Tag: American Poetry

Victor Clevenger: “Wednesday Morning”

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Wednesday Morning

all the construction workers running about trying
to wrap it all up     & i’m in my black car stopped
sitting smackdab in a construction zone next to
summer beaten cornfields showing their rust
yellow browning tassels     silks & stalks     to my
left     a solid baker’s dozen of volunteer sun-
flowers creamy to bright gold circling mahogany &
flowing seamlessly into green & at the ground
below them are twice as many pale-blue bronze
rose deep-purple irises in a roadside ditch

                        sudden rain causing
                        distortion— imagine
                        a van gogh

About the Author: Victor Clevenger spends his days in a Madhouse and his nights writing.  Selected pieces of his work have appeared in print magazines and journals around the world. He is the author of several collections of poetry including A Finger in the Hornets’ Nest (Red Flag Poetry, 2018), Corned Beef Hash By Candlelight (Luchador Press, 2019), A Wildflower In Blood (Roaring Junior Press, 2020), Scratching to Get By (Between Shadows Press, 2021), and 47 Poems (Crisis Chronicles Press, 2022).  Together with American poet John Dorsey, they run River Dog.

Image Credit: Chase Dimock “Sunflower” (2021)

John Dorsey: “What to Do After You Don’t Die on the Table”

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What to Do After You Don’t Die on the Table

get up
write a few things down
shake
thinking
they missed something.

About the Author: John Dorsey is the former poet laureate of Belle, Missouri and the author of Pocatello Wildflower. He may be reached at archerevans@yahoo.com.

Image Credit: “Operating room – eye institute” Public domain image courtesy of the Library of Congress

Rusty Barnes: “Homage to Jim Harrison”

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Homage to Jim Harrison

The grackle with its blue head
dunks violently his beak

in the bird bath while chickadees
and starlings battle the squirrels

for sustenance. Cars power by here
in the city and squirrels rush the street

for lack of places to run. On the porch
with my one-eyed dog,

I run my weathered hand on his
head and search fruitlessly for

the Zen moment like Jim Harrison's
dogs betray their owner's point of view.

I keep his grizzled nose pointed at
the source and breathe in his wisdom.

About the Author: Rusty Barnes lives with his family and a horde of cats in Revere MA. His work appears widely, and his most recent chapbook is DEAR SO & SO.

Image Credit: John James Audubon “Purple Grackle” Public domain image courtesy of Artvee

Melanie Browne: “Day -hab driver”

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Day -hab driver

I pick him
up from his
day hab program
he is smiling
but I give him a Tylenol
because it is raining
and I don’t know
what to expect

On those days
Elvis, the Beatles
or kidz bop?
I ask him
praying it’s not
the last one

A horrible station
where they auto tune
kids singing
bubble gum pop songs
he chooses the Beatles
and smiles when I sing
along to day tripper

We turn on
South Main Street
not far from
The whataburger
where I gave
the drifter who
approached my window
seven dollars

His left eye
looking straight
at me
his right eye
a one way
ticket out

About the Author: Melanie Browne is a poet and fiction writer from Texas. She has been published in several anthologies including This is Poetry Volume IV: Poets of the South and Cowboys &Cocktails Poetry from the True Grit Saloon.

Image Credit: Esther Bubley “Bus trip from Knoxville, Tennessee, to Washington, D.C. Looking out of bus window in Tennessee” (1943) Public domain image courtesy of the Library of Congress

M.J. Arcangelini: “Your Gift of Stars”

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YOUR GIFT OF STARS
Sic itur ad astra – Virgil
for Bruce


Around 1 AM we bounced seven miles out a rough dirt
Road, through locked gates, into the mountains to arrive

At Karen’s uninhabited trailer, which she spent all the
Previous afternoon cleaning, then making up a bed we

Could use for what was left of the night. She stocked it
With bottles of water, freshly drawn from her springs.

She showed me how to work the generator, and
Pointed out that we would need to pee outside, then

She drove down the steep hill to her place, leaving us
With flashlights to make our way around. Once we

Settled in, you disappeared into the cold air of the yard.
I found you gazing at a broad, clear sky dense with stars.

