POETS PLACE
JULY EDITION 2025
Hello everyone and welcome to POETS PLACE! We are a sanctuary column, where you can freely express your views, your personal thoughts and your love for the written word. Ai Dios mio. We have all been duped to believe that nothing can impinge on the American ideal. A country that claimed that all people are free to live their best lives in a country that gained freedom from the rule of a king in 1776. A country where all people are created equal by the declaration of independence. Greed is the new creed. Hatred for the underclass and unplugged racism is the new mantra for white supremacy. If all hope dies we are doomed. I know there are powerful people on our side fighting for what is right for the people of America. And there are many people who will suffer until we can take down this racist regime of evil and cruel people. I just can’t wrap my head around this cruelty. And it’s not just in our land, it is all over the world. Help me understand how racist beliefs rule? Help me understand the justification of the obliteration of a country? To destroy a tribe of people that for generations has thrived? How do the people who authorize such hate and destruction live with themselves? What do they tell their children, or explain their destruction of humanity? Are their children kept away from all of it? How can they not know what is happening outside their doors? Hate and violence thrust upon children will ultimately create a monster. Children exposed to continuous teachings of racist hate will color their views of humanity for life. It’s child abuse and a set up for continued generational violence. Love is not costly. A positive reinforcement of unconditional acceptance of human differences. I am desperately trying to find joy in my daily living, otherwise I will crack. The good people in power are trying hard to help the greedy and cowardly others to see how their negative behaviors will impact our country. Unfortunately you cannot talk rationally to irrational people. Once the country collapses, the people will rise up and overthrow those who have harmed us, with voting them out. What is most scary, is that that BBB has given them the power to cancel elections. What a shameful and cruel way to end freedom.
And now some love from our contributors!!!
Love, Linda XXX
Pathological
By Jackie Chou
You and your silver pendant,
your heart-shaped lies.
Your head in the photo
chopped off
like Marie Antoinette.
There is nothing
behind your laces
of metallic threads.
No face,
no legs,
no wings of chiffon.
Jackie Chou (she/her) is a writer from Southern California who has two collections of poetry, The Sorceress and Finding My Heart in Love and Loss, published by cyberwit. Her poem "Formosa" was a finalist in the Stephen A DiBiase Poetry Prize. She also has poems published in Synchronized Chaos, The Ekphrastic Review, Panoply Zine, Alien Buddha Zine, and Spillwords.
constellations of my love
by linda m. crate
despite all the darkness,
there are glimmers
of hope;
whispers of rebellion
against the
powers that be—
so i hold onto the
flaming feathers
of the phoenix known
as hope,
she shines bright and beautiful
as the sun;
combined with the moonlight
of my dreams
i know a better future can rise
from the ashes of this dystopia—
so i refuse to surrender,
i continue to fight the machine;
for they'll never
stomp out my magic
or my dreams or my light—
forevermore i shall shine
in every universe,
the constellations of my love
burning even time.
Linda M. Crate (she/her) is a Pennsylvanian writer whose poetry, short stories, articles, and reviews have been published in a myriad of magazines both online and in print. She has fifteen published chapbooks the latest being: not your piñata (Alien Buddha Publishing, June 2025).
POLICE STATE 38
By Keith Kurlander
This piece from the DISOBAY series is a searing visual confrontation, rendered in a palette of blood red, acid yellow, and shadowy black. A soldier in full tactical gear and a civilian woman come face to face in a moment charged with ambiguous emotion—connection or resistance, empathy or rebellion. The halftone comic-book treatment gives the scene a vintage print texture while evoking modern urgency. The backdrop shifts from bright yellow stars to black circular voids, creating a ripple effect of visual tension. Vertical lettering of DISOBAY in high-contrast red, yellow, and cyan acts as a call to noncompliance. This artwork uses saturated minimalism and psychological depth to challenge systems of power and explore the paradox of human touch under control.
Keith Kurlander “I've always been a creative soul, I make art, music, music videos, TV shows, films and mayhem. If you want to learn all about my fascinating life here's a good place to start.”
KEITH KURLANDER, THE E. TRUE HOLLYWOOD STORY
https://youtu.be/p3er5ptzZTA
LINK TO MUSIC https://www.idiot-savant.net/
Cities In Dust by Alex S. Johnson
She couldn’t remember the first time she heard the song, only that it was part of her big sister’s collection of vinyl, which was mostly first pressings. Cindy set the record on the ancient turntable which was of the kind you could carry, and either connect outside speakers to or listen to through the one built in. Either way, it was true–the music sounded richer, warmer and more true, and ever since the discovered Lisa’s trove in the attic there was no way in the world she was going to subject her ears to CD’s, let alone the super-compressed abominations that were MP3’s. But everybody had to discover these things for themselves, the same way she did–stumbling over piles of ancient magazines that slithered like live things when you disturbed them. She thought of this secretly as “tomb life,” inventing the term and making a note in a private journal which she kept for random jottings of this kind.
Once she’d listened to the song, Cindy’s ears were never the same. She knew vaguely about the period it came from, which was around the time she had been born, and it struck her ears then as definitively a creature of tomb life and what the ancient Egyptians doubtless had their own versions of. It was a point of faith with her that no matter how outlandish her speculations, she believed in some manner, in some way, they had to be true–because there were other dimensions, pockets of other worlds folded into this one, and no reason why something from that place couldn’t poke its head into ours and sniff around. The rhythm and percussion sounded like bright chimes, like glass baubles if they could sing, and made her think, not for the first time, about glass beads shaped like bees, or bees formed of glass beads, because (1)the words sounded alike, and it would be exceedingly poetic if they shared something at bottom that yolked them with more intensity and (b) because one night, previous to going to sleep, she had this terrific idea, which reawakened as she listened and moved to the old song in the attic of the brownhouse her older sister had inherited and she visited from time to time.
People, especially guys, would take a cue from Cindy’s big, innocent eyes and elven features and mistake her for some woodland creature pulling them in, making their hearts soft and their brains gooey, although she insisted they speak to her properly and either respect her or leave her alone. She’d seen too many of her peers saddled with some dude they thought little of but kept other guys away, but even that tactic wasn’t 100% effective. Cindy thought people were okay but she preferred her own company, and that of the music and the silence she was more than capable of filling with landscapes that danced with color and song. Lisa was working at a law firm downtown, many late hours, and Cindy was a junior at the state university. This was her spring break. She was deciding on a job or an internship or going her own way with a start-up, perhaps making clothes, which she was fabulous at. Any way you looked at it, the future felt either glorious or perilous and she vacillated between the urge to rush out into the street and dance with random strangers or curl herself into a ball and never rise again until the world had sorted itself properly and people like her had a place in it, something permanent and dignified.
She’d shed her black leather jacket ages ago and it lay on top of a pile of the slithery tombthings. Cindy’s hair was blue but maybe tomorrow it would lie in fuzzy clumps on the bathroom tile. Her t-shirt was white and a size too large. The jeans were trashed down the front with the white threads like spiderwebs swarming the smooth, immaculate pink of her thighs.
She moved with the song and the song snaked within her. It was about something or someone falling apart, their world crashing down, it could be a private apocalypse or speak to the general condition.
The fifth dimension was palpable now in the attic, perceivable as the milky late afternoon sun through the dormer windows, picking out some but not other trophies of Lisa’s life in the big city in sharp relief. There were the tragic remnants of her marriage, that asshole–she was too young at the time for her opinion to register with anyone other than her sister, but Lisa told her later she’d nearly broken up with Ken on the spot when she saw Cindy’s reaction–and Lisa’s ironic take on Ms. Havisham’s wedding cake, a creation of plaster of Paris and newspapers and Halloween spiders, from the brief period she slummed in the art world. Cindy knew Lisa was just as talented as the was, and more, and could do more in areas she couldn’t, but she respected her sister’s decision to move the art world period up to the attic among the other artifacts. Cindy realized she was spacing out a little bit, and caught herself just in time; unconsciously, she had begun the song again, which meant she’d picked up the needle and dropped it at the same groove. Also right at the edge of perception was the idea generating behind the music that the things we notice, of all the bright and dazzling ephemera, are the things THEY wish us to, and obviously THEY belong to the hyperdimension, which was the 5th, and this really belonged in her journal as well. But right now, Siouxsie was breaking down something else for her.
Because it was true, all the cities would crumble into dust, and what remained sifted itself from the ruins that stood like sculptures of colored chalk, all their features stylized and made equal. The bees that were beads spread the pollen of event nodes; that is to say, they carried possibility like glitter on their thundering black fuzz. And even when all the cities had collapsed, when the tomb life inhabited a real tomb of some kind or another, and history had either exonerated Cindy or obliterated her, at some level it wouldn’t matter in the slightest. Because the bees were out there dropping potential like mad; glass beads had voices and they sounded like Siouxsie; and when Lisa came home, Cindy would have something yummy prepared for her, because that’s what sisters did for each other.
Dubbed "the Baudelaire of our time" by John Shirley, Bram Stoker Award-winning author, songwriter for Blue Oyster Cult and primary screenwriter of the 1994 cult classic horror film The Crow, Alex S. Johnson is the author of 16 books, including the canonical Friday the 13th spinoff novel Jason X: Death Moon, a collaboration with Hugo Award-winning author Pat Cadigan, dubbed "the Queen of Cyberpunk." He is the editor of more than 45 books, including the New York Times bestseller Seeing Lessons: 14 Life Secrets I've Learned Along the Way by Tom Sullivan, two time Emmy Award-nominated actor and Helen Keller Lifetime Achievement Award winner for his work as an author, musician, athlete, journalist and motivational speaker. His latest dark satire collection, A Great Variety of Monsters, is due out this year from Horror Sleaze Trash Publications with a Foreword by Weird Fiction legend Jeffrey Thomas. Among Johnson's works in progress include Le Fantastique; A Literary Tribute to Clive Barker which he is co-editing with Rhysling Award nominee Michael H. Hanson. Johnson and his partner Alea Celeste Williams, aka "Pickles," were special guests of John Maggiore on his celebrated Maggiore on Bowie show. He resides in Carmichael, California with his family.
Magic is a dandelion
By Anna Mathai
Sharing little, golden whispers down low beneath the trees
Finding neon bits of moss on trails in Yosemite
Magic in the chuckling water and the right amount of breeze
Magic is a dandelion
And when you laugh with me
I blow magic seeds out to the world
To carry life within the wind
Sprouting smiles and wins and sins
To finally nestle in the depths,
heading home to do it again
Anna Mathai is an Indian-American multidisciplinary artist based in Los Angeles, California. She frequently uses Venetian plaster and other plasters in her work. Her abstract works reference both the natural world and our internal ‘landscapes’ of emotion, blurring both real and intangible. She often touches on concepts of femininity, rebellion, and otherness, with a touch of mysticality, in her figurative work. By pairing her writing with her visual art practice, Mathai creates an extra dimension in which viewers can experience her art and a loose construct to guide their own internal process of understanding. Mathai was born in the UK, but spent most of her childhood in the rural Deep South, which heavily influenced the concepts she explores in her art. Her work has been awarded, published, and exhibited globally. You can find her at www.byMathai.com or on Instagram @byMathai.
Grandma Kelley
6-22-25
4:16 a.m.
By Mary Cheung
Your 2 arms, to hold me and hug me.
Ever ready,
to hold me when I was little and unsteady.
You were there to feed me, bathe me.
Changed my diapers and wiped my tushy.
Your calendar open and ready, optimistic, never pushy.
You didn't do it for money or for praise.
You gave to me in all of those unselfish ways.
And each of those moments and times,
added up throughout my years.
They were gifts to me for the life you unselfishly shared...
Too fast but not too much,
Came each and every year.
I want to freeze them, slow down the moments, relive each one,
now so very dear.
This book of memories, are filled with the pages of...
When I first started to crawl
When I first started to babble and speak
When my eyes would lite up with joy upon seeing you.
When I first cried out, "Grandma!"
When I first ran to you and hugged and held you.
When my infectious zest for life flowed over to you.
When you heard about my first school dance.
When you heard about my first romance!
When you first started to see....
The person I would become,
Because of the influence from you, given to me....
I"m happy that you played a part.
That you gave to me pieces of your heart.
And words could never thank you enough
or show how much I care.
For all that you've done through out all of my years..
The part you played in my life.
Through the ups and downs, Birthday parties and strife...
You were there for it all..
And that means so much to me.
I see you grandma.
Your life has purpose to me.
Now it's my turn, to show you what I have learned.
These 2 arms, now not too small.
Can hold you up in return,
My love, the drug to fuel you and support.
To remind you of all those better days.
Don't let it be lost in all of this haze..
Those moments fed into my soul...
From all the love you gave me,
So,
you should know...
Those were priceless gems.
Let it sparkle and light up the way.
When your days are dark and full of dismay...
The hope I give you in return..
My love to warm and ease your journey,
For it's not the end.
Thank you grandma,
I want you to know,
How precious you are to me.
