Archive for March, 2009
Wednesday, March 11th, 2009
“Origami” by Meg Yardley
Meg Yardley ORIGAMI Of course you can fold a bird. A rabbit that puffs up at your breath. Two interlocking rings from a single sheet of kami. A waterlily. A star box. But now try folding the jade plant you left in the car to be scorched by the sun. Try folding Afghanistan. Fold the [...]
2 Comments » - Posted in Poems by Megan
Tuesday, March 10th, 2009
THE WHITE BRIDE by Sarah Maclay
Review by Maureen Alsop THE WHITE BRIDE by Sarah Maclay University of Tampa Press 401 W. Kennedy Blvd. Tampa, FL 33606 ISBN: 978-1-59732-042-9 2008, 84 pp., $12.00 http://utpress.ut.edu A mesmeric music that “starts inaudibly, as all music starts…” (3) within Maclay’s The White Bride moves not only from poem to poem, but from outer ear [...]
No Comments » - Posted in E-Reviews by Megan
Monday, March 9th, 2009
“After My Third Tattoo” by Elizabeth Wurz
Elizabeth Wurz AFTER MY THIRD TATTOO “What noun would you want spoken on your skin your whole life through?” —Mark Doty, “My Tattoo” On the back of my neck, the verb experience is healing. With the hand-mirror and wall mirror, I see where to rub the ointment on my father’s tombstone. When I opened the [...]
No Comments » - Posted in Poems by Megan
Sunday, March 8th, 2009
“Nocturne with Cat and Spider” by Douglas Woody Woodsum
Douglas Woody Woodsum NOCTURNE WITH CAT AND SPIDER When you live alone, there’s no one to holler (no mother or father, no uncle or aunt) none to mind if you wander away from the dishes away from the oil bill and unanswered mail and stand in the light of the door to the icebox and [...]
1 Comment » - Posted in Poems by Megan
Saturday, March 7th, 2009
“Death and Tacos” by Nathaniel Whittemore
Nathaniel Whittemore DEATH AND TACOS Waiting in line at a taco stand for my number to be called I started talking to a six-year-old kid kicking his little foot against A curb and waiting for his dad to come out of the bathroom. And he said, “Why [...]
39 Comments » - Posted in Poems by Timothy Green
Friday, March 6th, 2009
“After 75 Years, She Finally Gets Angry” by Sarah Pemberton Strong
Sarah Pemberton Strong AFTER 75 YEARS, SHE FINALLY GETS ANGRY At first we did not know what was happening. The tea on the porch table cooled several degrees while she stood up, clutched the scrollwork back of the chair. The lines on her face arranged themselves in a way we’d never seen, her nostrils flared [...]
No Comments » - Posted in Poems by Megan
Thursday, March 5th, 2009
A STRANGER HERE MYSELF by Niki Nymark
Review by Ted Gilley A STRANGER HERE MYSELF by Niki Nymark Cherry Pie Press P.O. Box 155 Glen Carbon, IL 62034 ISBN 978-0-9748468-7-3 2008, $10.00 http://cherrypiepress.blogspot.com In A Stranger Here Myself, Niki Nymark endeavors to convince us, as poets will, that life is a serious business, and while the reader may enjoy her judicious (but [...]
2 Comments » - Posted in E-Reviews by Megan
Wednesday, March 4th, 2009
Additional Pushcart Nominees
Congratulations to Brian Trimboli and Bruce Cohen — their poems “Things My Son Should Have Known Before He Died” and “The Jerry Lewis Telethon,” respectively, have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize by their Board of Contributing Editors. Brian and Bruce will join our other six nominees in waiting patiently by the phone for the [...]
No Comments » - Posted in Announcements by Timothy Green
Wednesday, March 4th, 2009
“Space Monkey” by David Alpaugh
DAVID ALPAUGH: “I’m attracted to poetry by its thrilling language—the electricity generated by the A & B of metaphor ‘running beautiful together.’ Visual poetry increases the voltage, counterpointing the poem’s words with a third dimension that commands the eye and affords the complex pleasure of a triple-read. The circular, vortex-driven background of ‘Space Monkey’ forces [...]
3 Comments » - Posted in Audio,Poems,Tributes by Timothy Green
Tuesday, March 3rd, 2009
“John Berryman Used to Sway” by Donna Spector
Donna Spector JOHN BERRYMAN USED TO SWAY or lean into a corner when he read Yeats and cummings. He still suffered from malaria, he said, but he could dissect our dreams like a surgeon looking for the heart of the matter, which was always sex. I was just eighteen and easily offended. When he took [...]