Excited, you pointed out the various constellations to me,
Especially the ones you could seldom see anywhere else,

Telling me some of the ancient stories behind them, 
How they came to be ensconced in the night sky.

It seemed that the new moon had politely excused herself
From the scene just so you could index the constellations

Then hand them to me with their interconnections revealed, a
Gift which I would never have requested, but will never forget


begun 07/01-29/2023
Santa Rosa, CA
events occurred the early morning of 06/18/2023
Yorkville Ranch Road, Mendocino County, CA

About the Author: M.J. Arcangelini, (b.1952, Pennsylvania) has resided in northern California since 1979. He has published extensively in both print and online venues & over a dozen anthologies.  He is the author of 6 published collections, the most recent of which is PAWNING MY SINS, 2022 (Luchador Press).

Image Credit: Henri-Edmond Cross “Landscape with Stars” Public domain image courtesy of Artvee

Larry Smith: “Afraid of Heights”

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Afraid of Heights

Yes, I am,
and maybe you are too—
vision blurs, stomach turns,
ground falls away.

Any bridge or ledge,
any tall building or tower
makes me tremble
and Oh, God,
never look down!
You may slip and fall,
you may be drawn into
its vortex.

Is it fear of falling,
or fear of jumping?
Might I lose control
or welcome new freedom?
I’ve thought long on it,
but only after, breathless,
I am across.

Once on a bridge
holding my baby
in my arms, I
shuttered and sat
straight down
wooden railing at my back.
In a glass elevator
I melted like candle wax
to the floor and stayed
for the door’s release.

I admit it here,
look it in the eye,
risk all, and welcome
any sweet relief.

About the Author: Larry Smith is a poet, fiction writer, memoirist and editor of Bottom Dog Press books in Ohio. He and his wife Ann cofounded a meditation center in Huron, Ohio. His most recent book is CONNECTIONS: Moring Dew: Tanka. 

Image Credit: Detroit Publishing Company “Cliff stairway, High Bridge, Ky.” (1907) Public domain image courtesy of the Library of Congress

G. M. H. Thompson: “Haiku from my Grandmother”

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 Haiku from my Grandmother

                    I
“Don’t you think we should                                                                                                                                                 “eat that stuff now because it                                                                                                                                             “expires in five weeks.”

                   II
“I don’t need my cane;                                                                                                                                                      “I just use my shopping cart—                                                                                                                        “I shop at Walgreens.”

                  III
“Did you take your cups                                                                                                                                             “to the sink already or                                                                                                                                                       “are they still down there?”

                  IV
“Did you know that Paul’s                                                                                                                                                             “answer for everything is                                                                                                                                                                      “drink another beer??!?!!”

                   V
“Don’t you have something                                                                                                                                              “you should be doing today?                                                                                                                                                     “Why are you still here??”

                  VI
“I’m not eating that!                                                                                                                                                              “Just what do you think I am?                                                                                                                                                                  “Some kind of vulture??”

About the Author: G. M. H. Thompson enjoys golden sunsets with fine wine, taking long walks on the beach, & getting to know you better.

Image Credit: Carol M. Highsmith “Kitchen spice pantry at the Joseph D. Oliver House, also known as Copshaholm, in South Bend, Indiana” (2016) Public domain image courtesy of the Library of Congress

Royal Rhodes: “The Other Genesis”

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The Other Genesis

What do we see outside 
except a canopy of ebony wings, 
garlands of feathery smoke 
moving on blackened water? 
Against the sketchy light 
it looks like a cancer patient 
showing us their fifth x-ray. 
The troubled lungs, highlighted: 
a cage of full-grown crows 
in a space too small for them 
and anxious for routes to escape, 
fanning their jittery wings 
against imprisoning walls. 
Something screamed in fear, 
locked inside us, watching. 
Resistance is useless, absurd, 
trapped in something we are. 
We saw their work when free: 
the substantial killing 
along the state route. They strutted 
around the roadkill, plucking 
at bits of the dying creatures, 
supple as the playful light. 
When will it end? we ask. 
And why did it ever begin? 
We are the understanding they lack. 
So we took them deep inside us.