And everytime I look in the mirror,
I will always see,
the ways your life touched and affected me.
I love you grandma.
Thank you for all that you do.
Mary Cheung is a multi-disciplinary artist. She has been creating art since she was little. Youngest in a family of eight. She came to America at the age of 2 and grew up in San Francisco. Attended American school during the day and Chinese school at night.
Mary has an AA degree in Fashion Design and a Best Costume Design Award from the NAACP. She often creates costumes for her art narratives and creations.
She was the recipient of 3 grants in 2024 and the Denis Diderot and Emerging Artist award.
She has art exhibited and published locally and Internationally.
Her real passion and drive come from being able to engage the community while bringing hope, healing, joy, and human connection.
It is her goal to be able to continue to do this while making an impact on society’s values and thinking.
“I hope that I can be a role model for others to find their own true voice in life through my art."
What Is Love
By Sam Moore
Love is like a tailor
One stitch after the next
to bind
A good tailor
is hard to find
A pianist of 28 years.
Sam Moore is a dedicated musician and appreciator of art. He lives in Los Angeles, CA, and enjoys Bach and Chopin.
Tanka for an Orphan
Poem by Marieta Maglas
The child kneels to pray.
The pure flashes of his eyes
hide dreams he can't find,
while the candle-lighting time
makes visible his sadness.
Marieta Maglas resides in France, where she pursues dual careers as a poet and a doctor. The MockingOwl, Roost, Lothlorien Journal, Verse-Virtual, Masticadores Canada, Silver Birch Press, Kingfisher Poetry, Dashboard Horus, Coin-Operated Press, Mayari Literature, Synchronized Chaos, Al-Khemia Poetica, PentaCat Press, Journal of the Akita International Haiku Network, and others published her poems in anthologies like Near Kin: A Collection of Words and Art Inspired by Octavia Estelle Butler, The Cardinal Anthology Vol. 3, and Ain’t no Deadbeats Around Here. She is the author of the poetry book entitled Cubic Words.
(untitled)
by aj meier welch
My Psyche, Oh fair one is she,
must face mortal grief,
And behold, not the beauty of veracity,
but the midnight of deceit.
Amy Meier Welch received a Master's degree in Literature and Literary Theory from NYU and has been writing poetry since age 16. As a self-taught illustration artist, she creates work that challenges conventional viewpoints and questions societal norms. Her practice embodies a fluid dialogue between word and image, where poetry influences her visual compositions and her artwork, in turn, shapes her written expression. The rhythmic structures of verse find their way into her brushstrokes, while the emotional landscapes of her paintings inform the cadence and imagery of her poetry.
Her current work reflects her outlook that no one thing is greater than another, that beauty and emotion is part of all life, and that perception is always subjective. This philosophy permeates both her written and visual art, creating a cohesive body of work that speaks to the interconnectedness of all creative expression.
Recent exhibitions include shows at Holy Ground (Cannibal Flower, 2025), Shoebox Arts, Kate Carvellas's Miniature show, and a photography collaboration with Kristine Schomaker for "Perceive Me."
He's Not My President
By Michelle Smith
God help America
for it will become hell in a handbasket
under the United States of Amerikka.
under his felonious and fascist leadership.
Troubled, Tyrannical
Racist, Repugnant
Unintelligible
Misogynist
Pig
He is a buffoon.
In a navy blue size too small suit
rotund white shirt belly
and MAGA red necktie
dressed up for that
McDonald's Big Mac meal
don't forget that blond haystack
toupee hairdo.
It seems to be pasted on.
What a Looney tune!
The Commander- in -Thief
pontificates conversation
with that Big Apple accent
that one day I will again visit
all five Burroughs and take a bite.
Does he even know the three branches
of the government?
Can he even pass a U.S.
citizenship civics test?
With his narcissistic ways
to circumvent the
patriotic red, white, and blue
His winning is Trump's hangover
Amerikka under his leadership
will need more than a four leaf clover.
President 45-47 and MAGA part 2
Supporters are the sheep
and voted in
the worst Gemini on the planet.
Sheep don't complain when Trump
pens into law
a life
comfort
cause
change
you had and
"is now slaughtered,
especially the voting apathetic
that chose not to bother.
" Oh what a mighty web we weave in order to deceive."
Time and Trump will tell and
the USA shall see
the dystonian nations flag waving.
Red won the battle.
Blue will win the war.
Democrats are the donkey,
Republicans are the elephants,
but Trump is the true jackass!
For he is Not My President
and is a
Troubled, Tyrannical
Racist, Repugnant
Unintelligible
Misogynistic
Pig!
Michelle Y. Smith is a Los Angeleno native and is like Stretch Armstrong, an action figure with many life, love, and laughter roles:
My heart is mother to an autistic son who is my more than my pride and joy. Sister, aunt, grand aunt, cousin, & friend.
My patience is my employment am a CNA and advocate for the developmentally and elderly disabled community.
My drive is published poetry in Love Letters, Acid Verse II, and Just for the People by Los Angeles Poet Society Press; anthologies and zines by DSTLArts; and Four Feathers Press zines and http://saturdayafternoonpoetry.blogspot.com. My poem, "There is a Sunflower" published in June was nominated by the Four Feathers Press PDF/Print Publication Awards.
ALONE YET NOT ALONE
©2011 Kassi Crews
I am Alone yet not Alone
No mountain, sea or wall of stone
Can keep You away from me
My life as my own
You will always guide me home
With you is where I long to be
For now, I live Alone yet not Alone
Your shining light will guide me home
Your grace shows mercy on my soul
To save me from the life of fools
To lift me in times of cruel
To keep me in faith as it unfolds
With You, I am Alone yet not Alone
My majesty knows the path I roam
In the wilderness I am Alone
To keep me safe I am not Alone
I am just a fool like all the rest
My eyes cannot see in complete darkness
Your light will shine to show me home
You never leave me Alone
My heart is Your home
The love you gave
By blood I am saved
The steel night can’t pierce your sight
A beacon to show my path with light
At long last, I am home Alone yet not Alone
Kassi Crews is a versatile & accomplished actor with a rich background in film, television, improvisation, stand-up comedy, and theatre. Crews became an industry leader in Hollywood post-production as the Vice President of Digital Jungle where she oversaw the day-to-day operations and served as producer on an endless list of film and television projects. Most recently, Crews lead multiple post-production teams at Fox and Walt Disney Television, overseeing the workflows of all television for FX Networks including "The Americans," “Fargo" and “Pose" as well as a DI Producer for Apple, Netflix, CBS, CW, Starz & Paramount. Crews has produced and directed a variety of critically acclaimed independent projects, “Broken Memories,” Heart of Recovery”, “God’s Ears” and “A Better Place” as well as live shows for the theater. She is a member of ATAS, NAB, NAPTE, PROMAX and SAG; holds a Master of Arts from CSU Fullerton and a Bachelor of Arts with Honors from UC Santa Cruz.
Where Brown Girls Grow…
By G. Billie Quijano
"Leight said, It's time to level up to 72"
72 viajes around the sun
Birthed in Boyle Heights
Hija de La Luna Metzli
Schooled in East Los
Coronation, La Vida Loca
Reina
Chula
Sassy, vibration infectious
Divinely protected
Rhythm jazz
Tempo of allure
Aura of glittering golden rays
Heart beats in ceremony
Movement, non linear
Bending time
Frequency of Feminism
Me, a river of Mujer
I am medicine
Evolving with grace and wisdom
Little bit of gangster
Wild calls to me
Through cracks of the world, whispers love
Grief is ancient
Blood red lipstick
Where poetry flows
Arte, my signature
Nuance of imagination
Vivid dreams of love gone wrong
Gaslighting, cowardice
True love is in the way
I stand in my truth
If I'm too much
No need to call
My independence not for sale
Recipes of power, in my dna
I will not stand down
My voice will be heard
Sanctuary of soul
You got this gurl
East Los never left this heart
Cause this is where Brown Girls Grow
Los Angeles Por Vida, Brown Pride Renaissance
G. Billie Quijano-Artista, Chula, Mestiza, Poeta, Provocateur, Renaissance Mujer, Chili Bomba, Gangster,Veganista, Gitana Cosmica, Artista
Peace
By Don Kingfisher Campbell
In my view
The unseen sun
Warmly gleams
On everything
Dancing tree leaves
Leaning corrugated green plastic panels
Tubular metal fence bar and
Diamond shaped links
All seen through the black iron bars
And opened dusty white slats
Of our dining room window
White painted walls surround
Past that the pink plastic sheet covered table
Sports capped vitamin bottles
A small round portable fan
A reflecting two-liter water bottle
Above a vinyl “squared” floor
Which leads to me sitting
At my black painted wooden desk
In the adjacent living room
Where I look at my laptop computer
To find the rest of the globe
Is not peaceful all over
I’ll spare you the details
