A.C. Everson –a.k.a. the piñata queen– a local homegrown poet, sculptor and performance artist. I attempt to shed a new light on the many uses of piñatas (that I make) as an art form, and as the main feature in my various Breaking My Art performances which I have done coast to coast, along with reading my poetry in three countries (including this one) I have three chapbooks entitled Soap Box and My Two Cents , Love AC Style and And Then Some that I print myself and are available upon request. I also have recorded two CD’s “Words With” and “Idi Annine and the Mama’s” with Albie, Mitch Elrod, Steve Candlen, Tony Parino, Bill Rella and Mother Judge to name a few of the area’s most excellent musicians backing me up. They are available upon request. Meaning I burn them myself.
POEMS
RECENT ARTICLES
MY NOT SO MID-LIFE CRISIS ON THE PLANET
I took a ride, that was 38,000 miles long I saw many sights, and took more than a few turns that were wrong I called it, my not so mid-life crisis on the planet It took 38 years to get there, and happened almost as I planned it First I picked up a ticket for a show Got another on the way there, and started to try to drive slow Key West, Miami, Port Charlotte to visit a friend New Orleans, Austin, heading west then Santa Monica, Ventura, Santa Cruz and Bonnie Doone West Coast beaches, I hope to get back to soon San Francisco, Todd’s birthday, two nights by the Golden Gate City Lights, lower Folsom, and up on the Haight I visited Ruth in Winlock, the home of the world’s largest egg Seattle, then east bound where I stayed In Cheeney with Jeff and Crystal, along with Crystal to Toppinish More snow covered mountain passes, white knuckled with a wish Las Vegas for Valentines, weddings, slots and I started to smoke Back again so slow, wondering what broke North Myrtle Beach Sno-core, where I had a ball Thanking God for dark bars and that wasn’t all In Amsterdam, my first afternoon in Europe was spent A night train ticket to Berlin was purchased, to make sure I went Elvis on the Unter Linden, the Bradenburg Gate covered in cloth Tiergarten, Check Point Charlie, a Romanian fortune bought Prague the beautiful city where I had the Hostel blues Budapest with Kate, along with Vienna too Venice, Florence and Rome, looking at art Hearing histories that tore at my heart Nice with Kate again, for little more than a day There I became addicted to the best crème brule Barcelona with Miro and Gaudi, Madrid with Goya and Picassos, OLE Paris, the Louvre, Rodin Pierre Lechaise and D’Orsay Brussels, Antwerp, back to Amsterdam, Melkweg and cafes Back to the states again, soon on my way Asheville, home, as soon as I have the rent Biloxi, the beach where I wrote Litter Lament New Orleans Jazz Fest, the girls rocked the town Dancing and feasting, abundance all around Back again for a month of rest and the Vibes Then the last trek west, and my longest drive Idaho Springs, on 4th of July, Steamboat was hot Outside Denver, in Boulder, and a show at Red Rocks East for a weekend with Pops and Kate Orleans, Welfleet, Truro P-town, beaches on the cape Lastly I learned another lesson in Asheville Next time I’m there, I’ll be more successful And that my friends is it in a nutshell
L.A. MOMENT
A kid in LA
the other day
Asked if NY
Was as bad
As they say
No, I said
With a smile instead
Of shaking my head
BROKEN SMILE
There’s something wrong
With my smile
It works alright
At the corners
But it goes wrong
In the middle
My lips feel numb
Unaffected, not involved
With the rest
Of my smile
I check my emotions
Is there something
Maybe lurking
In my subconscious
That does not
Want to smile
I look at a couple
Kissing at a bus stop
I smile
And once again
The middle
Of my mouth
Is not joining in
I walk on
Trying to smile
At everyone
I walk by
Thinking I really
Mean the smile
I like giving
That particular
Non verbal greeting
Well wishing, really
But it’s not working
MY LIBIDO IS MISSING
My libido is
Missing in action
Where did it go
I’ve no fantastic attractions
Except for Johnny Depp, Brad Pit
And Russel Crowe
Have I become
A frigid bitch
No, I’ve a passion
To kiss John Cusak’s lips
It just was so long ago
Since anyone I know
Found that damn missin’ libido
Of mine
My libido is missing
What happened to it
I admit I just
Want to play scrabble
With Brad Pit
Also I’d just like
To get to know
And maybe spend time
With Russel Crowe
Yep, it’s also quite true
That if I met Johnny Depp
I wouldn’t know
What to do
The only thing saving me
From being a frigid bitch
Are my dreams of
Kissing John Cusak’s lips
BAD DAUGHTER
It wasn’t Babette’s Feast
The last meal of Ma’s I tasted
Boiled pork chops with a side of
Microwave mashed potatoes
Ma could make awesome chow
Though sometimes not
(One of our many things in common)
Her next and last endeavor I declined
Which just goes to show
I’ve got bitch bad daughter in me
Not proud of that moment, no
The spring ended with Ma’s last
Foray to a local farms garden shop
Her last ride in a car
Her last step outside
Not counting her balcony
Was coaxed there a few times
Into the summer
Every last she had was followed by
My not completely shed tears
They pooled, did not fall
Others fell following my
Distraught thoughts of what
She could no longer do
Ah but she fools us all
With her strength and
Pure mule headedness
Not ready to go
And don’t you know
Today she read her emails
Replied to FB posts
Tomorrow she may join the ghosts
Of cousins, close friends gone before her
Tonight she watches/ sleeps to a movie
With her only grandson
While I bad daughter
Watch with breeze blowing softly
The ballet she taught me to love
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