the bleeding horse at sea

Félix Bonfils “Mer morte et montagnes de Judée” Digital image courtesy of the Getty’s Open Content Program

 

the bleeding horse at sea

By John Sweet

 

the bleeding horse at sea

and then it turned out
that the trick was just to
give in to depression, and of course
i felt like a fool for not realizing   
                                 this earlier

i sat there in an empty house
listening to water run down the walls

sat there listening to
the starlings in the attic

thought about my oldest boy

about all of the apologies i owed him

kept wishing i was asleep
until my alarm clock
woke me up the next morning

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About the Author: john sweet, b 1968, still numbered among the living.  A believer in writing as catharsis. Opposed to all organized religion and political parties.  His latest collections include APPROXIMATE WILDERNESS (2016 Flutter Press), BASTARD FAITH (2017 Scars Publications) and the limited edition HEATHEN TONGUE (2018 Kendra Steiner Editions).  All pertinent facts about his life are buried somewhere in his writing.

All of the Above

“The Bad Book” Unknown Artist, Digital image courtesy of the Getty’s Open Content Program

 

All of the Above

By Jason Ryberg

 

All of the Above

A book of poems is
a family photo album
for a spectacularly dysfunctional family,

a scrapbook of newspaper clippings,
wedding announcements, obituaries
and concert ticket stubs,

a file cabinet full of classified documents,
elaborately detailed conspiracy theories
and jealously guarded recipes.

A book of poems is
a jelly jar full of fortune cookie fortunes,

an ancient tome of forbidden knowledge,

a grimoire of (otherwise) benign
spells, hexes, hoodoos and charms.

A book of poems is (at least)
equal parts scrapyard and curio shop,
(bus station at 2am  / country crossroads at midnight),

a shoebox full of old post cards
and love letters,

a rolodex of dead or merely
recommissioned phone numbers
(I’m sorry, who were you looking for?)

A book of poems is an estate sale for a wealthy,
eccentric hoarder who has been missing
and presumed dead for nearly a decade.

an operator’s manual for a machine
that hasn’t been invented yet,

a road atlas for a lost continent.

A book of poems is …

all of the above.

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About the Author: Jason Ryberg is the author of twelve books of poetry, six screenplays, a few short stories, a box full of folders, notebooks and scraps of paper that could one day be (loosely) construed as a novel, and, a couple of angry  letters to various magazine and newspaper editors. He is currently an artist-in-residence at both The Prospero Institute of Disquieted P/o/e/t/i/c/s and the Osage Arts Community, and is an editor and designer at Spartan Books. His latest collections of poems are Zeus-X-Mechanica (Spartan Press, 2017) and A Secret History of the Nighttime World (39 West Press, 2017). He lives part-time in Kansas City with a rooster named Little Red and a billygoat named Giuseppe and part-time somewhere in the Ozarks, near the Gasconade River, where there are also many strange and wonderful woodland critters. 

Leadwood: A Conversation with Poet Daniel Crocker

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Leadwood: A Conversation with Poet Daniel Crocker

By Chase Dimock

 

In Leadwood, Daniel Crocker surveys twenty years of his work as a poet. Ranging from the metaphysical significance of the McRib to courageous deep dives into bipolar disorder, Crocker’s book is more than a collection of poems; it’s a chronicle of a poet’s maturation and a man’s coming to terms with his upbringing and identity.

Leadwood is the Daniel Crocker origin story. He was born among the long closed lead mines and chat dumps that littered his rural Missouri hometown. He confronts poverty, bigotry, and religious zealotry along with personal tragedies that shaped him as man and a writer. As a middle aged poet, Crocker depicts the lingering effects of Leadwood, balancing nostalgia and care for his home with trauma. In his newest poems, he gives us stirring insight into his relationship with bipolar disorder.

No matter his age, his work has always been confessional and brave. Crocker is a rural Anne Sexton, a Sylvia Plath raised on Sesame Street and WWE wrestling, a John Berryman in the Wal-Mart aisles, a Robert Lowell with a smirk and morbid punchlines.