Don Kingfisher Campbell, MFA Antioch University L.A., taught at USC and Occidental College Upward Bound, board member California Poets In The Schools, publisher Four Feathers Press, host of the Saturday Afternoon Poetry reading and workshop series in Pasadena, California. For awards, features, and publication credits, please go to: http://dkc1031.blogspot.com
JUSTICE
By A. Laura Brody
Laura Brody sculpts for the human body and its vehicles. She is the founder of Opulent Mobility, a series of exhibits that re-imagine disability as opulent and powerful. She is also the host of Genius Teatime, a series of talks that explore fascinating folks from all walks of life. Brody began her professional career as a costume designer and maker, working in film, television, opera, dance, and cosplay. She changed course many times but kept returning to art making, community learning, and social justice. Her artwork has been shown at ACE/121 Gallery, Art Share LA, Brea Gallery, California State University Northridge, the Charles River Museum of Industry, the Dora Stern Gallery, Ikouii Creative, the Los Angeles Makery, Westbeth Center For the Arts, and The World of Wearable Art. Opulent Mobility has shown at the Mike Curb Gallery at CSUN, Thymele Arts, Arts Unbound, AVC Gallery, online, and The Los Angeles Makery and is scheduled to show at Brand Library in 2025 for the exhibit’s 10 year anniversary.
Thank you for joining us! We will continue to host writers and poets of all genres.
Please submit your written work to: lindakayepoetry@icloud.com
and include a short bio
Linda Kaye writes poetry, curates poetry, produces films, spoken word and art events and produces a poetry column POETS PLACE for the online publication LAARTNEWS throughout the Los Angeles area. She recently exhibited her first piece of artwork! A photograph taken in Waikiki, was represented at the Los Angeles Makery gallery’s REFLECTION:RESILIENCE show curated by the Arroyo Arts Collective.
Linda’s poetry events have included several summer poetry salons, and shows at the Los Angeles Makery, the Align Gallery, 50/50 Gallery, Gold Haus Gallery, Ave 50 Gallery, and Rock Rose Gallery in Highland Park, The Manifesto Café in Hermon, Pilates and Arts studio in Echo Park, and Native Boutique, Zweet Café in Eagle Rock, The Los Angeles Makery in Little Tokyo, and at the Neutra Institute Gallery and Museum, in Silverlake. Her first short documentary film “BORDER POETS” was a socially and politically inspired event with poets and musicians filmed at the border wall near Tecate, Mexico on the Jacumba, Ca. side of the US. The film co-produced by MUD productions is available for viewing on her website and on youtube. https://youtu.be/5Te4-dlhxco
Her rap music video project in collaboration with Mary Cheung, “ERACE-ISM” can also be seen on youtube. https://youtu.be/NfrbveNUBgg This video was accepted into the Ontario Museum of History & Art show “We the People” Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow. February 2- April 16, 2023. So honored!!
And… February 19, 2022, she debuted her staged poetry production of “20 Years Left” at the historic Ebell Club in Highland Park! Two sold out shows with 2 standing ovations!! Check out the links to reviews and the video!
https://thehollywoodtimes.today/20-years-left-new-show-performance-poetry-music/
20 Years Left youtube live stream 2/19/22
https://youtu.be/GT1D5k2EeKU
Linda Kaye is a native Angeleno who grew up in the San Fernando Valley. She claims to be both a first-generation Valley Girl, and The Original Hipster. Educated at Antioch University and Cal State Long Beach in psychology and social work. Linda, now retired from medical social work, was working for her last seven years of employment as a psychotherapist and licensed clinical supervisor for an out patient mental health clinic. She was a licensed medical social worker for 30+ years working on the front line of healthcare, a private consultant for Physicians Aid Association, and for skilled nursing facilities throughout California and Arizona. She was also an adjunct assistant professor at the USC Suzanne Dworak-Peck School of Social Work. Oh yeah.
www.lindakayepoetry.com
Twitter/Instagram: lindakayepoetry
www.laartnews.com
https://shoutoutla.com/meet-linda-kaye-poet-theatrical-poetry-producer-retired-social-worker-and-professor/
http://voyagela.com/interview/daily-inspiration-meet-linda-kaye/https://
shoutoutla.com/meet-linda-kaye-poet-poetry-and-theatrical-producer-filmmaker/