Tuesday, November 13, 2018

Tuesday poem #293 : Catherine Cafferty : Coupling constellations

The green leafy gaze, a loon on
the lake.

By night mice in a dish, when the torch
is on. And squirrels want fireside.

I cut into the tip of my finger the first
day, need layers when I enter the

A death among reeds, we watch
at nothing for nearly an hour.

The dragonflies multiple by midday,
prism-like water below us.

I dream of the canoe rocking, arms
a tilted windmill, yet word is I’m working

The moon casts over the islands tonight,
black pitch made sun white by tomorrow.

This cedar and soil portage, now useless
with a map of water.

Goggled liked a child, survey the moss-
covered stones, a fish.  I swim.

Catherine Cafferty is a poet living in Brooklyn, NY. She holds a BA in literature from McGill University, an MA in English from San Francisco State University, and an MFA from The Iowa Writers' Workshop. She currently is the co-director of literacy for The Partnership for Inner-City Education in NYC.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

Tuesday, November 06, 2018

Tuesday poem #292 : Lauren Haldeman : LETTER HOME ON THE THIRD DAY

Listen, I am so fast.

I am fast. Listen, the team’s mouth moves

from across the field: hustle. Blood-

shot, their mouth is saying

it is out of bounds. I have

to pay attention. Center half-back

and their mouths

are letting out long lines. Blood-

shot, the field blurs, the field it

rushes to their mouths. If I look

& won’t have missed it, I will have paid attention.

Many times are lost in time

beneath the dark red-clay. So they told & the joke goes:

he threw a white stone in

a red sea. The oarsman had a white stone

& he threw it in the sea. When it comes back

to his hand what color will it be?

Center half-back, their mouth moves.

It is all gums.

They know what they are saying.

This time out-of-bounds blood-

shot and I didn’t pay attention.

Coach has his playbook, it is

red-streaked. His mouth is where

the cardinals are leashed. It is a stone’s

throw away, and believe me, really:

red is the pigment of cardinals unleashing.

Center half-back says hustle back.

I will go back.

I will hustle back.

They know what they are saying.

I am fast. I am so fast.

My legs, they blend and kneed.

Coach’s playbook is pouring something.

Coach’s playbook is in his hands.

He washes his hands off, he gets

it off. Blood-

shot, I am so fast, on a breakaway.

Out-of-bound, I am so fast,

the pigment it’s all over.

Lauren Haldeman is the author of Instead of Dying (winner of the 2017 Colorado Prize for Poetry, Center for Literary Publishing, 2017), Calenday (Rescue Press, 2014) and the artist book The Eccentricity is Zero (Digraph Press, 2014). Her work has appeared in Tin House, Colorado Review, Fence, The Iowa Review and The Rumpus. A comic book artist and poet, she has been a recipient of the Sustainable Arts Foundation Award, the Colorado Prize for Poetry and fellowships from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. You can find her online at http://laurenhaldeman.com

The Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

Tuesday, October 30, 2018

Tuesday poem #291 : Nicole Steinberg : Gag Me

Under a grim mobile of teeth I play
a trick on the seeds. My gummiest parts

held together with royal icing & a prayer,
I trade dharma for diarrhea, every hole

tart to the taste & bleeding fog—foe-ridden,
I gag on the desolate princess bones life molts

& leaves behind. I abandon the smug party,
sober yet somehow not sobbing, hollowed

by a smooth coil of grief, some husky fucker’s
lustrous missile searching for egress via my chest.

How do I unfuck my habitat if I dwell inside
the crumbling curve of a large intestine?

In a place where nothing grows
I must always be kind to women.

Nicole Steinberg is the author of Glass Actress (Furniture Press Books, 2017), Getting Lucky (Spooky Girlfriend Press, 2013), and several chapbooks, including Fat Dreams (Barrelhouse, 2018). Her work has been featured or reviewed in the New York Times, Newsweek, Flavorwire, Bitch, and Hyperallergic, and her poetry was selected by Penn State's Pennsylvania Center for the Book for the 2016 Public Poetry Project poster series. She's the founder of New York's EARSHOT reading series and she lives in Philadelphia. Find her at nicolesteinberg.net.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

Tuesday, October 23, 2018

Tuesday poem #290 : nina jane drystek : i am out here

like bleeding cry slowly
grass fills buds begin
breaking skin
how carefully
with other’s hands
how haltingly
wrote you a letter
dug you worms
washed my mouth out with gin
freak keep crawling
call midnight
fill the house with smoke
raise shadow arms
a half empty a quarter
rings rings our rings
bowls budding again
arms houring
you crack the screen
i crack the glass
like crying bleed slowly
what is out there

nina jane drystek is a poet, writer of miscellany and arts coordinator working in Ottawa. her poetry has appeared in Bywords, in/words, ottawater and Window Cat Press, as well as in self-published chapbooks and chapbooks by & co. collective, of which she is a member. she has studied poetry in Vilnus, Lithuania and Manchester England, and has a BA in Creative Writing from Concordia University. if you have ever lived in the same city as her you have likely seen her riding a red bicycle around town.

The Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan