National Poetry Month

April is the month long celebration of poetry. Join me and other poets at these events:

Sunday, April 10, 1 p.m. at the Artists’ Cooperative Gallery, 7 Canal Street, Westerly, Rhode Island

Friday, April 15, 7 p.m. at Byrd’s Books, 126 Greenwood Avenue, Bethel, Connecticut

Saturday, April 23, 2 p.m. at the Minor Memorial Library, 23 South Street, Roxbury, Connecticut

Support the arts and poetry in your community. Participate in other events and activities.

 

Wellspring House

Last August, I spent three wonderful days at the Wellspring House in Ashfield MA. I’m grateful to have had the space, time, solitude and solace, which allowed me to finish the manuscript for Reconnaissance. IMG_5450

Geranium

or geraniums, depending
on if I call it by the number of stalk –three –)
or by its potted home: –one – white enamel
ridged like waterfall rocks)
is deciding
whether it is coming or going.
Likely, someone has turned
the thinnest frond
toward the light
of open window; someone has filled
the pot with too much water.

IMG_5434

The Phillis Wheatley Room

IMG_5482

IMG_5506

IMG_5473

What Jodie Taught Me about Tattoos

My poem, “What Jodie Taught Me about Tattoos” is featured on Homebound Publication’s website, promoting the release of Reconnaissance and celebrating National Poetry Month.

Jodie had a beautiful spirit, and though she had gone through a lot in her life, she made laugh and smile, and made an otherwise uncomfortable freshman year of college tolerable. Her family continues her memory and honors her with the Jodie S. Lane Public Safety Foundation. Please read about their work and the mission to improve public safety and and education about stray power lines.

What Jodie Taught Me about Tattoos

—for Jodie Lane

She could not be buried,
her father told her,
with ink scalpelled into skin,
defacement of the body
prohibited by Jewish law.
With spider legs painted
around skull’s demon visage,
she wore hers without apology
under stringy tank tops
and the ripped sarcasm
of baggy sweats around
a petite frame. She confided
obsessions over cigarettes
blurred into the falling leaves
of freshman year laughing,
never telling stories
of spiders or skulls, not minding
the sunflower I chose
for my own mark. We wanted
to ink into the eternal, forge
the intransient specter
of adulthood with scars
of our own making.

The last time I saw her
we sat for coffee between
darkened booths at the local
diner. A postcard sent
from Texas came a few years
later and then abbreviated
obituary lines stapled
between the alumni magazine,
electrocution, freak
accident walking dogs,
voltage engraving her body
with ungrounded shrieks
through a Manhattan sidewalk.

East 11th street is pocketed
with sewer drains and manholes,
and a street sign marks
the site where she fell.
I stare up into the permanence
of the story, one I kept hidden
in the flower on my shoulder,
the rumor of loss now etched
in visible lettering across
an overcast sky, persisting
beyond a combustible
and porous layer of skin.

https://i0.wp.com/www.poets.org/sites/default/files/Small-Blue-RGB-National-Poetry-Month-Logo.jpg

Groundswell: UB Literary Magazine

groundswell_photo1 Another successful release of Groundswell, the University of Bridgeport’s Literary Magazine, featuring poetry, fiction, photography, and drawings by UB students, including a pool of very strong Creative Writing Majors. This year’s editor, Jose Cabrera, served as emcee for the release party.

groundswell_photo3

Thanks to faculty advisor Eric Lehman for promoting and reading from Reconnaissance.

groundswell_photo5

Photos courtesy of UB.

National Poetry Month

Head over to Homebound Publications for all you need for National Poetry Month, and get ready for Poem in Your Pocket Day. Here’s a selection from Reconnaissance and my little son, Django, who inspired the poem:IMG_4082

IMG_20131214_171059

Look for Reconnaissance in paperback and ebook, on Amazon, Kindle, and Nook or ask for it in your local indie bookstore.

Justifying the Ways of Animals to God

Having little or no knowledge
about the fall of man,
the boy approaches the ringneck
with the zeal of a crusader
without pausing, as there is
nothing eternal to consider.

The confession had been shed already:
flaky, transparent skin hidden
beneath a rug in the unheated summer room—
the yellow necklace collaring
a brand-new black form.

The saga unfolds quietly
unaided by the dramatic pauses
of scripture nor capped off
with sermons on forgiveness.
The bite is swift, but not final:
there must be suffering.

Rebellion, pride, seduction—
these do not enter the minds of snakes
and a cat cannot tell a fallen angel
from a demon dancing
in the living room’s haloed light.

Preview–Lord Byron

To get a jump start on National Poetry Month in April, and to celebrate the upcoming release of Reconnaissance, check out

After Making Love to Lord Byron
on the Morning of My Thirty-seventh Birthday

He left me once the broken blue
of dawn came through the window, . . .

* * *

Click here for the full poem. Order the full collection today and get it shipped two weeks early.

The poem was first published in issue 2 of Garbanzo Literary Journal

Press release from the University of Bridgeport.