Tag: American Poetry

Steve Brisendine: “Notice Served”

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Notice Served

Low sky, gray beneath gray,
thin dim sun loitering behind
without noticeable intent;

aging summer drags beat-up
sandals at autumn’s order to
pack up its things and move on
	to the next hemisphere – 

but clouds above and bluster
below, orange leaves eddying
in gutters and entryways,

foreshadow the inevitable: a fall
of highs and lows, woodsmoke
perfuming dawns and dusks, 

frost’s hungry fingers tracing
windowpanes, cupping cheeks.

About the Author: Steve Brisendine – writer, poet, occasional artist, recovering journalist – lives and works in Mission, Kansas. His most recent collections are Salt Holds No Secret But This (Spartan Press, 2022) and To Dance with Cassiopeia and Die (Alien Buddha Press, 2022), a “collaboration” with his former pen name of Stephen Clay Dearborn. His work has appeared in Modern Haiku, Flint Hills Review, Connecticut River Review and other journals and anthologies. He holds no degrees, several longstanding grudges and any number of strong opinions. Write to him at steve.brisendine@live.com.

Image Credit: Andor Dobai Szekely “A Summer Landscape” (1910) Public domain image courtesy of Artvee

John Dorsey: “On the Prospect of Dying in December”

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On the Prospect of Dying in December

not the end of the year
but maybe the end of your life
& you don’t know 
if you should buy another calendar
you didn’t buy the one you have now
given away by the local bank
curling at the bottom 
after an already brutal summer
you think about the winter of 1996
just before your grandfather 
closed his eyes one last time
while smiling 
knowing the battle 
was almost over
thinking about when you sold calendars 
over the holidays for the local bookstore
mostly of swimsuit models 
who are grandmothers now
& kittens that are long dead
& butterflies that have flown away
& you wonder 
how long it will be for you
on an unusually cool august morning
waiting for your ride

it won’t be long now.

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: Harris & Ewing “Washington Snow Scenes” (1924) Public domain image courtesy of the Library of Congress

Sue Blaustein: “Who Wrote the Book of Love?”

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Who Wrote the Book of Love?

To discover laws, you need facts.
           Of course. But laws! 
Laws are about relationships.

The cast from my childhood biographies – pea plant and pigeon
breeders, lens grinders and collectors 
           would testify:

that you can discover anything if you’re patient enough.

If you’re imaginative enough 
           and tough. Curious.
If you vibrate and resonate, hyper-able to read signs…
perceiving the tiniest swerve or oddity –
	  flash, whiff or residue.

If your study feels like courtship!
	  All new. You know. You know
what you saw. What it means. How delicious it could be to verify!

The miners and mechanics, the alchemists,
	  taxidermists –
they’d testify!
 	 
	  That if you’re receptive,
if you’re in love or some similar state, if you have to know. If you want
	  that knowledge,
you’ll devise the means – titrations, 
          equations, dissections...
Calculations and equilibrations. Instruments.

Those restless cooks and brewers! Observant healers…
	  Astronomers and microscopists.

They proved that sooner or later, you’ll detect
          what’s too small, too far,
too big or too quiet, too subtle!

You’ll get there. You’ll coax the remote into
touching – moving things you can 
          see. And you’ll measure
and record, measure and compare,
          and relationships
          come clear.

About the Author: Sue Blaustein is the author of “In the Field, Autobiography of an Inspector”. Her information can be found at www.sueblaustein.com. Recently she contributed a poem to a “The Subtle Forces” podcast episode and was interviewed on the “Blue Collar Gospel Hour”. A retiree, she blogs for Milwaukee’s  Ex Fabula, serves as an interviewer/writer for the “My Life My Story” program at the Zablocki VA Medical Center, and chases insects at the Milwaukee Urban Ecology Center.

Image Credit: Pietro Rotari “A Young Woman with a Book” (1756) Public domain image courtesy of Artvee

Robert S. King “Head Waiter”

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Head Waiter

A waiter hurries up, then waits.
The customer is always right.
Carnivores love more-than-you-can-eat deals.
Their table manners grunt greedy sounds.
They might even eat me who has no taste.