About the Author: Royal Rhodes, who was trained in the Classics, is a retired educator who taught classes in global religions and Death & Dying for almost forty years. His poems have appeared in: Ekstasis Poetry, Snakeskin Poetry, The Montreal Review, The Cafe Review, and other places. His poetry/art collaborations have been published with The Catbird [on the Yadkin] Press in North Carolina.

Image Credit: Image originally from British Ornithology: Norwich: Bacon,1815-22. Courtesy of the Biodiversity Heritage Library

Robin Wright: “Boarding House Bedroom”

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Boarding House Bedroom
- After Vincent van Gogh

I tell the widowed landlady,
I’m an artist, and she rents
me the room cheap.
The colors for this room
must be both bright
and tranquil for me
to feel alive, work
round the clock in a fever.

I choose yellow for the bed
and chairs. Violet for walls,
green for the window frame,
a fence encasing light
that leads to a view
of the public garden
where men and women
stroll the lane surrounded
by blue pines.

I immerse myself for days,
weeks, months, until
a voice, a train inside
my brain, rumbles
through, rattles
the pictures on the wall.

About the Author: Robin Wright lives in Southern Indiana. Her work has appeared in The Beatnik Cowboy, As it Ought to Be, Loch Raven Review, Spank the Carp, The New Verse News, Rat’s Ass Review, Little Old Lady Comedy, Bindweed, Fevers of the Mind, One Art, and others. She is a Pushcart Prize nominee, and her first chapbook, Ready or Not, was published by Finishing Line Press in 2020.

Image Credit: Vincent Van Gogh “Bedroom in Arles” (1888)

Jake Sheff: “Crabbing at Nehalem Bay: a virelai”

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Crabbing at Nehalem Bay: a virelai 

After “Douce Dame Jolie” by Guillaume de Machaut  

My will is that your claw should grab
This cat food, that your mind should stab
Its doubts and urge you, like its lab
Rat, into trying something new. 

The tide is closing out my tab…
I swab
The weather’s face and ocean’s too. 
I fill my boat with air and flab
To nab
Some pride and dinner for my boo. 

I’m frightened not when shorelines blab; 
I see the semi-love Les Schwab 
Half-buried under sand. My cab
Is fate; we’re not just driving through! 

My will is that your claw should grab
This cat food, that your mind should stab
Its doubts and urge you, like its lab
Rat, into trying something new. 

The seagulls here all do the dab. 
Ahab
I’m not, but niveous visions do
Call me away from any slab
A schlub 
Could stand on; courage isn’t blue. 

The clam beds sleep beneath Queen Mab
Despite my screams when every ab
I catch is slightly rounded. Drab
My engine’s soul and instinct’s clue. 

My will is that your claw should grab
This cat food, that your mind should stab
Its doubts and urge you, like its lab
Rat, into trying something new. 

Off Hwy 101 facts jab
Prefab
Experiences; they don’t come true
Because the gift of every crab
Is gab:
They rival Athens in a coup! 

But south of Wheeler, night’s hijab
Is not on yet. My buoys scab
The waters so that Dr. Krabbe,
If he was here, would say, “Achoo!” 

My will is that your claw should grab
This cat food, that your mind should stab
Its doubts and urge you, like its lab
Rat, into trying something new.

About the Author: Jake Sheff is a pediatrician and US Air Force veteran. He’s published a full-length collection of formal poetry, “A Kiss to Betray the Universe” (White Violet Press), along with two chapbooks: “Looting Versailles” (Alabaster Leaves Publishing) and “The Rites of Tires” (SurVision).

Image Credit: Wissenschaftliche Ergebnisse der Deutschen Tiefsee-Expedition auf dem Dampfer “Valdivia” 1898-1899. bd.6. Atlas Jena,G. Fischer,1902-40. Public domain image courtesy of the Biodiversity Heritage Library.