Monday, December 10, 2012

Dan Gutstein

AFTERNOON


The Great Blue is
a stripe of water
above water—Ponding—

Crisscross of raincolor minnows
at the Great Blue’s feet—
Pattern of revolution—Fabric—

Until the Great Blue lifts—
Coarse through coarse—
Beside the plate girder bridge—


Dan Gutstein is the author of two collections, non/fiction (stories) and Bloodcoal & Honey (poems), and his writing has appeared in 75 journals and anthologies. He lives in D.C., works a day job in Baltimore, and teaches night courses in the D.C. area. He blogs at dangutstein.blogspot.com.

Sunday, November 25, 2012

George Kalamaras [Part Two]

BUT I NEVER WOULD


When we got Asian dogs, we expanded to a king-sized bed.
This is what the percolator slurped, grinding its sloshy morning grit.

The most beautiful love is alive, lifetime to lifetime.
I heard this, just as I woke to the fierce strutting of crows.

I know you don’t believe everything I write, how many times I’ve died.
How the belly plankton becomes you. How our bodies in heat both crave salt.

I respect your blindness as I might the mail carrier’s slumped shoulder.
I greet her each morning so that she knows she carries something alive.

I could kill a summer swan, carve one layer of tender yellow fat as a delicacy, and
      contemplate its swimming and its flight.
But I never could—nor would—because the swan is sacred throughout India.

Please, if you receive this message, pet the dog, expand your hand, replace the bird in
      your chest one worm at a time, date this message forward three cat lifetimes from
      now.
Consider this. What year that would be—whether you’ll be born again screaming or
      weeping, weeping or just simply alive.



George Kalamaras is the author of thirteen books of poetry, including Symposium on the Body’s Left Side, Your Own Ox-Head Mask as Proof, The Recumbent Galaxy (co-authored with Alvaro Cardona-Hine), and Kingdom of Throat-Stuck Luck, winner of the Elixir Press Poetry Contest. His most recent is Mining Camps of the Mouth, winner of the New Michigan Press/DIAGRAM Chapbook Contest. He is Professor of English at Indiana University-Purdue University Fort Wayne, where he has taught since 1990.

Sunday, November 18, 2012

George Kalamaras

CORYMBS


Of the various favorable tendencies, none is more important than sound.
We will make another crying life, tongue by electrical tongue.


We will everyday. We will poetry and its source.

Who will evening-mouth our burning school and all that hair?


Who will cattle-train the entire cliff-face with the foreknowledge of a bun?

We climbed the skeletal structure of a breeding bird.


We did not hear our own story, nor its resilient shy.

We were convinced we could never requiem our ash.


One kilometer away, a ruined tornado spiked three pours of quite milky silt.

It has now been several days, but the first set of linen somehow muslined my
mouth.

This judgment, I confess, cannot account for the rough sound of a scream.

That, too, is music, and the ordinariness of replacing a cook with remnants of
aloe 
      suggests how many scars I had to solve.



George Kalamaras is the author of thirteen books of poetry, including Symposium on the Body’s Left Side, Your Own Ox-Head Mask as Proof, The Recumbent Galaxy (co-authored with Alvaro Cardona-Hine), and Kingdom of Throat-Stuck Luck, winner of the Elixir Press Poetry Contest. His most recent is Mining Camps of the Mouth, winner of the New Michigan Press/DIAGRAM Chapbook Contest. He is Professor of English at Indiana University-Purdue University Fort Wayne, where he has taught since 1990.

Sunday, October 14, 2012

Daniel Scott Parker

from (i.e., Jump)


You who are mortal & alarming,
cut your coat out of your own back-
yard. Measure the curve of water with the bare
of your pale & cumbered bones & feel.
Time has already changed the present
so commas are shuddering into periods
of blue. Our longing becomes a shimmering
desert & to come back is alone. I see my face
again in the mirror & that bearing grin becomes
a cistern of disgrace I can’t let go. Is ceci n’est pas
une pipe a poem? I don’t know. In a dream we are
standing outside the Pantheon, & I wonder could Adam
have known his own loneliness? The poem is a dream
& the desert is blue in light of all this.


Daniel Scott Parker has never wrestled an alligator, but he has drunk water from the Okefenokee Swamp. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Spork Press, Marco Polo, The Stray Dog Almanac, and great weather for MEDIA. He lives in Chicago, where he is pursuing an MFA in poetry.

Monday, October 08, 2012

Weston Cutter

AUGURY


The grill kicks an orange hole in the season,
                                    a spear into ribs,
a thief in aisle eleven: I've laid hands on those
                                    massive midwest drills
+ imagined twisting one into a frozen lake til
                                    water quit its solid
seasonal stubbornness to reveal blinking life
                                    beneath, living stuff
which knows more ways to live with ice than I.
                                    What I know
involves occasional cocoa, salt on the side
                                    walk, recalled or fore
told equitorial stories, Costa Rica or warmer. The
                                    salmon hums bright
pink in the December dusk + the dog believes
                                    falling snow's a question
asked over and over again, he answers with barks,
                                    sniffs anxious
where his two-hours-back footsteps have dis
                                    appeared. The only
chance I've had so far I turned from the hole
                                    in the ice, watched
friends offer vividity to its depth, the lake
                                    a phone booth they
dropped the quarters of their youth into, hello...
                                    we all steamed in dark
together. Who knew. They hooted, I hung back.
                                    And what was it they
found or felt? That view, stars the endpoints
                                    of distant icicles. They
emerged dripping, touched blue. It's like going
                                    through, they said.
To where, to what. Who knew. Ellen loves me
                                    despite that I've
never manned up + dropped myself into
                                    measured harm
+ now the fish is ready, flesh flaky, out of place
                                    in this cold: we
make meals from whatever we can, set the table,
                                    count days till May,
pour the wine, dive in.


Weston Cutter's the author of You'd Be a Stranger, Too, a collection of stories, and the chapbooks All Black Everything and (0,0). He runs the book review website corduroybooks.com and has poems coming soon in diode and Copper Nickel.

Sunday, September 30, 2012

Alexandra Mattraw [Part Two]


































































Alexandra Mattraw’s first chapbook, Projection, is available at Achiote Press, and her second chapbook, in the way of harbors, is forthcoming at Dancing Girl Press.  A former Vermont Studio Center resident, her poems and reviews have also appeared in journals such as Denver Quarterly, Verse, Word For/Word, VOLT, and American Letters and Commentary. Alexandra’s full manuscript was a finalist at both Nightboat Books (2009) and 1913 Press (2011).  She runs a reading and art salon series in San Francisco called Lone Glen.

Sunday, September 23, 2012

Alexandra Mattraw

EVERY FIGURE 1 : I

:  is concentric  :

: rakes sand to remove pine needles :

: believes in the impersonal :

: melts ice left in the glass :

: sees story arc in oceans :

: writes down what’s eaten :

: differentiates :

: mistakes highway tire treads for dead crows :

: grows in sand :

: chalks a nightstand with aspirin :

: can reply, “The tumbleweed barbs the rumble strip hills” :

: is damp :

: thinks the heart has a smell :

: believes the deer will migrate through the deer underpass and live into the other side :

: is a member :

: will argue, “Mushrooms and stones are currency.” :

: slips :

: collects green bottles to empty them :

: can’t see her full body when looking directly :

: is why :

: believes the river has a beginning :

: will pay for it


Alexandra Mattraw’s first chapbook, Projection, is available at Achiote Press, and her second chapbook, in the way of harbors, is forthcoming at Dancing Girl Press.  A former Vermont Studio Center resident, her poems and reviews have also appeared in journals such as Denver Quarterly, Verse, Word For/Word, VOLT, and American Letters and Commentary. Alexandra’s full manuscript was a finalist at both Nightboat Books (2009) and 1913 Press (2011).  She runs a reading and art salon series in San Francisco called Lone Glen.

Sunday, September 16, 2012

Joshua R. Helms

THIS POSSIBLE LIFE


I trace our cuts again. Time beneath

each other’s hands. A heap of sound.

Streets all fluttering. Boy walks

ahead of me always. He can’t

remember if he changed the sheets.

