Category: Winter 2011 poems
Interview With the Old Poet: Ferlinghetti at 91 — for David
by Paul Pines A star is born again and again and again until it becomes a Black Hole and no light can escape its density this enormous
The Transcendental in January
by normal “Winter midnight My voice does not Sound like my own.” — Otsuji Snow to
The Fire Starter
by David Sloan “Scatter as from an unextinguish’d hearth Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind.”
The Spaces Between
by David Sloan What insistent whispering crowds out sleep? It coats me like pollen, buoys me against the weight of daylight, points to the spaces
Sonny Kenner has his red guitar
by Kevin Rabas in hand, and moves through the melody as if what he wants is for everyone now to give and get that long kiss in this room on this
We Read
by Kevin Rabas At the Olpe Chicken House behind glass there’s a copy of Ken Ohm’s new book, Ducks Across the Moon. An old woman and her husband
Vernal Song
by J. B. Sisson I buried him two years ago today, the first day warm enough to bask outside and watch the fluctuation of the tide and spring’s
Walter’s Canon
by J. B. Sisson This music crept upon me from old Walter, infernal noise of Pachelbel and crew. Walter enlivens his greenhouse next door with
Antlers
by Russell Evatt I found a head in the dirt, eyes open, covered in sand. But no flies and no blood. I should say it was winter, and this the
[ When I speak of death, I do not mean the one ]
by Russell Evatt When I speak of death, I do not mean the one in the ground there, to whose funeral I wore a red shirt because I chose not to