Tuesday, June 24, 2025

Tuesday poem #638 : Paul Corman-Roberts : Simba in Winter

 

 

As sure as there are mouths within mouths 

he will hunt later than he wished 

but scraps for all if he gets lucky 

A growling warmth 

and a growing brightness 

bathed in the auspices 

 

the elder curls 

as felines  

have always curled 

 

even though lookout 

is no longer covered 

not even by a lone sentry 

 

the old man’s royal eyes 

already half-masting it 

beneath the day’s first photons 

 

tired now as they  

had opened hours before  

in the dark 

 

surveys the savannah 

before sunrise he thinks 

old lions weren’t meant for this. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Paul Corman-Roberts is the author of the Firecracker nominated poetry collection Bone Moon Palace (Black Lawrence 2021) and the recently launched 19th Street Station Volume 2 (Collapse Press 2025.) His short story “Cemetery One Nighter” was nominated for the 2025 Best American Short Fiction award. He currently teaches workshops for the San Francisco Creative Writing Institute and the Oakland Unified School District while raising his hellspawn in Oakland CA. He occasionally fills in as drummer for the US Ghostal Service, Jen Blowdryer’s Punk/Soul and his own project, The There Their They’re.

 

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

 

Tuesday, June 17, 2025

Tuesday poem #637 : Susan Gevirtz : Phosphorus

 

 

What spontaneously ignites on exposure to air?

What is the name of my first born?

Who eats of the earth’s crust?

 

The grunion would run that night between 3 and 5 AM, the Los Angeles Times reported

The water flashed and flickered. Clouds of small silver fish flung themselves into the air lighting up the waves

People went to watch, or stood close to the water’s edge to scoop them up with buckets

I begged to go. I knew where to find the grunion-run schedule in the LA Times, next to the moon phases and tide tables

Three or four nights after the highest tide that accompanies each full or new moon, the grunion come to spawn for one to three hours. They return each night following high tide between February and September. It only happens in Southern California and Baja.

No one would agree to take me. It would be the middle of the night.

They come in on waves and swim against outflowing waves to strand themselves, blanketing the beach in kinetic glitter. By flinging their bodies side to side the females half-bury themselves in holes in the sand. Joining them, males cause them to release their eggs into the holes.

 

 

I was a body surfer too. I rode the waves into shore with skillful precision, my technique honed by years of practice in the same Pacific. No wave was too big or frightening if caught correctly

Glint of the imagined, entrained by a word, memory that is not, ignited by the full moon

White (toxic) phosphorus appears as a waxy solid. Contact with skin can cause severe burns 
It glows in the dark and is spontaneously flammable when exposed to air

Light bearer     God of the morning star     Venus

Expose white phosphorus to sunlight and non-toxic red phosphorus appears
White and yellow-white phosphorous are highly toxic

Touched by sun humans too are sent into molt

Phosphorus was first isolated from human urine. Bone ash was an important early source. Phosphate mines contain fossils because phosphate is present in the fossilized deposits of animal remains and excreta.

Exposed to the ear the unseen appears       rises from deposits of etymological excreta        
Grunion” calls   phosphorus -- phosphorus invokes memory of the never seen

 

 

Brandt kept his discovery secret, thinking he had found the Philosopher’s Stone that could turn base metals into gold. When he ran out of money, he sold his secret to Daniel Kraft who exhibited it around Europe

The white phosphorous tips of the first matches emitted poisonous fumes

 

What are sources of light that aren’t fire or electricity? --memory shard, red tide-- nocturnal radiances

I saw blue waves glow and break on the night beach. A species of plankton who swim in clusters emit flashes of light  when disturbed by waves

I saw the child switch on the light for the 1st time –I saw her realize she could make light

 

 

No one can live without it. Phosphorus forms the sugar-phosphate backbone of DNA and RNA. It facilitates energy transfer in cells as part of ATP, and is found in many other biologically important molecules. We take in about 1 gram of phosphate a day. Our bones and teeth are mainly calcium phosphate 

 

 

Carried on the backs of comets to the early earth, it is concentrated in the earth’s crust

Babies who eat dirt

Conception a spontaneous combustion, organ lantern

 

 

I have never seen the grunion run

Light transported on the back of light

A bright memory of the never seen

 

 

What makes you look then shortens your life?

What fire burns without flame?

Tiresias’ riddle exposed to Rumplestiltskin’s question. A noun is a light to see by. A word a net that catches.

Childhood beach Pythia brightest element a crossroad

Before the word phosphorous the grunion run waited for the word phosphorous to arrive

The element that Illuminates the beyond-words --the exact moment to catch a wave right before it pummels you, a second after it arrives- a learned precision—and the smooth thrill of the ride into shore    -- flecks of white foam break  and spark

 

 

March 2025

 

 

 

 

 

Susan Gevirtz's books of poetry include Burns (2022) Hotel abc (2016) Aerodrome Orion & Starry Messenger (2010) Thrall (2007) Hourglass Transcripts (2001) Black Box Cutaway (1999) PROSTHESIS :: CAESAREA (1994, reissued by Little Red Leaves, 2009) Taken Place (1993)  Linen minus (1992). Her critical books are Coming Events (Collected Writings) (2013) and Narrative's Journey: The Fiction and Film Writing of Dorothy Richardson (1996).

Gevirtz works with Prison Renaissance and Operation Restoration as a writing mentor to incarcerated people. She has collaborated with many sound, visual and performance artists. In 2004 she and Siarita Kouka, Greek poet/restorer of maritime antiquities, founded the Paros Symposium, an annual translation and conversation meeting of Greek and Anglophone poets. With Kouka and guest organizers Helen Dimos, Eleni Stecopoulos and others, the Symposium has met since 2004. She is based in San Francisco.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

Tuesday, June 10, 2025

Tuesday poem #636 : Mandy Sandhu : TEMPORARY

 

 

I like to swallow the lives of strangers 
a subtle form of promiscuity 
minus the intersection of skin and fluid 
the keys on the Corona typewriter salivate 
the letter F savors the melancholic man 
leering from the corner
his lips swell
a serotonin-smirk 
I
occupy him 
like the temporary space of a placenta   

I like to watch myself cum 
does this make me narcissistic?  
humor me
a rogue actor on a slippery stage
 
minus the special effects 
a white audience wearing brown masks 
voyeuristic masquerade 
single-celled amoebas slither across the stage 
the karma police ousted X chromosome 
from mingling with Y
 

 

 

 

 

Mandy Sandhu is a poet based in Oakville, Ontario. Her work, often in sonnet form, blends vivid imagery with sharp observation, drawing inspiration from writers like Sylvia Plath, the Beats, Dale Smith and Ted Berrigan. Mandy works at Toronto Metropolitan University in the Disability Office. Her chapbook, The Temporary Space of a Placenta, appears next month with above/ground press.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan