Jim by Peter M. Gordon

Jim
by Peter M. Gordon

After midnight at our thirty-fifth reunion I
Walked away from the disco DJ and open bar
Into a flagstone-covered side courtyard

Ten gargoyles crouched on cornices
Leered while I hummed the
Melody Jim taught me

The four brick walls and threadbare
Oak looked the same as when
Jim wrapped harmonies

Around my thin reedy notes
Giving me permission to sing

Just after our twenty-fifth reunion
Hushed words flew between classmates

I e-mailed him to say I’d pray
He died anyway
Without a word or song from me

I lifted my voice one last time
From the depths of this stone well

Jim strolled out from his old entryway
Harmony bounced off stone sconces

We sang oldies until dawn painted
The sky rose and vermillion

Jim went ahead back inside
Like he always did
Waited for me to follow

 

Peter M. Gordon has worked as a theatre director, writer, teacher, television programmer, and producer. He always loved reading poetry, and began writing poetry a few years ago when an essay he was writing about his oldest son came otu as a poem. He lives in Orlando, Florida, where he’s a member of the First Monday Poetry Group. Peter’s poems most recently appeared in 34th Parallel Magazine and in “Poetry to Feed the Spirit.” Peter also writes a content development blog: http://www.myprogramidea.blogspot.com

Prof. Luci Tapahonso reading hosted by Poetics and Politics

Luci Tapahonso is Diné and a Professor of American Indian Studies and English. She is the author of three children’s books and five books of poetry. She teaches courses in American Indian Literature and Creative Writing. Professor Tapahonso received the 2002 American Indian Leadership Award from the University of Kansas for her integral role in establishing the Indigenous Nations Studies Graduate Program there in 1998. Her book, Blue Horses Rush In, was awarded the Mountain and Plains Booksellers Association’s 1998 Award for Poetry.

The Corner of Wells and Madison by Donal Mahoney

The Corner of Wells and Madison
by Donal Mahoney

I know that if I ever
fall in the street
the way that man did,
in the middle of an intersection,
someone will mind.
But if unlike that man
I make it
to the other side,
scale the curb and
mount the sidewalk
and then fall,
no one will have to
drive around me.
There will be no extra noise.
There will be only the usual honking.
People walking by
will have to watch their step, true.
But this is Chicago:
No one can blame me for that.

 

 

Donal Mahoney has worked as an editor for The Chicago Sun-Times, Loyola University Press and Washington University in St. Louis. He has had poems published in The Wisconsin Review, The Kansas Quarterly, The South Carolina Review, Commonweal, The Christian Science Monitor and other publications. Some of his earliest work can be found here: http://booksonblog12.blogspot.com/

Interview with Octavio Paz

Octavio Paz (1914-1998) was born in Mexico and received the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1990. He read from The Collected Poems of Octavio Paz 1957-1987, in Spanish, with his translator Eliot Weinberger, who read the English versions of the poems. The reading took place on October 18, 1988, in Washington, D.C. Mr. Paz was interviewed in English by poet Lewis MacAdams and in Spanish by Professor Enrico Santi. Distributed by Tubemogul.

 

<p><a href=”http://vimeo.com/11367143″>Octavio Paz, 18 October 1988</a> from <a href=”http://vimeo.com/user3101443″>Lannan Foundation</a> on <a href=”http://vimeo.com”>Vimeo</a&gt;.</p>

ROAD BED by Don Kingfisher Campbell

ROAD BED
by Don Kingfisher Campbell

lying on her side
like she was sleeping

golden brown fur still
absorbing morning sunlight

so intact so peaceful
cars drive around the feline

we continue on asphalt
in our metal machines

swerve away from each other
on the concrete river

off the offramp
a billboard reminds me

to VIVE HOY con Pepsi
in the midst of construction

Don Kingfisher Campbell is currently studying for an MFA in Poetry at
Antioch University, Los Angeles. Mr. Campbell has taught Creative Writing
for 27 years in the Occidental College Upward Bound program and has been a
Guest Teacher even longer for the Los Angeles Unified School District.
Kingfisher is the host of Saturday Afternoon Poetry in Pasadena, editor of
the San Gabriel Valley Poetry Quarterly, and founder of POETRYpeople youth
writing workshops. Don has recently been awarded a commission by the city
of Pasadena to compose a poem for the City Speaks art exhibit and also won
first place in the 2011 Whittier Poetry Contest.

(http://dkc1031.blogspot.com)

Bad French and Ficus Trees by Matt Randall

Bad French and Ficus Trees
by Matt Randall

Disturbed by the dying air conditioning,
the dusty fake tree beats a torn branch
against the dirty window. I look at it and
wonder why it hasn’t been replaced—or dusted.

At the table behind me, a blonde studies
French, loudly spitting conjugated verbs
all over her cold mochacinno and half-eaten scone.
Her accent is horrible, but no one says anything.

She doesn’t bother me that much, though
I toy with the idea of saying tu es une vache violet
just to see if she understands. But that would break my
silence, acknowledge my lack of concentration.

Looking back to my own table, I stare at
the book open in front of me. But the
stark black and white words, bones of
ancient Egypt, do not interest me.

I look up again, bad French soundtrack still playing,
and watch the dusty ficus leaves sway.

Matt Randall has written everything from technical documents and real estate articles to science-fiction and sestinas. He is also the co-founder of PegLeg Publishing, a small independent publishing company in Oklahoma City, and co-editor if GlassFire Magazine. When he’s not writing and editing, Matt enjoys reading, spending time at IHOP, and collecting gnomes.

Soon by Anne Britting Oleson

Soon
by Anne Britting Oleson

In the yellow daylight I am afraid
of nothing except not being in your mind.

I catch my breath and turn about,
thinking: soon.
Thinking: what unbearable agony
there is in waiting to breathe.

Things unlike you repeat you
over and over to me.
Look: I am cooking dinner, slicing vegetables,
and suddenly it is your clean sweat
which is in my nose,
the dimpled skin of your lower back
which is smooth under my hands.

You are in the back of my mind,
that primal part, which does not rationalize
but only knows and acts.

What is really me is compacted.
I am lost inside my own body.
I am thinking: soon.

Anne Britting Oleson has been published widely in the US, UK and Canada. Her two poetry chapbooks, The Church of St. Materiana and The Beauty of It, came out in 2007 and 2010 respectively. Another book, Counting the Days, is scheduled for release in November. Her blog can be found at http://anneboleson.wordpress.com .