He says his hands are cold. A broken

window. How long will it take

him to notice. We arrive in the middle

of the movie & stitch. There are only

so many days I can wear the same face.



Joshua R. Helms is a candidate in the MFA program at the University of Alabama. His work is published or forthcoming in Copper Nickel, DIAGRAM, H_NGM_N, NANO Fiction, PANK, and Redivider, among others.

Thursday, September 06, 2012

Kim Vodicka









Poet Kim Vodicka grew up in Lafayette, Louisiana and received her B.A. in English from UL Lafayette in 2010. She is currently working on her M.F.A. in Poetry at LSU, where she is also a Graduate Teaching Assistant and Co-Coordinator of Delta Mouth Literary Festival 2012. Kim is an avid lover of music, hosts a psychedelic rock show, "Shangri-La-La Land," on KLSU, and is involved in musical-poetic projects. Her artwork has been published in Tenderloin, and her poems have been published in Shampoo, EkleksographiaDig, Spork, UnlikelyStories, and RealPoetik. Aesthesia Balderdash (Trembling Pillow 2012is her first full-length collection.



Sunday, August 19, 2012

Thibault Raoult [Part Two]

One More Time—We're Gonna Patch Pipeline!


       What did you expect, letting clouds baby-talk your iris?
Only get one parade a moment.

       In good with rain, your opus (full-time hum, buttering up Marsyas):
Smooth as twenty-four centuries.

       I hear the chant, become parish we pay to char.
When I mention wormhole our word grew up without:

       Circle pine and circle pine you will be lawful unto.
What they don't tell you: edges paint themselves and:

       Edges care which belt you tighten mountain with.
Caucus: only as fragrant as theatre / solution

       They drop the bullets in.



Thibault Raoult's writing has appeared in Caketrain, VOLT, Gulf Coast, and Web Conjunctions; new pieces are forthcoming in Boston Review and Denver Quarterly. He received his MFA in Literary Arts from Brown University and currently studies in the English and Creative Writing PhD Program at University of Georgia.

Sunday, August 12, 2012

Thibault Raoult

Another Burn, Another Rhythm Section

Paulo sneaks around—
And that's someone's world.
Could
stay here longer, sign

My hips away, gravitate
Toward three creeks, one
Creek in four acts, a watch

Stretched over five
Invasive valleys. Or
Just let Mama know

Sage something.
What do we do now
Our home's sanz mist?

A shape to be taken up
With Mansour, Mansour
Who forges absents.

Come to think: ask
How her river was
Boogie, bought.



Thibault Raoult's writing has appeared in Caketrain, VOLT, Gulf Coast, and Web Conjunctions; new pieces are forthcoming in Boston Review and Denver Quarterly. He received his MFA in Literary Arts from Brown University and currently studies in the English and Creative Writing PhD Program at University of Georgia.

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

W.M. Lobko


ANTHEM           


[Negative]

We first suspected you wanted more absence
when an occlusion ended too soon, a blunder
of light, the day’s live origins spreading

into these eagles silhouetted by the sun.
Fiber optics lengthened our reach, but our uncertainty
increased.  How does one lay a foundation?

Toddlers from the plains ran laps around us.
We were in the past: oblivion, billions.  You are the era
of emails from the moon colony which remind us,

after stitching a star in our eye, that we’re captured.
Your nemesis sketches of some stranger keeps us 
quiet, smarting still from being mentioned.


W. M. Lobko’s poems, interviews, & reviews have appeared in numerous journals, including Kenyon Review Online, Sixth Finch, Hunger Mountain, & Boston Review. New work is forthcoming in Slice Magazine. His poetry has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. His MFA is from the University of Oregon, & his home is New York City, where work on his poetry manuscript Kin Anthem and his novel The Quick Brown Fox doggedly continues.

