Tuesday poem #252 : Christy Davids : [The Matter of Holding Water]

we colloquially
refer to greater
Los Angeles at
the LA Basin and
remain surprised
when the rain

comes (because
it will always
come) that the
basin holds water
/ to un-know the
practicality of an

idiom filling up
a geography / cars
pushing through
the places where
the water holds
/ cars stuck there

the curbed rivers
/ full / become a
confused sight
instincts around
water wear out
as logic is turned

on its head: just
because we are
trained for drought
doesn’t mean we
can forget our flooded
city as a bowl holding

water / in the most
literal sense water
for washing / the
logic of water
supplied en
mass / en flood

doesn’t hold water
here (there)

Christy Davids is a poet and teacher. She is an assistant editor at The Conversant, collects recordings at poetry//SOUNDS, and co-curates the Philadelphia-based reading series Charmed Instruments. Some of her work can be found in Volt, Open House, Bedfellows, Jacket2, and the Poetry Foundation's Harriet among others. Her chapbook "on heat" was selected by the editors in BOAAT Press' 2016 chapbook competition and will be published in May 2017. 

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

Tuesday poem #251 : Stephanie Gray : Go under the surface she said (surfacing under)(under surfacing)

but don't go too deep, but don't go too shallow, but don't go too "pizzazz", but don't go too "now", but don't go to "then", but maybe? (thanks other music) but don't go too "tomorrow", but don't go too you know, all "pop-culture-y", but don't go too butch, but don't go too femme, (but go how?), but don't go too 80s, but don't go so low as Eddie Vedder did in the 90s, but don't go all Facebook-y, but don't go all Twitterverse, (but remember our universe), but don't go all moonshot, but don't go too "middle of the road", but don't go all "chattering class" but don't go all millennial plus Gen Y, but don't go all, you know, Gen X cold and suspect, but don't go all corporate, but don't go all non-profit-y, but don't go all Bloomberg, but don't go all NYPost-headline-y, but don't go out the way Gawker did, but don't go all, you know, "I'm not giving you the time of day", but don't go all smartphoney, maybe be more flip-phone-y, remember to go more Metallica and not Megadeth-y, (you know why), but don't go all "I'm being nice to you just cuz i want something from you", but don't go all artisinal, but don't go all fast food, but don't go all slow food-y, but don't go all "so much depends upon a red.." um, never mind. and don't go all, that was a nirvana-cobain reference (cuz it wasn't) but don't go the way of you know, the hoverboard set, (and don't go overboard), but don't go all watergate, (but maybe go whitewater), but don't go all "just because of what bill did doesn't mean you can't vote for hillary", but don't go all Sanders is a socialist, but don't go all it's 3 men in a room (and he’s one of ‘em), but don't go all Albany is broken-y, but don't go all "Whole Food-y Paycheck-y", but don't go all ParkSlopeFoodCo-op-y, but don't go all hipsterization, but don’t go all globalization (for the dock workers, god bless), but don’t go all red hook is all Ikea-ed out now, but don’t go too under, but don’t go too over, but don't go all “there's nothing left here", but don’t go all “I hear ya”, but don’t go all “here’s something for ya”, but don't go all “we lost the neighborhood', but you should, you know, stick around, ok? don't go.

Poet-filmmaker Stephanie Gray's most recent book and chapbook are Shorthand and Electric Language Stars (Portable Press at Yo-Yo Labs, 2015) and A Country Road Going Back in Your Direction (Argos Books, 2015). Her super 8 films and screened internationally. Recent flash fictionwork is in the May 2017 issue of the Brooklyn Rail.  Work also appears in the anthology How Lovely the Ruins (Spiegel & Grau) in October 2017.

(image: film still from Someday Behind Coney Island, super 8 film, 2011)

The Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan.

Tuesday poem #250 : Domenica Martinello : PARTHENOPE & VIRGIL

Women are cities & cities

are humiliating.

Tourists haggle the price

& somehow still pay double.

The city is leaky

& smells like fishwives.

Locals chide in dialect

tangy as a faux leather belt.

Men are angry & angry men

turn each other into volcanoes.

What is it like to live

in the shadow of a volcano?

On the cusp of eruption

it’s exciting

for the tourists. Burning through

their cash, it’s all you can smell.

Volcanoes violate cities

to ash & stone. It’s a pity.

I’d pumice my feet with it all
if I could.

Domenica Martinello, from Montréal, Quebec, is currently completing an MFA in poetry at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. In 2017 she was a finalist for both the Bronwen Wallace Award for Emerging Writers and the 3Macs prize. Recent writing can be found in The Globe & Mail, Vallum, carte blanche, CV2, PRISM International, and elsewhere. Her debut collection of poems All Day I Dream About Sirens is forthcoming from Coach House Books in 2019. Find her on Twitter @domenicahope

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

Tuesday poem #249 : Jake Syersak : from Though, Through, Thoroughly

 “Shit-faced on grass blades, I have dived like a traitor”

-Stéphane Mallarmé

It’s just as well that wading this meadow, though, would be so prone to through: that is, it wasn’t until I’d planted an herb garden & filed for unemployment that I felt truly American, truly Arcadian, though: displaced through idyll, by flowers, Arcadian; through capital, by idol, American: thoroughly a marvel, how these dollar signs twine quickly the insignias of infinity like the boutonnière Eros is, snout in its slop-bucket: though how these skeletal flowers swap marrow for narrow escape, I’m amazed at thinking through (thoroughly, though?): the remains of what’s amazing remains a single cow in a single field surrounded by single lines of rain licking a single dewdrop on a single lilac through the rubbery abstract of four stomachs: through background, foreground drinks itself to death: though, regardless, tomorrow, I will spend the day misquoting Bashō to any friend who listens, the act of which will expose this weather of mine, of I, to its bone: thoroughly into, not onto, though: like a wandering moon writes its room around us, maroons us, through us, wantonly, thoroughly.

Jake Syersak received his MFA from the University of Arizona and is currently a PhD student in English and Creative Writing at the University of Georgia. He is the author of Yield Architecture (forthcoming, Burnside Books 2018) and several chapbooks, including These Ghosts / This Compost: An Aubadeclogue (above/ground press 2017) and Impressions in the Language of a Lantern’s Wick (Ghost Proposal 2016). His poems have appeared in Black Warrior Review, Colorado Review, Verse Daily, Omniverse, and elsewhere. He edits Cloud Rodeo and serves as a contributing editor for Letter Machine Editions.

The Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

Tuesday poem #248 : Conor Mc Donnell : silent science

#

At midnight in winter

leave a bottle of ether

wrapped in cheese-cloth

to sit on the sill

Add salt

it will dream of an ocean

Add dirt

it will cough and spill

#

Unsettle the silt

with wishbone fingers

wear gloves

it will dream of winter

fingers will chatter

like trappers treed

#

Bring fire

ripples will boil

steam snakes

slow as mercury

#

Unburdened

the ether

stretches to retain

a memory

of every

vessel it shapes

Conor Mc Donnell lives and works in Toronto. His first chapbook, The Book of Retaliations, was published in 2016 by Anstruther Press. His second chapbook, Safe Spaces, was published in November 2017 by Frog Hollow Press. Find out more at conormcdonnell.ca

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan