">Like Athena.  When you picture Athena in the womb </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">of Zeus’s skull, you picture her in a hollow red room </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">with no corners.  You picture her curled in a ball </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">and growing larger, fully clothed with battle gear, spear </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">stuck behind her father’s eye, a migraine pulsing.  When you </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">picture your own father’s head, you picture it crowded.  </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">But you could have curled around the deep-set grooves </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">of gray matter, your tiny hands pressed against his frontal</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">cortex and into his dreams.  And when you were ready, </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">you could have stood on your shoed feet and pushed</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">up and hard with rhythmic contractions until your father,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">unable to take it any longer, found a way to open </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">himself and let you out.  You think about this often.  </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">In the back of your own mind, dark and polluted, you can feel </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">a tumor growing.  One that will ripen and mutate,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">killing you slowly, and with little effort.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;"><i>~~~</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;"><i> </i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Alicia Adams graduated from </span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1947858922"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">California</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">State</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">University</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">:  </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Long Beach</span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="http://www.csulb.edu/colleges/cla/departments/english/mfa/">’s Fiction MFA program</a> in 2010.  She co-hosted <a href="http://proseandconsradio.blogspot.com/"><i>Prose and Cons Radio</i></a> and is the co-founder of <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/After-the-Carnival-Literary-Events/137307442987969?ref=ts&sk=wall"><i>After the Carnival (Literary Events)</i></a>.  Her work has been published in several magazines and anthologies, including most recently <i><a href="http://www.kulone.com/US/Event/2049901-How-Dirty-Girls-Get-Clean-Reading">How Dirty Girls Get Clean</a> </i>and <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0984619860/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=bill03-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0984619860%22%3EBeside%20the%20City%20of%20Angels:%20An%20Anthology%20of%20Long%20Beach%20Poetry%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=&l=as2&o=1&a=0984619860%22%20width=%221%22%20height=%221%22%20border=%220%22%20alt=%22%22%20style=%22border:none%20%21important;%20margin:0px%20%21important;%22%20/%3E"><i>Beside the City of Angels</i></a>.   </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?lt1=_blank&bc1=000000&IS2=1&bg1=FFFFFF&fc1=000000&lc1=0000FF&t=bill03-20&o=1&p=8&l=as4&m=amazon&f=ifr&ref=ss_til&asins=0984619860" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe></div><br />Thanks so much to Alicia for sharing her tattoo and poem with us here on Tattoosday's Tattooed Poets Project!<br /><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;">This entry is ©2011 Tattoosday. The poem is reprinted here with the permission of the author.<br /><br />If you are reading this on another web site other than Tattoosday, without attribution, please note that it has been copied without the author's permission and is in violation of copyright laws. Please feel free to visit </span> <span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://tattoosday.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">http://tattoosday.blogspot.com</a> and read our original content. Please let me know if you saw this elsewhere so I contact the webmaster of the offending site and advise them of this violation in their Terms of Use Agreement.</span></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span>

The Tattooed Poets Project: Alicia Adams

Alicia Adams is today's tattooed poet. She contacted me back in February and told me she was moving out to Brooklyn from Southern Califo...

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The Tattooed Poets Project: Patricia Carragon

Our second tattooed poet this month is <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Patricia-Carragon/e/B003Z9SGG8">Patricia Carragon</a>, a New York City poet who was instrumental in helping send several other poets our way for the Tattooed Poets Project this year.<br /><br />I was fortunate enough to meet Patricia back in February, where I shot this photo of her ink, at my local Borders store:<br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_tzfxJx41jqz0wsydYByNXz0ZXdb7QaMWvHzTfh5MZexzvse-VGYpBZ-KKRT5JLix0eIXurM4gJ-apDfzUUDdyOT5CdazTnMMwaqvCbZdAWf5j7NLoXfkkt4_EE8atSUWBFRDxWzb7g4/s1600/carragon+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="367" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_tzfxJx41jqz0wsydYByNXz0ZXdb7QaMWvHzTfh5MZexzvse-VGYpBZ-KKRT5JLix0eIXurM4gJ-apDfzUUDdyOT5CdazTnMMwaqvCbZdAWf5j7NLoXfkkt4_EE8atSUWBFRDxWzb7g4/s400/carragon+1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Patricia sent along this narrative about her Rose-Tattoo Bracelet:</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></div><blockquote><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">It was a Saturday afternoon in October, 1997.  I was finally going to get a sexy rose bracelet tattooed above my right ankle.  I’ve already had a referral from my hairdresser to do it at <a href="http://www.nyadorned.com/">New York Adorned</a> on Second Avenue.  I recalled having a henna design painted on my right wrist by a street artist in SoHo earlier that summer – and loved it.  I was tired of wearing ankle bracelets that would snap off without notice.  Since I didn’t have a picture with me, I searched for possibilities in the tattoo parlor’s books.  Not one rose drawing fit the image engraved in my head.  A tattoo artist would have the honor of fulfilling my request.  Unfortunately, it was Saturday and it was busy.  I knew I would not be home until after eight, and supper would have to be much later.  I had no choice, but to call home.  I wanted to surprise my mother without dealing with her pre-ink drama.  But that was not meant to be.  </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">“Oh… a rose-tattoo bracelet?  Can lasers remove it?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">“Yes, Mom, but I’m not going to do that.  I’ll be home in a few hours.  Bye…"</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">My time arrived.  I had coffee sweetened with sugar about an hour ago. Although I was warned that my body needed solid food and sugar to prevent passing out during the procedure, I still didn’t want to overeat because of supper.  My artist drew on paper the bracelet that would be outlined above my ankle.  I adored the rose-chain stencil on my body.  I was ready for baptism by ink – peachy pink for the roses and yellow-green for the leaves.  </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Once propped up on the cot, the needle pierced my skin and began its journey along the artist’s outline.  Surprisingly, I didn’t feel any pain.  As minutes passed, the needle worked along the design’s path.  About halfway through, the needle must have sent some negative signals to my brain.  A sudden feeling of dizziness overcame me.  The needle immediately stopped.  My slender tattooist and his colleague, who resembled a burly motorcyclist, carried me to another room where I was fed Halloween candy.  An ice pack was placed in back of my head.  I rested for approximately twenty minutes.  I recovered and was ready for the needle and my rose bracelet’s completion.  I apologized for what had happened, knowing that, with low blood pressure, I should have been more careful.  The heavy-set tattooist told me not to feel bad.  Even the toughest-looking customers pass out under the needle.  </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Feeling better, I sat up on the cot and watched the needle complete the outline.  Then came the application of the colors.  My roses became part of my skin and self-expression.  </div></blockquote><blockquote><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Wrapped in Bacitracin and Saran Wrap, I got dressed.  It was worth charging this bracelet on one of my plastic cards.  I wish that I had saved the receipt.  I think it probably cost me one-hundred-eighty dollars.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Later that night, Mom made a comment when I undid the Saran Wrap.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">“Oh… you got a large tattoo.  I thought you were going for one rose?  Can lasers still remove it?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiWm2KzvwPQPfaG5M4wVgtaUw2L9sevdFjsAeJY6Jd_Bk6l5t97NzLvrIsWbjToLjeiZhTncnlr5xjgV8aRxA9iYHa3eki_Neh6KQDlXsq9mxPs3Aw0Y1O0yNwybGTlbdCJ1tC_7K7T-4/s1600/carragon+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiWm2KzvwPQPfaG5M4wVgtaUw2L9sevdFjsAeJY6Jd_Bk6l5t97NzLvrIsWbjToLjeiZhTncnlr5xjgV8aRxA9iYHa3eki_Neh6KQDlXsq9mxPs3Aw0Y1O0yNwybGTlbdCJ1tC_7K7T-4/s400/carragon+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">“Yes, Mom, but I’m not going to do that.  I spent money on this tattoo and I’m keeping it for life.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">What was a novelty back in the late ’90s is now the norm today.  The roses above my right ankle, sadly, look faded after fourteen years.  I wish I had the money to bring back their color.  At least Mom stopped giving me prickly advice about getting laser treatment.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i>Patricia Carragon  February 2011</i></div></blockquote><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Patricia also sent along the following prose piece. And, although it is not a poem, this is the Tattooed Poets Project, not the Tattooed Poems Project:</div><blockquote><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #993399; font-family: times new roman,serif;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Cupcake Chronicles #9- Friday evening before midnight, February 13, 2009</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #993399; font-family: times new roman,serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #993399; font-family: times new roman,serif;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #993399; font-family: times new roman,serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was the end of the world.  All the cupcakes disappeared overnight.  All the bakeshops stopped making them.  All the recipes became blank pages in cookbooks.  All pictures, photographs, ceramics and artifacts depicting cupcakes vanished.  All memories died, except for mine.  I cried all night until I fell asleep.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #993399; font-family: times new roman,serif;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #993399; font-family: times new roman,serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In the morning, I felt bloated as I rose from my bed.  I passed the mirror and noticed how voluptuous my boobs looked.  I headed for the fridge and invaded the pickle and peanut butter jars.  I decided to add garlic and paprika on a scoop of vanilla ice cream.  My appetite craved unusual combinations.  My period was a month and a half late.  It was time to call my gyn. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #993399; font-family: times new roman,serif;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #993399; font-family: times new roman,serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The sonogram showed multiple fetuses.  They had arms and legs, hands and feet, but the rest of the picture was too bizarre for the doctor to describe.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #993399; font-family: times new roman,serif;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #993399; font-family: times new roman,serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She was quiet for a few seconds before getting up the courage to say<i>, “Congratulations, you’re having a baker’s dozen.”</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #993399; font-family: times new roman,serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div></blockquote><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #660000; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic"; font-size: 10pt;"><b>Patricia Carragon</b></span><span style="color: #660000; font-family: "Century Gothic"; font-size: 10pt;"><b>'s </b>publications include <i><a href="http://www.bigcitylit.com/">Big City Lit</a>, <a href="http://www.clockwisecat.blogspot.com/">Clockwise Cat</a>, <a href="http://dansemacabre.art.officelive.com/default.aspx">Danse Macabre</a>, <a href="http://mobiusmagazine.com/index.html">MÖBIUS</a>, The Poetry Magazine, </i><i><a href="http://www.madhattersreview.com/">Mad Hatters’ Review</a>,</i> <a href="http://thetorontoquarterly.blogspot.com/"><i>The Toronto Quarterly</i></a>, and more. She is the author of <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0977402290/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=bill03-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0977402290%22%3EJourney%20To%20The%20Center%20Of%20My%20Mind%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=&l=as2&o=1&a=0977402290%22%20width=%221%22%20height=%221%22%20border=%220%22%20alt=%22%22%20style=%22border:none%20%21important;%20margin:0px%20%21important;%22%20/%3E"><i>Journey to the Center of My Mind</i></a> (Rogue Scholars Press)and <a href="http://brownstonepoets.blogspot.com/2011/01/urban-haiku-and-more-at-st-marks.html"><i>Urban Haiku and More</i></a> (Fierce Grace Press). She curates the Brooklyn-based <a href="http://brownstonepoets.blogspot.com/">Brownstone Poets</a> and is the editor of the annual anthology. </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Thanks to Patricia for sharing her rose-bracelet tattoo, the story behind it, as well as a sample of her writing. I am grateful, not only for her participation, but for her sending out the clarion call for more tattooed poets this year!<br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?lt1=_blank&bc1=000000&IS2=1&bg1=FFFFFF&fc1=000000&lc1=0000FF&t=bill03-20&o=1&p=8&l=as4&m=amazon&f=ifr&ref=ss_til&asins=0977402290" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe></div><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;">This entry is ©2011 Tattoosday.<br /><br />If you are reading this on another web site other than Tattoosday, without attribution, please note that it has been copied without the author's permission and is in violation of copyright laws. Please feel free to visit </span> <span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://tattoosday.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">http://tattoosday.blogspot.com</a> and read our original content. 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The Tattooed Poets Project: Patricia Carragon

Our second tattooed poet this month is Patricia Carragon , a New York City poet who was instrumental in helping send several other poets our...

Read more »