 

Chase Dimock: Although this is a collection of your work from the past two decades, you decided to give the book a title: Leadwood. Once the reader hits the first poem “Where We Come From,” they will learn that Leadwood is the name of your small hometown. Why did you decide that this one word would be descriptive of two decades worth of your work? What does understanding Leadwood as a town achieve toward understanding Daniel Crocker as a poet?

Daniel Crocker: This kind of dates back to my very first full length book, People Everyday and Other Poems (Green Bean Press, 1998), which I dedicated to  Leadwood. Later, me and my wife, Margaret, would do a chapbook together called “My Favorite Hell.” It was put out by Alpha Beat Press. We used the Leadwood population sign as our cover art. So, I guess Leadwood has had a hold on me from the beginning.

Like you said, it’s my hometown. I think most of us are shaped by where we grew up–for better or worse. Most of my formative experiences happened there, and I’ve written a lot about them.  And, I certainly have love/hate relationship with Leadwood. I have many great childhood memories, but also worries about lead poisoning and the ecological disaster that my home town is. Mostly, however, I wanted to make sure that the voices of my small town, and by extension other small towns, aren’t lost. There are small towns all over the country that have been ravaged and left behind by corporations–whether it’s Leadwood, which was founded by a lead mining company who later up and left the town with huge piles of chat (lead and dust) that were as big as football stadiums. The cancer rate there is extremely high. The soil has been tested there was found to be 10,000 more times the lead in the soil that is considered safe. Continue reading “Leadwood: A Conversation with Poet Daniel Crocker”

Sally with the Accent

Pablo Picasso, “Femme couchée lisant”

Sally with the Accent

By Kevin Ridgeway

 

Sally with the Accent

she’s from Yonkers
has white skin
white hair
and a bright smile
she used to do social work
and her insight means
she can finish our 
therapist’s sentences
and initiates 
the growing
process
of others
so much
until she stops 
responding to her name
and denies everything
into the fog 
of disassociation
and waking up lost, 
not knowing
where and how
she’s found 
herself again.

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About the Author: Kevin Ridgeway is from Whittier, CA. He is the author of six chapbooks of poetry. His latest book is A Ludicrous Split (alongside poems by Gabriel Ricard, Alien Buddha Press). Recent work has appeared or is forthcoming in SlipstreamChiron ReviewUp the RiverNerve CowboyThe American Journal of PoetryMain Street RagCultural WeeklySan Pedro River ReviewLummoxMisfit MagazineThe Cape RockPlainsongs and So it Goes: The Literary Journal of the Kurt Vonnegut Memorial Library. He lives and writes in Long Beach, CA.

Cape Split

Across the Bay of Fundy, towards Nova Scotia, as seen from Fundy National Park, New Brunswick

Cape Split

By Tobi Alfier

 

Cape Split
      Cape Split is quite literally the “end of the world”
                                                                         Google quote

                            I

Pain is like the prenup you forgot to get,
it takes all the sweetness, leaves you
with the pawn tickets. You will never
be able to buy back an unfurled forehead,
true smile and the grace of comfort.

                            II

So you sit in the bar, listen to complaints
of other people’s unwanted houseguests,
drink just enough. One more winter
outlives its welcome as you as you lick
your cold lips, search for a warm face.

                            III

The weather is ice over shade,
you need an elbow to pity you home.
This is not the first time. The tide is out,
you are resting on mud, you need a pilot,
who knows your analogies are weak

and your pride is mighty. Like a ship asail
with no engine, you pray for wind to lead you
past the soft swell of young lovers to the breakwater
of hearth, to tea and the quiet compass of a stranger’s
voice bidding you safe travels, small hurts.

