Posts tagged ‘2014’

Tuesday, 24 May 2022

Scrutiny and resistentialism# at a supermarket in the west hills of Portland by Talal Gedeon

Under scalpel white light
every skin transluces
like esca-lit# anglerfish skin
in the stygian# sea and
it’s anybody’s surgery#
at the Market of Choice.

No luscious forefathers#
in this land of bacon thick and thin
and shining cereal dispensers
and packaged everything.

In this land of the beef-witted,
of hawks and zafties#
and California widows,#
the juiciest bits# are
wrapped in cellophane.

And tonight,
while rope-bound asparaguses gleam,
a lone old lady
extends a veiny little hand,
cops a stern feel
of organic avocadoes,
and whispers her valuations.

#Resistentialism: the seemingly spiteful countenance of inanimate objects.

#Esca: the fleshy appendage that protrudes from the forehead of anglerfish. The esca acts as a lure, and in the case of anglerfish from the bathypelagic zone, often emits light.

#Stygian: dark and/or relating to the river Styx.

#Surgery: a time for seeing inside of things, evaluating, and deciding what is needed and what is not.

#Luscious forefathers: such as Walt Whitman, Garcia Lorca, Allen Ginsberg, & Co. (cf. A Supermarket in California, by Allen Ginsberg).

#Zafty: a person very easily imposed upon.

#California-widow: a woman whose husband is away from her for some time.

#Juicy bits: such as—Luke’s Honeyed Ham With Water Added, Red’s Prime Roast Beef, Oregon Jack’s Bleu D’Auvergne, Hardy Harry’s Medium Raclette, Francine’s Natural Chicken & Turkey Breasts, et cetera, et cetera!

From: http://oregonpoeticvoices.org/poet/484/

Date: 2014

By: Talal Gedeon (19??- )

Wednesday, 16 February 2022

Francesca Says More by Olena Kalytiak Davis

that maiden thump was book on floor, but
does it really matter who kissed who
first or then who decided to go further?
lower? faster? naturally, we took
turns on top. now here, now there, and up
and down…
once it started no one even thought to think to stop.
so, we have holes inside our souls,
but mustn’t we begin by filling others’?
god gave us lips and hands and parts
that cannot possibly be saved for prayer. nor by.
i will not name name, claim fame by how well
or who i fucked or why, it happens all the time.
and it’s you, white pilgrim, whom next galehot seeks.
fuck. we didn’t read again for weeks.

From: https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2014/12/08/you-and-me-both

Date: 2014

By: Olena Kalytiak Davis (1963- )

Monday, 14 February 2022

Saint’s Day Triolet: Saint Valentine by Deborah Paredez

You’re flush with hearts and I’m forced to fold
this hand and swear off another luckless match.
How we’ve found ways to love each other, cajoled
our cindered hearts, flushed and forced to fold
upon themselves like Saint Valentine ensouled
with seizure, skin a whirring bee swarm, a hatched
flush of doves. My heart, how I’m forced to fold
my hands in prayer for another struck match.

From: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/56997/saints-day-triolet-saint-valentine

Date: 2014

By: Deborah Paredez (1970- )

Saturday, 22 January 2022

What On Earth!? by Π. O (Peter Oustabasidis)

Every S is a P.
This S is not a P. S must be a P.
S is not a P. (If something exists it must be
a Tree). A Tree is a Tree.
Either its a Tree, or its not a Tree.
It can’t ‘be’, and ‘not-be’.
Hot things grow — cold things don’t —
Wet things drain off; and the Earth
gets drunk. If it rains tomorrow: P, i will wear
a raincoat (Q) ////////////// PPPPPPPPP//////////////: Q!
Someone sees smoke, and shouts ‘Fire!’.
Shoes, ships, cabbages, and Gaia.
‘therefore’, and ‘in as much as’ i speak
the Truth, the cloud (on the horizon)
looks like ‘cotton wool’. A fish, is a fish.
A fin is a fin. Hesperus is Phosphorus.
Phosphorus not Hesperus. Hesperus and Phosphorus.
/// PPPP ///// Q! A possum curls up on a Tree.
Post hoc ergo propter hoc the Sun is
larger than the Earth. A flower is a flower,
a seed is a seed. (Why don’t they
just put down that parrot, and call it quits?!).
How do you do a Rule of Thumb?
The Theory-‘T’, predicts observation ‘O’.
— ‘O’ is observed, therefore ‘T’ is True. (6 to
the power 2); the Earth is hotting up.
Count out the Sums: A is True
because B isn’t. B makes ‘sense’, cos C doesn’.

