Wanda Phipps

Wanda Phipps

Wanda Phipps is a writer/performer living in NYC, the author of Field of Wanting: Poems of Desire (BlazeVOX[books]), Wake-Up Calls: 66 Morning Poems (Soft Skull Press), Your Last Illusion or Break Up Sonnets (Situations), Silent Pictures Recognize the World and Rose Window or Prosettes (Dusie Press), Lunch Poems (Boog Literature), the Faux Press issued e-chapbook After the Mishap and CD-Rom Zither Mood.

Her poetry has been published over 100 times in a variety of publications, including the anthologies Verses that Hurt: Pleasure and Pain From the Poemfone Poets (St. Martin’s Press) and The Boog Reader (Boog Lit).

Her poetry has been translated into Ukrainian, Hungarian, Arabic, Galician and Bangla. She has received awards from the New York Foundation for the Arts, the Meet the Composer/International Creative Collaborations Program, Agni Journal, the National Theater Translation Fund, and the New York State Council on the Arts.

As a founding member of Yara Arts Group she has collaborated on numerous theatrical productions presented in Ukraine, Kyrgyzstan and Siberia, as well as in New York City at La MaMa, E.T.C. and co-authored several books with the artistic director including Shanar: Dedication Ritual of a Buryat Shaman in Siberia (Parabola Books) and the bilingual anthology In a Different Light. She’s also curated several reading and performance series at the Poetry Project at St. Mark’s Church as well as other NYC venues and written about the arts for Time Out New York, Paper Magazine, and About.com.

Please visit Wanda at: mindhoney.com

From Daily Poems of Spain

(written during residency at
Fundación Valparaiso)


my first day walking alone
along the little winding path
up the hill to the village

a little black dog followed me
almost all the way up
to La Plaza Nueva

a huge mutt begged
at the café tables for scraps
while I had my taza de te
and gratis sugary bun

down on the beach
the Mediterranean so blue
and the sea air like heaven
all the little shops along
the beachfront painted
white and gleaming

wandered there during
siesta so mostly quiet
most places closed

then back up on the little
yellow bus and walked
the winding road
down the hill
to my temporary home


a long white wedding
dress hangs
between the trees
in the flea market
of Mojácar
waiting for a bride

the clouds form
arabesques above
the Mediterranean

air from the sea
follows me down
the long road

as my mind
waiting for the
next thought


in lobby
only one up at 8am
sitting on my suitcase
to close it

waiting for taxi
remembering the name of the driver
and someone saying
he was the unreliable one
hoping he’d show up

on the plane sitting
right behind the wing
engine a loud rumble
leaving on time
flying over the huge

nothing but
snow white clouds
on the way to Madrid
after last night’s
mad storm
rain pounding
on roof and windows
strange percussion

rain let up
only drizzle
as taxi arrived

saw many pages
written and drawn
in huge books
left as thank yous
from former residents

the house was full
of energy left
by all of them
and by Paul Beckett
the founder now dead
the energy swirls
and moves in
that quiet house
full of tiny sounds

now flying over the Sierra
Nevada after saying goodbye
to the plastic covered farms
of Mojácar

Poetry in this post: © Wanda Phipps
Published with the permission of Wanda Phipps