November 22, 2019

The Heartfelt Poetry of Ana M. Fores Tamayo

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The Heartfelt Poetry of Ana M. Fores Tamayo

Home, Through the Muted Screen   Home?  My black bear dog sleeping all day long Nestled in a corner of the kitchen, yellow Against the green leaves of potted plants, Overgrown as window shades To hide the heat of summer Or glare of winter’s day.  Or is home a memory of days With siblings running on the beach of waterfronts, On boardwalks laughing, eating cotton candy, Talking of our daily conquests?  Heat radiates through windows, Warmth fills the sun drained dusty day.  The laughter of my daughter’s eyes glitters miles away through computer graphics. Glaring pictograms, even as warm and fuzzy rays Wrestle my despondent doldrums, tussling the muted screen that wrangles fuddled images. Yet suddenly, her singsong voice, her vale, Her voluptuous vapor bantering  force me to forget my mundane life, and she comes alive, splendor in that little box, electronics transforming me into completion at the sound and chatter of her song.  In answer to your Battle Lines   As I read your battle lines, I am consumed by the…

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August 11, 2019

Bridging Two Cultures: Emma Wang’s Fierce Poetry

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Bridging Two Cultures:  Emma Wang’s Fierce Poetry

Variations on the History of the People’s Republic of China  i.  Sometimes the skin retreats into the bone, jagged edges of tongue tasting the summer heat.  ii. Imagine the ownership (or lack of) a sunken statue turning whispers behind closed conversations and blood against blood.  iii. The first time I saw my father cry, there were ghosts in his lungs.  iv.  When the star-crossed, green-costumed women dance on skeletons My father averts his eyes like they’re the decapitated deer.  v. On my passport every stamp sounds like yeye’s warnings, every printed word the broken  English of my mother, every second of silence the wrath of old men.  Abecedarian for the Chinese Immigrant  All you can take are your Blouses and your tongue; Children & rice cakes should be Dropped into the sea to the Very last one. You will Find new building blocks to reassemble your Girls, new letters to construct your Houses – oh wait –  It’s the other way around. Jackets you’ll buy at the  K-mart, but only if it’s  Local. You cannot carry your Mama nor your baba No matter how  Oversized…

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August 5, 2019

The Nostalgic Poetry of Delaney Daly

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The Nostalgic Poetry of Delaney Daly

Tender Continuum   This town is a perfect snow globe  on a mantelpiece, an impenetrable dome.  Waves of puddles on the stone sidewalk  swallow us down & we become a part of the rotation,  the silent timepiece,  the busted backdrop.  We will never escape it  even when we box up our  memories & drive to the shore & cradle our kin   or watch them outrun our misfortunes.   Still, this is just a thought against actions, just a minute  against an hour.  When the glass shatters & we inhale the valley fog for the last time,  we will draw breath as  the pale petal in the  summer storm wind.    Silent Orenda  Today, there is an urgency not to move. To instead, bury the worn soles of my feet in this comfortable, breathable moment,  one that I am certain will not try to control me – in the same way that the passing hours like to threaten me and hold me to the slow, choking wind,  who, with the right motivation,…

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