From: O, Π, “What on Earth!?” in N-Scribe, Volume 9, 2014, p. 16.
(https://arts.darebin.vic.gov.au/-/media/Arts/Files/Programs-and-opportunities/Programs/n-Scribe/n-Scribe-issue-9.ashx)

Date: 2014

By: Π. O (Peter Oustabasidis) (1951- )

Wednesday, 22 December 2021

Summer Solstice by Vanessa Page

Mango trees
wear fruit bling
like two-bit hookers

top-shelf drunk
backs turned
on the lawn

lorikeets
arrive like rain
tearing at the pulp

a sweet rot
rises in this
sex-sweat heat.

From: https://webarchive.nla.gov.au/awa/20140723141004/http://pandora.nla.gov.au/pan/41815/20140724-0003/www.foame.org/Issue11/poems/page.html

Date: 2014

By: Vanessa Page (19??- )

Saturday, 5 June 2021

Post It by Gig (Elizabeth Anne Martina) Ryan

Technique whittled to a spear prongs earth 
as tabby night filters a soaped waterfall of recollected words 
jammed in a shoe, prudently 
It passes on a cloud 
and can’t fit in the photo 
that dissolves trusty leaves 
that feather bright and soft, as if a picture’s jarred time 
where unlit books ramble into dream, sleep’s pillion 
levering The Anthology of Fireside Chats 
away from the grate with an heirloom poker 
or more exactly, some crimp heater sloughed by the street 
Fill the chute’s leftovers, a mug’s trail of relenting principles 
wired to ankle, currency lass in a jumper times the curfew 
a ball of discomfort on a vintage beanbag 
while daffodils recite – preamble: body-as-quest 
tougher than a table of elements in pin-drop pause 
Adjust the sigh track near a convocation of analysts 
A remix swims over a screen 
Talk: plastic 
 
From: Ryan, Gig, ‘Post It’ in Cordite Poetry Review48.0: Constraint, 20 December 2020, p. [unnumbered]. 
(https://webarchive.nla.gov.au/awa/20141220030158/http://pandora.nla.gov.au/pan/14234/20141220-0000/cordite.org.au/poetry/constraint/post-it/index.html) 
 
Date: 2014 
 
by: Gig (Elizabeth Anne Martina) Ryan (1956- )

Monday, 3 May 2021

The Lovers by Timothy Liu

I was always afraid
of what might get
revealed in a psychic’s
spread—
Forgive me
for not knowing
how we were
every card in the deck.

From: https://www.rattle.com/the-lovers-by-timothy-liu/

Date: 2014

By: Timothy Liu (1965- )

Friday, 18 December 2020

My Soul by Omar al-Jaffal

My soul is a desert and my days are sands
And those thirsty Bedouins are my dreams
Last night
I rinsed my mind with geniality
And dyed my heart with departure
I left my fingers and took my bag.

From: https://www.middleeasteye.net/fr/node/59698

Date: 2014 (original in Arabic); 2017 (translation in English)

By: Omar al-Jaffal (1988- )

Translated by: Eman Shaban Morsi (19??- )

Thursday, 26 November 2020

America, I Sing Back by Allison Adelle Hedge Coke

for Phil Young, my father, Robert Hedge Coke, Whitman, and Hughes

America, I sing back. Sing back what sung you in.
Sing back the moment you cherished breath.
Sing you home into yourself and back to reason.

Oh, before America began to sing, I sung her to sleep,
held her cradleboard, wept her into day.
My song gave her creation, prepared her delivery,
held her severed cord beautifully beaded.

My song helped her stand, held her hand for first steps,

nourished her very being, fed her, placed her three sisters strong.
My song comforted her as she battled my reason

broke my long held footing sure, as any child might do.

Lo, as she pushed herself away, forced me to remove myself,
as I cried this country, my song grew roses in each tear’s fall.

My blood veined rivers, painted pipestone quarries
circled canyons, while she made herself maiden fine.

Oh, but here I am, here I am, here, I remain high on each and every peak,
carefully rumbling her great underbelly, prepared to pour forth singing—

and sing again I will, as I have always done.

Never silenced unless in the company of strangers, singing

the stoic face, polite repose, polite, while dancing deep inside, polite
Mother of her world. Sister of myself.

When my song sings aloud again. When I call her back to cradle.
Call her to peer into waters, to behold herself in dark and light,

day and night, call her to sing along, call her to mature, to envision—

Then, she will make herself over. My song will make it so

When she grows far past her self-considered purpose,
I will sing her back, sing her back. I will sing. Oh, I will—I do.

America, I sing back. Sing back what sung you in.

From: https://www.pbs.org/newshour/arts/poetry/this-thanksgiving-read-a-native-american-poets-song-of-healing

Date: 2014

By: Allison Adelle Hedge Coke (1958- )

Monday, 2 November 2020

Mortality by Philip Hammial

When mother died
a man with a cloud took me for a beast.

When father died
I stood in a hole & spoke to a crowd.

When brother died
I had to get in behind the next one down.

When sister died
health was so sick you couldn’t buy money.

When I die
human shame will lose a friend.

From: http://www.softblow.org/philiphammial.html

Date: 2014

By: Philip Hammial (1976- )