The only tip they leave trickles down
from their lips. Maybe I’d like
my own pound of flesh, even sitting down
with cannibal capitalists to the richest
food for thought.

But I’ll have to wait on that.

About the Author: Robert S. King lives in Athens, GA, where he serves on the board of FutureCycle Press. His poems have appeared in hundreds of magazines, including Atlanta Review, California Quarterly, Chariton Review, Hollins Critic, Kenyon Review, Main Street Rag, Midwest Quarterly, Negative Capability, Southern Poetry Review, and Spoon River Poetry Review. He has published eight poetry collections, most recently Developing a Photograph of God (Glass Lyre Press, 2014) and Messages from Multiverses (Duck Lake Books, 2020) His personal website is www.robertsking.info.

Image Credit: James Ensor “Gentleman and Waiter” Public domain image courtesy of Artvee

Jason Ryberg: “Scarecrow Standing at a Crossroads”

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Scarecrow Standing at a Crossroads

There’s a blackbird between the shadows
of two white houses,

the midnight train is a silver river
of moonlight,

the cornfield is now a haunted forest
of skeletal husks,

and it would appear that the old, madcap,
vaudeville, soft-shoe dancer of a scarecrow,
who, one day who knows how many years ago,
just seemed to have showed-up, out there,
outta nowhere,

has moved on, now

(his past finally
catching up with him, I guess).

About the Author: Jason Ryberg is the author of eighteen 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 collection of poems is The Great American Pyramid Scheme (co-authored with W.E. Leathem, Tim Tarkelly and Mack Thorn, OAC Books, 2022). He lives part-time in Kansas City, MO 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.

Image Credit: John Vachon “Scarecrow, North Carolina” (1938) Public domain image courtesy of the Library of Congress

Cord Moreski: “Night Swimming”

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Night Swimming 

After working another shift 
in the oppressive Jersey heat 
taking food orders from the privileged 
and counting tips so I can make
my rent that just went up again

any ghost from Roman literature 
would definitely point out that 
I haven’t been very carpe diem
as of lately

so I make my way 
to North End beach 
surrounded by teenagers making out 
past their curfews in the sand
and stoners hot-boxing 
beneath overturned lifeguard boats 

I take off my work clothes 
while this drunken couple 
on the shoreline beside me
continue their post-bar conversation 

about the fate of the world
the fate of us all, fire and ice,
as if they were knocking back 
a few earlier with Robert Frost

they try to ask me what I think
but I’m already diving into the surf 
and by the time I resurface they leave
and all I’m left with is just this darkness 
as I float on the calmness of the water

I don't know what’ll happen I think to myself
but the stars sure do look pretty tonight.

About the Author: Cord Moreski is a poet from the Jersey Shore. Moreski is the author of Confined Spaces (Two Key Customs, 2022), The News Around Town (Maverick Duck Press, 2020), and Shaking Hands with Time (Indigent Press, 2018). When he is not writing, Cord waits tables for a living and teaches middle school children that poetry is awesome. His next chapbook Apartment Poems will be released by Between Shadows Press in late 2022. You can follow Cord here: www.cordmoreski.com

Image Credit: Léon Spilliaert “Beachview at Night” (1905) Public domain image courtesy of Artvee

Ken Gierke: “Riding With Monk”

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Riding with Monk

Epistrophy, apostrophe,
brush these blues off of me.
Lift me off this loneliest of roads,
beyond these bare trees.

Even in their beauty,
these bones of winter
hold no answers,
only questions.

On this road of introspection,
you tease me with those keys.
I don’t blame you, but
I’ve had all the blues I can abide.

I’m not in the mood.
Give it to me straight.
I’m tired of chasing dreams.
Lend me yours.

It doesn’t have to be easy,
but these streets would look
a whole lot better with
blue skies and just a little green.