Monday, July 09, 2012

John Findura


from RITUAL



1.            Echo - Re/echo
The world is white and moving 
Birds play with a twig of millet
I make signals with my fingers
No one understands what I say
This is the way I want it, I get it


2.             Evaluate The Broken Things
Your hands make me dirtier
than I was at the beginning
I do not mind that at all, love
Luck provides me many things:
I have your cleansing mouth

3.             Re/Evaluation of Movement
There has been little, and only
on one side – meaning both
sides, but independent of each
other, yet obviously showing
the causal effect of your words

4.             Re/Evaluation of Motion
One of us is a defective clock
and the other is a boomerang
You think you know which
is which but I have promised
the silent cuckoo I’ll never tell



John Findura holds an MFA from The New School. A Pushcart Prize nominee and a guest blogger for The Best American Poetry, his poetry and criticism appear in journals such asVerseFugueFourteen HillsCopper NickelNo Tell MotelH_NGM_NJacket, and Rain Taxi, among others. Born in Paterson, he lives in Northern New Jersey with his wife and daughter.

Monday, July 02, 2012

Stacy Kidd


Oklahoma in Winter


is no place to live

not tonight.



We carry, we name our own.


Pebble

underfoot
bothers

             cold, cold water


and we roll our pants up,


carry the pebble home.


Stacy Kidd’s poems have appeared in Boston Review, Columbia, Eleven Eleven, WITNESS, and The Iowa Review, among others. Her chapbooks About Birds and A man in a boat in the summer were released this fall from dancing girl press and Beard of Bees.

Sunday, June 24, 2012

Amber Nelson

from Birds of the World Unite



Humboldt Penguin Meets Brown Pelican

in the open
air—noses

into breath
swim mighty

& light—away
into the dark



Blyth’s Tragopan

a bright beacon
oranges of

loss or rather
of losing



Keel-Billed Toucan

yellow light

sharpened
against the branches


Amber Nelson is the co-founder and poetry editor of the online journal and chapbook press alice blue review and alice blue books. Her first full-length book, In Anima: Urgency is forthcoming from Coconut Books (2013).

Sunday, June 17, 2012

Joanna Penn Cooper

SEIZE THE DAY


I wrote a poem to tell you expressly that I’ve always been alone
in here one vertebra cocked to the side to listen to the painful singing
especially when I’ve slept on my stomach, a pillow on my head, my
preferred posture.  How is this helpful?  How is this new?  How
is being trapped in my own ever-evolving mental healthfulness bound
to assist anyone else on their journey?  Well, a journey of a thousand
miles,  I always say.  Anyway, axis mundi, I always say.  This is how
it begins: I call goodbye to someone in the hallway who doesn’t know
what I’m saying because all my words before noon are plaintive music
and he says something normal that I can’t hear without my glasses on
and leaves.  I continue my day from in bed by bandying about some
regrets about an essay on The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym
I didn’t write.  When I’m finished doing that, I hear a door squeaking
so I put on pants to better fight.  I scrabble about under the bed with
my pointy fingers to find my glasses.  Suddenly I am vertical
in the hallway. I have quite literally put up my dukes.  I offer you
this advice free of charge.  You’re welcome.  


 
Joanna Penn Cooper is the author of the chapbook Mesmer (dancing girl press).  Her full-length poetry collection, How We Were Strangers, was a finalist for the Kinereth Gensler Award from Alice James Books.  Joanna co-curates the Stain of Poetry reading series in Brooklyn, where she lives, and keeps a blog at joannapenncooper.blogspot.com.

Sunday, May 27, 2012

Jeremy Allan Hawkins


WHERE WE RELIED TOO MUCH ON OPTICS


Lens turned on lens,
I took a photo of the photographer
but failed to fulfill our hope
of recursion—in the print, my weak outline
described in the circle of her glass only fell into the dark
stuff of emulsion, my figure indefinite
where a perfect image would have shown
her reflected in my lens, then me   
again, & her again, & again so—
but we made no mise
en abyme, just a portrait of a woman
clutching her camera to her eye
so that it obscures her features
&, reproduced just once, confuses
what might have been true.


Jeremy Allan Hawkins was born in New York and currently teaches in France. His poems have recently appeared or are forthcoming in Harvard Review, Tin House, and Salamander, among others. He used to carry a camera everywhere. 

Sunday, May 06, 2012

Jacqueline Kari and Jared Martin

Empty Every Night

Please click image to enlarge.

