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(This poem first appeared in Sterling Magazine)

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About the Author: Tobi Alfier (Cogswell) is a multiple Pushcart nominee and multiple Best of the Net nominee.  Her chapbook “Down Anstruther Way” (Scotland poems) was published by FutureCycle Press. Her full-length collection “Somewhere, Anywhere, Doesn’t Matter Where” was published by Aldrich Press. “Slices of Alice & Other Character Studies” was just published by Cholla Needles Press. She is co-editor of San Pedro River Review (www.bluehorsepress.com).

“Walking West on East 5th Street” By Jeffrey Alfier

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Walking West on East 5th Street
                          Benson, Arizona

It is spring, and in a town that awaits
the luster of fairgrounds to come alive,

the doors of taverns open early, like strangers
with a promise. Flat-roofed houses yield

to groves of mesquite. Their limbs stretch
streetlight halos into frail shadows veining asphalt

that webs the neighborhood. The trundling
iron of the Union Pacific enters town at a late

hour. Its headlamp startles shacks to burnished
yellow as it floods for mere seconds the frame

of a drunken soldier, home on leave from a long
war. He shuffles through an unpaved alley

like an astronaut scuffing the dust of the moon.
A final blast from the locomotive seems to hew

the world into the past tense. It surmounts cheers
unreeling from a small crowd seated under

the ballfield lighting of a pickup game. A young
hopeful sprints homeward, rounds third, already out.

 

This poem previous appeared in Idyll for a Vanishing River (Glass Lyre Press, 2013)

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About the Author: Jeffrey Alfier is 2018 winner of the Angela Consolo Manckiewick Poetry Prize, from Lummox Press. In 2014 he won the Kithara Book Prize, judged by Dennis Maloney. Publication credits include Crab Orchard ReviewSouthern Poetry ReviewAtlanta Review, Copper NickelEmerson ReviewIron Horse Literary ReviewKestrelHotel AmerikaMidwest QuarterlyPoetry Ireland Review and South Carolina Review. He is author of The Wolf YearlingIdyll for a Vanishing RiverFugue for a Desert MountainAnthem for Pacific Avenue: California PoemsSouthbound Express to Bayhead: New Jersey PoemsThe Red Stag at Carrbridge: Scotland PoemsBleak Music – a photo and poetry collaboration with poet Larry D. Thomas and The Storm Petrel: Poems of Ireland. He is founder and co-editor at Blue Horse Press and San Pedro River Review. An Air Force veteran, he is a member of Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America.

 

Image Credit: “Main Street, Benson, Arizona” By Jeffrey Alfier

Modernist Hay Making

Hart Crane
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Modernist Hay Making

By Tim Peeler

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About the Author:  A past winner of the Jim Harrison Award for contributions to baseball literature, Tim Peeler has also twice been a Casey Award Finalist (baseball book of the year) and a finalist for the SIBA Award. He lives with his wife, Penny in Hickory, North Carolina, where he directs the academic assistance programs at Catawba Valley Community College. He has published close to a thousand poems, stories, essays, and reviews in magazines, journals, and anthologies and has written sixteen books and three chapbooks. He has five books in the permanent collection at the Baseball Hall of Fame Library in Cooperstown, NY. His recent books include Rough Beast, an Appalachian verse novel about a southern gangster named Larry Ledbetter, Henry River: An American Ruin, poems about an abandoned mill town and film site for The Hunger Games, and Wild in the Strike Zone: Baseball Poems, his third volume of baseball-related poems.

Two Poems: Neon Boneyard and Disobedience

“Red and Orange Streak” By Georgia O’Keeffe (1919)
.

Two Poems:

Neon Boneyard

and

Disobedience

By Ruth Bavetta

 

Neon Boneyard

The desert ends in a pit of light,
streets cacophonous
in their escape from dark.
They’ve pried the gas
from its place in the Periodic Table,
stroked electricity
from the demon’s feet.
A hemangioma
of multicolored tubing,
burns blisters in the sand.

.

