February 23, 2020

“Ethereal Tryst” Poems by Horacio Chavez

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“Ethereal Tryst” Poems by Horacio Chavez

Ethereal Tryst    Meet me where the pink hued clouds entwine with infinity  So, will we conjoin in our appointed waltz  Upon that coral floor together in unity  To enjoy what is and bemoan that which remains  Our fate to hunger…  Our union asunder    Our feet skillful  We dance the dance fate has called out  Without malice though willful  We are without doubt  For all but our destiny…  We step carefully    Accepting that which is within our grasp  In lieu of that wish that eludes  Satisfied with the fortuitous clasp  Of mind and spirit to conclude   The interlude…  Of our love subdued    Perhaps fate will grant our desire  Beyond the tryst that both plagues  And blesses the fire  Kindled by the wave  That we may forever crave…  Our ethereal tryst  ** In Love With a Poet    So you’re in love with a poet you say …

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February 16, 2020

“After Thucydides” Poems by Bruce Robinson

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“After Thucydides” Poems by Bruce Robinson

After Thucydides   Read to you my silent poem,  how does it go? Goes  without saying, va    sans dire.  And then someone spoke  and there was the largest crowd    in history, and a luminous  array of tariffs  made us rich again    which after all was our  pre-existential condition  before the construction    of our glorious, seguro-  will-cover-it wall,  and we learned that    however true it may…be..  that truth is something   intermittent, which is how     some histories are written.  ** It’s Your Past Catching Up with You  and then your past   catches up with you, or tries to,  and then your past  tries to oscillate your future,   or makes a very good effort  to be closer than it appears  and then you’re past  all caring, all over-canvassed  tenses meet each other mid-stream,  toll…

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January 22, 2020

“That Finals Hour,” Poetry by John Grey

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“That Finals Hour,” Poetry by John Grey

THAT FINALS HOURIt’s not complacency. It’s stupefaction.The final is in an hour. And I’m notsucking this pen like a popsicle.Behind my lips, I’m in a chewing frenzy.Yes, I’m sipping coffee. And peelingand orange. But the activity requiredis like a drug. My frayed nerves deserveno less. Some friends stroll by.Trades looks tell all. Once eyesadopt a principle of honesty,self-confidence falls flat on its own face.In a room to the building on my right,it’s not a simple mathematics test thatawaits but the labors of Hercules.A growling Nemean lion of an algebrapuzzle. A geometrical hydra. Astamping, snorting, trigonometryCretan Bull. Compared to me,the ancient strongman had it easy.He could stop at twelve. Ah, if onlythe test were on mythology. Allthose contradictory characteristics.Gods and heroes. The supernatural.The bloody. The inspiring. Themiraculous. Best of all, one plus oneonly had to equal…

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January 6, 2020

“Low-Hanging Fireworks,” Poetry by Richard-Yves Sitoski

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“Low-Hanging Fireworks,” Poetry by Richard-Yves Sitoski

Low-Hanging FireworksMother never woke up tangled in starsbut stayed on Earth, which father droppedand watched as it rolled beneath the couch.Her music was straight as a prairie road,his was bent like an elbow to the gut.He prefered the company of dogs,she of me when I felt like one.He proved that there are no happy alcoholicsand that love is conditional,she that mushrooms can push through asphaltand that cancer comes without a screenplay.The cookies she baked were chocolate chipbut I always wound up with raisin.He taught me to fish, but each oneI caught swallowed the hook.He tried to be anonymousbut the rest of the world ignored him.Some nights he came home after not coming home.Some days her migraines were low-hanging fireworks.I wrote this poem because memoryis no insurance against decay.I wrote this poem because it ain’t gossip…

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December 21, 2019

“American Child” – A Poem by M. Sullivan

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“American Child” – A Poem by M. Sullivan

I walked along the maps of my home   around the bends of the Housatonic River   and up Mount Greylock hanging over Jamaica Plain        I’ve run my fingers over the shores of Nantucket   and felt the Mystic and run my gaze over  Watatic the high Wachusett   and felt the rumble of the Mattapan line and wandered the streets of Swampscott   and of Chappaquiddick        I remember the first bus I took to school   named the Cummaquid Chief and   how I thought as   I shook afraid that the bus would be driven by a head- dressed brown- skinned face- painted man with leather moccasins and fierce gaze        the names meant nothing to me   no  near mountain no great cove  nothing that lay in the midst of waters nor   far off among the waves there was no place I seek no place   of red rocks no…

