David Gold

CONTACT:
David Gold
1117 MacArthur Rd, #3
Madison, WI, 53704      
Email   

BIO:
David is a currently unpublished poet. He won the 1st prize Jean Nelson Short Story Award in 2017 for his fictional piece, "Archie Applies for a Job". His life-long love of poetry and writing carried over to live performance since his early 30s: mostly open mics at New Moon Cafe and Jambalaya in Oshkosh, and live storytelling with Appleton's "Storycatchers" project. But, life happens.

Post-incarceration, laying low in Wisconsin's northwoods, David's creative muscles risked atrophy, his pen pregnant with stillborn words. He refers to this period as "the year of the troglodyte," which ended upon moving to Madison. He pushed himself onstage at local open mics, which recharged his spirit. From 2025 through now, he's composed more creative writing than he has in two decades.

David reads for imagery, sound, emotion, and surprise, all unified for the reader's transcendence. Smooth operator, jazz drummer, punk bassist, and pugilist: these are some of the roles he takes while drafting, and hopes to translate to the audience onstage. He welcomes you to join him in celebrating civilizational reentry, asking for your assistance in boosting his own voice and those of his soul-siblings.

He frequently performing at the following Madison, WI venues:

Cargo Coffee - East
North St. Cabaret
MUSO

Poetry

Do You Swear?

I have no tattoos or body jewelry.
Unless you count pins, scars,
screws,
and artificial joints from forty-car pileups,
I have no tattoos or body jewelry.

I have no secrets.
Unless you count that time
I was late to an anniversary dinner
because the pharmacy
was out of roses,
I have no secrets.

I have no drug-related offenses.
Unless you count a magical night
eating magical mushrooms
in a magical forest
with magical women
who, yes, wore magical robes
and refused to shave their magical armpits,
I have no drug-related offenses.

I have no evictions.
Unless you count burning a mac-and-cheese cup
in the microwave
because I forgot to add water
as a reasonable excuse
for kicking me off your couch,
Brad,
I have no evictions.

I have no needs.
Unless you count food,
air, water shelter, warmth,
sleep, sunlight, safety, sobriety,
civilization, congregation,
validation of self,
vindication of strife,
manifestation of the promise
that I will become the best version of myself
if you just give me a chance
in spite of my poor credit,
I have no needs.

Breaking News

We begin this broadcast 
with breaking news
from the carpet
of the poet’s bedroom floor.

The bracelet you made him,
lined with oil-absorbent charcoal beads
and silver fleur-de-lys charms,
snapped in half 
at roughly 3 this morning,

Nearby witnesses
report that screams,
blasphemies, 
and grief-fueled threats
could be heard
up to 3 blocks
from the poet’s home.

Quoting Molly from next door,
“I sleep soundly most nights.
It’s pretty quiet here.
So, when heard the shouts,
The shattering glass, 
the threats–Oh, God
I never imagined 
hearing ‘I hope you step on a [expletive] Lego’
from an adult–and the names! 
Those poor beads.
Every name you would never give
to God or your mother. I was frightened.”

Minor injuries were reported,
following the poet’s release from urgent care
later in the morning.

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