by lewis levenberg After hiatus, always nice to ease back in with poetry. Poem/CounterPoem takes an out-of-print, public-domain poem and responds to it, also in verse. Today’s comes from Walt Whitman: Poem: Once I pass’d through a populous city imprinting my brain for future use with its shows, architecture, customs, traditions, Yet now of all […]
by lewis levenberg Poem/CounterPoem takes an out-of-print, public-domain poem and responds to it, also in verse. Today’s poem comes from Emily Dickinson: There’s a certain slant of light, Winter afternoons, That oppresses, like the weight Of cathedral tunes. Heavenly hurt, it gives us; We can find no scar, But internal difference Where the meanings are. […]
by Rachel Javellana Those were the days of the dusty floors, of the cat and his teeth rotting out, the stare of his expectation, the days of walnut wood and hardwood floors and the dust covering it all, the rug days, the salad days, the scratch scratch scratch and see what sparks days, the days […]
by lewis levenberg so sing an isolated verse or two while) bells to silence fade and background city rumblings hemhorrage restart detailless know) nothing: the street playful slash serious et cetera all burn) skin sloughs & bubbles shoulders backs necks hours break and haul to piles) concrete streetside karmic compensation free hard labor force let) […]
by Tom Bair The sort of changes people court and the ones they invite immediately. I thought of it while I was blank this morning. I had gotten out of bed and I was sitting in my chair. My posture has gotten worse. I used to be active; now I’m not active. I wear sea-gull […]
by lewis levenberg set up a ladder carry up a bucket muck the muck out (sweet earth undisturbed for ages dead leaves twigs et cetera slowly composting without shit trash food or bugs even) (thirty feet above the ground saplings sprout tenuous tenacious from the loam) (black water silt-laden rain water stone-filtered layered leaf and […]
by Dana Jaye Cadman Here the night spreads across the breast of day and yawns one aching grey breath onto the river, the ceiling swings low over while the Parlor City hugs me drunk between muse and rot. A juniper. What forgives of us? What of us can enter or be entered– these ambitious limbs […]