Disobedience

I will wake the lilies under
the window. I will bite deeply
into the apple’s defenseless cheek.
I will follow the seagulls over
the waves as they etch the air
with their wings. I will not
be good. I will not be safe.
I will ride the tide as it goes out.
And when the man comes in the dark,
I will show him the family
silver’s shining secrets.

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About the Author: Ruth Bavetta writes at a messy desk overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Her poems have appeared in Rattle, Nimrod, Tar River Review, North American Review and many other journals and anthologies. Her books are Fugitive Pigments (FutureCycle Press, 2013) Embers on the Stairs (Moontide Press, 2014,) Flour Water Salt (FutureCycle Press, 2016.) and No Longer at This Address (Aldritch Books 2017.)  She likes the light on November afternoons, the music of Stravinsky, the smell of the ocean.  She hates pretense, fundamentalism and sauerkraut.

O’Brien’s Tower

 

The Cliffs of Moher
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O’Brien’s Tower

By Stephen Roger Powers

 

O’Brien’s Tower

If you stand on the beach in Montauk
and launch miniature ships from your eyes—
indulge in breaking miniature champagne bottles
across their bows first—the line of ships will,
if they don’t change course, brush Rio Grande do Norte
and Paraíba, approach Australia from the south, and make land
near Perth. The things you learn from YouTube.

Today I am at the Cliffs of Moher throwing a message
in a bottle over the edge, none of anyone’s business
what it says, charting it toward a discoverer
who will uncork and unroll it waves and winds
and continents away from the straight-line recipient.

Sea-mist mornings like this, it is easier to imagine
the nosey finder puzzled and riddled
and pulled by the tease of its suggested narrative
than it is to map the direction
over the horizon and a thousand
unseen horizons after the first
where my country is from here.

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About the Author: Stephen Roger Powers started writing poetry almost twenty years ago to pass time in the middle of the night when he was too energized to sleep after coming off the stage in comedy clubs around the Midwest. He is the author of The Followers Tale and Hello, Stephen, both published by Salmon Poetry. Other work has appeared in 32 PoemsShenandoahThe Southern Poetry Anthology Volume V: GeorgiaRabbit Ears: TV Poems, and Stone, River, Sky: An Anthology of Georgia PoemsHe hasnt done stand-up in a long time, but every once in a while he finds avenues for the performer he was born to be. He was an extra in Joyful Noise with Queen Latifah and Dolly Parton, and he can be seen if you know just where to look.

John Dorsey: “Punk Rock at 45”

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Punk Rock at 45

when i look at your life now
i think nancy spungen got off easy
breast cancer at 45
you have be a fighter
to sleep in the streets
with your broken heart
just dangling there
like a locket made of bones

i remember you at 30
beautiful
tough
& sad

talking about your family
as we drove to 7-eleven
to get hotdogs on christmas eve

how it all came flooding back
your father threatening to drive
the whole family off a bridge
into icy cold arkansas river water
on christmas morning

or the near rape
by a family friend
at fourteen

or the countless bad relationships
that became your anthem
as much as nick cave
or the murder city devils
ever were

your lungs filled up with silence

as the night sky balled up
into a fist
& hurled your childhood
into the past.

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Check out our interview with John Dorsey on his book, Letting the Meat Rest.

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About the Author: John Dorsey lived for several years in Toledo, Ohio. He is the author of several collections of poetry, including Teaching the Dead to Sing: The Outlaw’s Prayer (Rose of Sharon Press, 2006), Sodomy is a City in New Jersey (American Mettle Books, 2010), Tombstone Factory, (Epic Rites Press, 2013), Appalachian Frankenstein (GTK Press, 2015) Being the Fire (Tangerine Press, 2016) and Shoot the Messenger (Red Flag Press, 2017). He is the current Poet Laureate of Belle, MO. His work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. He may be reached at archerevans@yahoo.com

More By John Dorsey:

“The Mark Twain Speech”

Image Credit: Digital Art designed by Chase Dimock