Sensory Memory — MosaicsOfBlue

Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings, taking origin from emotions recollected in tranquility. -William Wordsworth Ink pens. Something about rainy days like today make me think of ink pens. Ink pens and obviously, school. Just a few days before school re-opened, there would be a visit to the stationery shop. It was a […]

via Sensory Memory — MosaicsOfBlue

Cat’s Eye & some other Atwoods condensed — Reviewing Every Book on My Shelves

I know I said I’d review every book on the shelves, but then my first 7 posts would be all Margaret Atwood. And as much as I love her, that’s not how I want to begin. I really do love Margaret Atwood. I discovered her when I was about 19 or 20 and fell in […]

via Cat’s Eye & some other Atwoods condensed — Reviewing Every Book on My Shelves

Cambridge Companion to Samuel Johnson — Churchly Piety

Clingham, Greg. The Cambridge Companion to Samuel Johnson. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1997. Samuel Johnson wasn’t just a writer. He was a force of nature. You have to reckon with him, as is perhaps evident in that many writers in this volume have a “feminist” or “post-colonialist” bent to them. Despite (or because of) […]

via Cambridge Companion to Samuel Johnson — Churchly Piety

A beginner’s guide to reading and enjoying poetry — Reading Room

Andrew McMillan, Manchester Metropolitan University One of the things you get asked most when people find out that you’re a poet is whether you can recommend something that could be read at an upcoming wedding, or if you know something that might be suitable for a funeral. For most people, these occasions – as well […]

via A beginner’s guide to reading and enjoying poetry — Reading Room

6 Thoughts on Reviewing Poetry + tips & where to submit reviews – guest blog post by Alina Stefanescu — Trish Hopkinson

1. I come to reviewing as a reader, a simple lover of books. For many years, I believed that loving a book was not reason enough to review it. I believed that one needed special degrees in judgement in order to be able to speak of books with the detachment and “objectivity” they deserved. Although […]

via 6 Thoughts on Reviewing Poetry + tips & where to submit reviews – guest blog post by Alina Stefanescu — Trish Hopkinson

CALELendar a poem, by Melissa Chaconas

branch out on words
pivot the approach he prophecy
relentlessly the part
dreamed old- piece of night
that transformations between me
first word- last love
intricately organic beyond
reason strange
benediction lesson
mailbox wrath welcome letter picnic
father instructions

confidential hemorrhage

signal child
to
economist’s old clothes
mask of supper
daughter bring
mean careless love
quality between
this questioned
world
silence your science green gods.

flowers fall grimmer grammer in
house- railed- un-withered
the approach to
upstairs
-the thief
of end- when will it end?
goose eat- what eat goose?
&
dragonfly- ?
lamplight covers
scourged head down
hermetic
reader
writer
down
in class

summing up meditation
a testing spark
journal old cracked curtain (belongs to someone else)
to portrait
the illumination of dynasty
w/ red breasted robin
road of summer river solstice
build report gladiator of the system
around 3 floors- flights to the king cleoparta
tree-please teach Dante
layeREd knots unknown nights
catch cage- portents contents fire-sticks
Lincoln’s death

quarrel w/ six
sisters
route the unquiet ones
layer snakes of
September
image maker
make we
abduction to 1914
foreboding my
poet rounds
ill pass on the
boat

whale through
chariot rides
to the house
of mother’s
pearls
comet
autumn
comes
commit on
lamentation-
the sea
touch me

never
begin
w/
beethoven
expected
music-
not to you
but it acts
of old photos retouched
signed great
us-

I pull down the mountain, by Melissa Chaconas

I pull down the mountain with my hands
I stare at the page
Clouds float thri=ough fast
And I try ti scranbke down electronically the WORDS
With one hand while thee other holds my body and muse separate but together

Who will fall from above higher learning?
on stones to the garden AND
Lay me down open the flower that has rough petals
That droop and sting as hot as lava

Scratch with nails at the wood cardboard like thin sheets that block the climb-through
That led to the rusty monkey bars where I first tied to speak poetry to non-listeners….
Ivy n word old loneness’ filled my heart with ferment fulfillment was it foul ? but other girls n boys
Didn’t like it there
And sometimes before the sun would set I would feel the on-lookers stare N wonder again
Since my birth
repeatedly
Are they a poet or just an other bore!~

I want to take this poem to the grocery store and speak to it by the veggies
And be a commercial-photo op for people to SPEAK to children

But the Stanley & Sylvia, Stephen, Zbigniew and Lowell and Bhagavad-Gita
Won’t show up with billboards or push-in pins with signs as pens
Not for the coke-head/heroin accident of my day that recites 1960’s work
And shakes like a snake in the alley.. “umm…yeah like yeah”

U can twist the reachin into vibrations of the

The voice maybe
But the printed holds more truth than drama from an non-actor/actress

I want to call
I want to nestle the breast of cookies n milk
Until you scream im gay sometimes but always
Or should I write a poem for u everyday
Because you don’t SPEAK to others but bu but but
This silly Greek girl knows you

The Latino needs curry-chicken he thinks from a goddess but not

Dad u sold the house of my childhood to liars
I don’t want to work for the government
I want to be like aunt penny’s baby’s daddy
And go live in California work at a library on Sundays
Do idle work for money
Live in a house that gypsy n I write so our minds diont blow
The body follows happiness
I once was a happy body-able mind too
When I was following it

Will you still accept your daughter when she doesn’t talk?

Verbally

But

just publishes work/play/love to little birds who carry or are messages from the others

if I go— will I turn-off my cord
unplug my comfort n

dance when hungry

Enough wanderer, by Melissa Chaconas

father of our country ill fated
disgraced to be civilian
go lay in a rustic bed
of a poor king- abandoned by
the powerless-
buy- touching
Pope

He loved the toil of making
this true again 4 how many
more years

tree-trunk officers- hollow hands
full length misery of situations
gone beyond help
make 4 good donuts,
bBig tears 4 men without utility belts
“Do to you ask the peace from me 4 those
whose lives were taken by the cast of Mars”

Where are the warrior girls who
also debate w/any?
dances as she turns to
shoot the aim of armless
one-breasted bows
arrows
formulated from
of lost cities
intermitted with
blazing lamenting
wordless weapons

ashy
ashed
seas

“Dawn at that hour
brought on her kindly light
for ill mankind,
arousing men to labor & distress”

morning kind light
made her that hour
what cab in can she animate
the action before sexually waken up
the action that sways men to wages and physical trouble in search of evening satisfactory- its unforunate that mankind
can not be without reference to sex
at what hour will her light look at the beginning?

This old-timely body of
underneath gloom
un foundation in men
hurled swine
herd death in commandeered positions
heated up the stove
but no reaped-up climax
the hope- trembles in same
time
the queen entreaties
the mounds of
trust-faithly hounds
the palpable eyes-
the inner enjoined scepter
we say him trying to lay
tendering our gifts but
with a war- father in gripped
rough hands
“what happened to disturb your
quiet life?”
Dominance in Greeks is our
strange taste that
often lends to exile
others don’t hear

what makes the
royal mildew groan
and roar/
cloaked in mothballs