Archive for November, 2008
Sunday, November 30th, 2008
BLUE RIBBONS AT THE COUNTY FAIR by Ellaraine Lockie
Review by Robert Cooperman BLUE RIBBONS AT THE COUNTY FAIR by Ellaraine Lockie PWJ Publishing P.O. Box 238 Tehama, CA 96090 ISBN 0-939221-45-4 2008, 64 pp., $12.00 www.creekwalker.com For a chapbook consisting of poems that all won first-place prizes in various contests, Blue Ribbons at the County Fair hangs together remarkably well. There’s a logical [...]
1 Comment » - Posted in E-Reviews by Megan
Saturday, November 29th, 2008
“Over the Skyline” by Linda Bosson
Linda Bosson OVER THE SKYLINE …a crop-dusting plane that has been reworked for sky-writing will draw a series of clouds over the Manhattan skyline. —The New York Times Meanwhile an artist in Central Park makes life-size drawings of trees. They look exactly like the real ones. Even the people who picnic beneath them don’t notice [...]
No Comments » - Posted in Poems by Timothy Green
Friday, November 28th, 2008
“My Mother’s Soul” by Bill Brown
Bill Brown MY MOTHER’S SOUL My mother looked like a soul waiting to be surprised. Whether stirring soup or weeding a garden, she was fishing for the unexpected, like the morning at Reelfoot Lake when her pole bent double, and she swung a large water snake swimming the air like a Chinese dragon. She wouldn’t [...]
1 Comment » - Posted in Poems by Timothy Green
Thursday, November 27th, 2008
“Klimt at the Musee Maillol” by Janalynn Bliss
Janalynn Bliss KLIMT AT THE MUSÉE MAILLOL She stood before a sketch, tracing with a curved finger the shapes of simple pencil strokes lightly onto the velvet skin of her inner arm. The slow swirl of the crowd stirred the air in the hushed space, the movement of her long straight hair raising shivers on [...]
No Comments » - Posted in Poems by Timothy Green
Wednesday, November 26th, 2008
“Fallon, Nevada” by Juanita Miller
Juanita Miller FALLON, NEVADA someone once lived in that old tin shack it was hot inside like it is in Fallon Nevada was in me rootless and wind-swept his hot wet my dry inland sea fossiled with big bones my heart a sutra gone beyond i said don’t keep your distance my hot old roof [...]
No Comments » - Posted in Poems,Tributes by Timothy Green
Tuesday, November 25th, 2008
LEAVING IOWA by Michael Meyerhofer
Review by Eric Greenwell LEAVING IOWA by Michael Meyerhofer Briery Creek Press 201 High Street Farmville, VA 23909 ISBN 978-0977447121 2007, 63 pp., $10.95 http://www.brierycreekpress.org/ In Michael Meyerhofer’s first full-length collection, Leaving Iowa, winner of the Liam Rector First Book Prize for Poetry, he ventures to drift off the page into a vivid world of [...]
1 Comment » - Posted in E-Reviews by Megan
Monday, November 24th, 2008
Two Poems by Leonard Nathan
Leonard Nathan AND HAVE YOU ALSO WISHED And have you also wished to leave the world of unforgiving surface and hard time, to enter mist and climb an autumn slope, becoming all but invisible below a gray and dripping baldachin of boughs that lead to the little clearing in the woods where much will be [...]
1 Comment » - Posted in Poems,Tributes by Timothy Green
Sunday, November 23rd, 2008
“Hosanna to Life” by Fred Fox
Fred Fox HOSANNA TO LIFE For years my ego fooled me. I carried the world on my shoulders. I now realize how inane that was Living within a self-imposed island. Achieving inner peace, my vision expanded. I embraced the vastness of the unknown. Though I am less than a grain of sand. That concept does [...]
No Comments » - Posted in Poems,Tributes by Timothy Green
Saturday, November 22nd, 2008
“Night Visitor” by Joyce La Mers
Joyce La Mers NIGHT VISITOR We’ve seen you scurrying through light spill on our deck, bunched over tiny claws, tail bare and dragging. You’re there and gone quicker than belief. “A possum?” we ask each other, shake our heads. Last night you stopped, looked in to where moon faces glowed from dim TV. Our eyes [...]
1 Comment » - Posted in Poems,Tributes by Timothy Green
Friday, November 21st, 2008
“Stalking ee in the Fifties” by Colette Inez
Colette Inez STALKING ee IN THE FIFTIES I knew him by his tonsure, head bare as a Buddhist monk or a bowl holding lower case letters that poured out on a page. I almost saw that spillage running out of his hands as he unlatched the gate of Patchin Place; O, ee, I followed him [...]