Jacqueline Kari lives in Baton Rouge, where she is pursuing an MFA in poetry. Her poems and translations have appeared in The West Wind Review, The Cambridge Literary Review, Lana Turner, and elsewhere. 

Jared Martin is a native of Natchitoches, Louisiana and is currently earning a BFA in Printmaking at Louisiana State University.




Sunday, April 22, 2012

Marcus Slease


ROMAN RUINS

(special thanks Philip Whalen)


a hand in the bush
is worth two in the pocket

reared on nuts
brushed by a horseʼs tail

that cold clean temple

thunder descends from mount Asama

the lemon tree is heavy

all the fuses are blown

colder and colder
the sun also shines

a tarnished candle stick

other things are perfected underground

onions and parsnips and diamonds
letʼs have those



Marcus Slease was born in Portadown, N. Ireland in 1974. He has published widely in North America and Europe in such magazines as: La Granada, Cleaves, Octopus, Conduit, Diagram, Hayden's Ferry Review, Forklift Ohio, Columbia Poetry Review, Talisman, and Past Simple. His latest collections are: from Smashing Time (miPOesias Chapbook 2012), Hello Tiny Bird Brain(Knives Forks and Spoons 2011), Balloons (Deadwood Press 2011), and Godzenie (Blazevox 2009). Currently, he lives in London and teaches travel writing and ESL at Richmond American University. He blogs at Never Mind the Beasts: www.marcusslease.blogspot.com.

Sunday, April 15, 2012

Sophia Dahlin


SPAWN OF MYSELF


I am Sophia Nonesuch Paragon.
So it befell.
I go to sleep with bare arms on—
Am unbeleagured by the sun
(My windows sleep with curtains on)
I don’t expect a gun
Nor does the gun expect a Nonpareil.

No neighbour knows my fridge.
None ken my morning smell.
I take my tea with oxygen.

I take my bear with tarragon.
Nor fear the orphanage.
Born from a hexagon—
Doomed like a hermit to her shell—
I undilute the woods of hermitage.
I am Sophia Nonesuch Paragon;
of What, I Cannot Tell.



Sophia Dahlin is a poet who lives in Oakland. She has a chapbook, Come On, and a website, www.mightierthans.wordpress.com. You can find her work in Vanitas this spring and Eleven Eleven this summer.

Sunday, April 08, 2012

Laura Theobald [Part Two]

CLUTCH

we drove to a space

a long clearing
where the towers
could be seen
busily
all-reaching
up
in white glory

across in gloom
ready.

that was all.

traffic slowed mightily
in the wake.
for a moment
all
together
held.

for a moment
so ready
to be crushed.




Laura Theobald is a recent graduate in literature and creative writing from the University of Tampa. She currently works various jobs and lives in Atlanta. Her works have appeared on plain china, Glass Mountain, Quilt, movingpoems.com, and most recently in a collaborative piece titled "these sentences are not a poem" in Typo Magazine.

Sunday, April 01, 2012

Laura Theobald

THE RIVER NORTH


you can’t imagine 
dying 
for a cause.
nothing is pure.

when i began 
to follow the river 
north

everywhere 
i looked she 
picked up her bags
looking 
north.

the synchronicity, she said
looking.

yes, i said.




Laura Theobald is a recent graduate in literature and creative writing from the University of Tampa. She currently works various jobs and lives in Atlanta. Her works have appeared on plain china, Glass Mountain, Quilt, movingpoems.comand most recently in a collaborative piece titled "these sentences are not a poem" in Typo Magazine.

Sunday, March 25, 2012

John McKernan

MY BROTHER LIVES IN A MANSION


He sleeps
On an alphabet quilt

He wakes
When the sunlight
Pours into his notebook

He dines
On a breakfast
Of memory
Hidden in shadow

He works
Walking slowly
Through my skull
Until every day is identical
The last   The last    The last



John McKernan is now a retired comma herder. He lives--mostly--in West Virgina where he edits ABZ press. His most recent book is a selected poems, Resurrection of the Dust. He has published poems in The Atlantic Monthly, The Paris Review, The New Yorker, Virginia Quarterly Review and many other magazines.