About the Author: Ken Gierke is retired and has lived in Missouri since 2012, when he moved from Western New York, where the Niagara River fostered a love for nature. He writes primarily in free verse and haiku, often inspired by hiking and kayaking. His poetry has been published or is forthcoming both in print and online in such places as Ekphrastic Review, Amethyst Review, Silver Birch Press, Trailer Park Quarterly, The Gasconade Review, and River Dog Zine. Glass Awash, published by Spartan Press, is his first collection of poetry. His website: https://rivrvlogr.com/

Image Credit: “Nachtconcert van Thelonious Monk in het Concertgebouw Datum” (1961) Public domain image courtesy of Wikimedia, CC0

Paul Koniecki: “you are my”

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you are my

cathedral of air
and hopefulness
in opening things

shades curtains
harnesses reins

buttons zippers morning
sky evening rain
flowers sun

a tube
of paint stiff lashes

bottomless eyes

blank

paper
packs of pens

errant as road trips
unruly as we are

reindeer ready to fly
the other 364 days a year

-for Reverie

About the Author: Paul Koniecki lives in Dallas, Texas. He was once chosen for the John Ashbery Home School Residency. His poems feature in Richard Bailey’s movie “One of the Rough” distributed by AVIFF Cannes. Paul proudly sits on the editorial board of Thimble Literary Magazine. His poems have appeared in Henniker Review, Chiron Review, Gasconade Review, As It Ought To Be Magazine, Trailer Park Review, Poetry Bay, and many more. Paul is currently finishing his MFA at VCFA.

Image Credit: Chase Dimock “Water Lily” (2023)

Robin Wright: “From This Height, Six Days before 9/11”

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From This Height, Six Days before 9/11

The plane inches toward take-off.
I glance at family members,
waving us on to our destination,
Lawton, Oklahoma, 
our son’s graduation 
from basic training.

From the air, the ground 
looks like Seurat painted it,
blue swimming pools,
green and brown fields,
more like quilt squares 
than dots, nature’s ballroom, 
enjoyment for the locals.

Seurat used conte crayons
on rough paper for sketches.
Our son’s diploma 
will be on smooth paper, 
cream with dark type, 
his name large in the middle, 
no conte crayons, 
the worst roughness 
lies ahead.

About the Author: Robin Wright lives in Southern Indiana. Her work has appeared in or is forthcoming in As it Ought to Be, Loch Raven Review, Spank the Carp, The New Verse News, Rat’s Ass Review, Bulb Culture Collective, Bindweed, One Art, Young Ravens Literary Review, Sanctuary, and others. She is a Pushcart Prize nominee, and her first chapbook, Ready or Not, was published by Finishing Line Press in October of 2020.

Image Credit: Georges Seurat “Poplars” (1883-1884) Public domain image courtesy of Artvee

Ronnie Sirmans: “Time Travel”

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TIME TRAVEL

On Saturday mornings when watching
“Land of the Lost,” I wished Sleestak,
the lizard-men with ebony globular eyes,
would decide to chase me. Then human
Will would save me. In my daydreams,
the young man, top shirt buttons always
undone, always did. So, Will and I would
be best friends in that time of dinosaurs
where his family was trapped, even though
I was just a boy. In the show credits, I saw
the actor’s name was Wesley, just Wesley.

On Saturday nights a few years later when
watching “Doctor Who” on the PBS station,
I’d note how Adric was cool with his alien
tunic oh so bright. Because we were both
teenage boys who relished mathematics
(he hailed from the planet Alzarius while
I came from the world of rural America),
we could talk and talk about my problems
from my earthbound classes as we waited
to see where the space-and-time-traveling
Doctor and his companions wound up next
in that ship masquerading as a police box.
Adric had no surname. He was just Adric.

It’s a Saturday past midnight in a new century.
A geeky shirtless suitor at the gay bar tells me
those actors whom I’d admired had grown up,
come out. I was a small-town boy in the 1970s,
introverted teen in the ’80s, so gays were even
more fictional to me than Adric or Will. Queer
was the one-word name I hid, unable to predict
its expansive future. Time travel stays elusive
except in television series, movies, short stories,
novels, comics, scientists’ heads, and my poems.

About the Author: Ronnie Sirmans is an Atlanta print newspaper digital editor whose poems have appeared in Tar River Poetry, Plainsongs, Atlanta Review, Fathom, and elsewhere. 

Image Credit: Pawel Kadysz (untitled image) Public Domain image courtesy of Wikimedia. Creative Commons CC0