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December 19, 2019

“Satiety,” and Other Poems by Brian Rihlmann

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“Satiety,” and Other Poems by Brian Rihlmann

SATIETYthere used to be  a much longer delay  between hope  and disappointment     now, I pluck the fruit  and it withers  in my hand    I know it’s bitter  before my tongue does    soon I’ll leave the fruit  and nourish myself   on emptiness    I’ll chew the blue of the sky  I’ll taste the black of the night  and be filled  ** REBORN   and when the pain finally goes as inexplicably as it came we grab its arm to drag it back  through the door like a spurned lover saying  “please stay… I didn’t mean it”  we believe if we let it go then it has no more meaning than a passing cloud a brief summer storm a dead leaf blowing down the street in the wake of a truck   it must mean something more than that we think—  we think so and thus it is reborn to scream at us through all our days and nights   ** QUIT WEARING OTHER…

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December 6, 2019

“Temporary Graciousness,” a Short Story & the Eclectic Poetry of KJ Hannah Greenberg

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“Temporary Graciousness,” a Short Story & the Eclectic Poetry of KJ Hannah Greenberg

Editor’s Note: We welcome Channie Greenberg back to the Cafe today with new poetry and fiction. Channie never fails to surprise us with the interesting directions her art takes – nor to delight us. My Etsy Site  My Etsy site’s full of objects made from century eggs, sannakji, and puffin hearts,   But not fugu, or hákarl, especially not shark meat served alongside surströmming.  See, I couldn’t, hereafter, entirely disconnect all of my offerings of fins and tails,  Give up completely trucking with evil, especially lads revealed to be key criminals.  No lack of midwifery of unhealthy scions insures my partners keep their beds clean;  Outlandish creatures show up in my life, regularly, despite my doughty efforts.  What’s more, since I’m temporarily ineligible for base jumping, given my gestation,  I dusted off my teacup collection. I like porcelain, locally sourced,…

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November 27, 2019

Introducing the Poetry of Jessica Lovett

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Introducing the Poetry of Jessica Lovett

STRING OF LIGHTS     Our hands go like this  they go up  I’m so proud of us    all of this us,    and the things that kept falling out,  the sharp hooks  of twisted girls’ mouths  are lights on a string    they’re just lights on a string.    I guess it’s probably spring  but I’d find that out at your house    look at you, with all your time        SEEING THINGS FOR WHAT THEY ARE    On the edge of a bench  the sun mutters a breeze  look at the trees; look at guy in red hat and capris  my body’s a cylinder placed on top of a moving submarine, this you’re better to believe  performative pigeons and their soliloquies  you could have me, here,  in a lot more ways than one …

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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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November 18, 2019

The Joyous Poetry of Kufre-Udeme Thompson

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The Joyous Poetry of Kufre-Udeme Thompson

I Feel Like Dancing  I woke up this morning–– when the night was making love with the day: Mbodibo all over my body! when the sun was about to be conceived; I felt my spirit yearning; my pulses ticking, for a thing I fought in vain to understand.  Then just when the tiny sweet voices of birds–– Ebomo nkuku, kuku! began to escape the thick bushes behind my hut, resounding new songs of joy and laughter–– my feelings became clear as the mirror; I understand now my long deepest yearning:  I really, really feel like dancing! The urge far surpasses the desire for a woman, but `tis with a woman I want to dance–– Nka iferi, to be precise: the smartest and darkest of all, who’ll twist to my desired feat.  I swear, I feel like dancing! Play me the evil drum made with human flesh–– the flesh of an old woman will give a spirited rhythm; Ntap nkanam, ntap nkanam nkanam. Let Anansa sing me the tune–– Anansa, the water goddess of the Ifa Ibom nation.  I want to dance ekombi; Oh, ekombi itiad ntokon! Let me return to the past. Oyebap, oyebap Bokondo! I want to sway with the ancient; Fetch me my wrapper!  Ekombi is…

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