Tuesday poem #696 : Alexander Hollenberg : Two ghazals

 

 

Ghazal, with Rabble-Rousing Leftist Minke Whales

Twenty yards out minke whales whisper in the sound
and we eavesdrop, camping mugs of cowboy coffee in hand. 

I heard orcas train their calves to attack billionaires’ yachts.
We’re disconnected, tough and free, no phones in hand, 

so we can’t confirm this beautiful new fact: we imagine a movement
like Alice’s Restaurant where all the sea creatures raise a hand 

in solidarity and sing in four-part harmony, and there are meetings
to attend and potlachs with four-cheese dips. This is getting out of hand. 

The driftwood fire licks fog off the Northumberland Strait
while we wash our mugs at the shore, licking sea salt off our hands. 

How many chatbots would it take to empty this sound, minkes and all,
you ask. I could count them on one hand. 

How many poems would it take to build back the ocean?
Power is a whale that’s born when you squeeze my hand.

 

 

Ghazal, with Common Terns
 

Black-capped terns lampshade the shore,
common as salt and stone and the grey waistcoat of light. 

They search for stitches in the break,
the shimmer of herring, the quick bloat of light. 

A lumberjack’s boot drops from the sky—gunmetal spikes
driving through the surface, rooting out the light. 

I don’t want to suggest the need to bear witness:
the terns will dive without this mote of light. 

The shore will shore after all, and the herring
always scatter. A throat full of light 

is common. Scales that slip the ocean into silver
are common. The trawler’s floating lights 

are common. I want my life to be the sound of water
sloughing off a wing in the low evening light.

 

Alexander Hollenberg, a Pushcart-nominated poet and professor of storytelling, is the author of Human Story will not Consume the Cosmos (Gaspereau 2025). Some of his recent poems have appeared in Best Canadian Poetry 2025, CV2, Arc Poetry, Grain, and The New Quarterly. He is a past winner of CV2’s Two-Day Poem Contest and has been longlisted for several other awards, including the CBC Poetry Prize, the Nick Blatchford Occasional Verse Contest, and the Ralph Gustafson Poetry Prize. He is from Hamilton, Ontario.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

 

Tuesday poem #695 : Anne F. Walker : nest

 

 

pulling vines from the silver extension ladder. some are tiny-leaved and brown
some still thick and prickly with blackberries in pudges
and the ladder goes up. it's heavy and my son and i navigate it

never too sure about which way might set a rung lock fail
so trying to hold fingers carefully
while managing the weight

using short cut branches from the avocado tree i sweep,
sweep away remnants of fallen pale green buds
that get into roof tile cracks, limning it as if with gold

scooting close to the edge to reach up
and trim the tree away from the roof
before he goes

Anne F. Walker completed doctoral work in American Urban Poetics at the University of California, Berkeley, after beginning her poetry career in Toronto. The Canada Council for the Arts, Ontario Creates, the Ontario Arts Council, and bpNichol Memorial Foundation honored her work with numerous grants. UC Berkeley twice awarded her poetry its Eisner Prize. Her sixth book of poetry, Ink and Ink and Flesh and Length, was shortlisted for the Sexton Poetry Prize as a manuscript, and published in 2025 (The Black Spring Press Group / Eyewear Publishing). Walker lives in the San Francisco Bay Area, teaching writing at San José State University.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

Tuesday poem #694 : Michael Russell : carpenter queen

 

 

carpenter ants slide in
& out of the baseboard 

climb the erect stretch of paneling
soldiers     sisters to the sexless 

fully clothed     i grin
like a basement gremlin with a flashlight 

watch 

how i miss being tossed like an ant
on its back     roughened into a straight man’s 

faggot     legs outstretched     cheeks
jackhammered & pried open 

empress of wood     carpenter
queen     princess of the splinter 

tucked under the desk like a secret

 

 

 

 

Michael Russell (he/they) is the queer, mad mother monster behind two chapbooks, gallery of heartache (845 Press) and Grindr Opera (Frog Hollow Press). He’s the coauthor of chapbook Split Jawed with Elena Bentley (forthcoming from Collusion Books). When not entering the queer Speed Force and walking way too fast, they like long walks in the park and platonic dinners over flameless tea lights. Now, he’s reminding himself a bio is not a Grindr profile. Insta: @michael.russell.poet

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

Tuesday poem #693 : Elizabeth Johnston Ambrose : My 91-Year-Old Grandmother in the Hospital, Again

 

 

I imagine her pacing the hall, at times pausing before
the halo of an open door, one I cannot follow her through. 

A lifetime ago when she took my hand, and I followed her
into the twilit yard, my hair still damp and fragrant with 

Johnson’s Baby Shampoo, my Wonder Woman nightgown
swishing my ankles, how the cool earth cushioned my feet, 

grass slipping between my toes. A lifetime ago when she
pointed to the pendant of lights winking across the lawn, 

showed me how to catch and cup fireflies in the cradle
of our palms, coax them into a canning jar, fasten the cap. 

How I turned that glass jar over in my hands, marveled
at the glimmering even a child knows to name Miracle, 

How I clutched this magic to my chest, begged to carry
them to bed, a night light, my very own theater of stars. 

But there was my grandmother gently reminding me
to do the right thing. To be kind. To return to the sky 

what was never mine to keep. My grandmother
placing her hand over mine, lending me her strength 

to loosen the lid, my grandmother and I, side by side
on that darkening lawn, our palms lifting to sky, 

waving, waving goodbye.

 

 

 

Elizabeth Johnston Ambrose (she/her) is the author of two chapbooks, Wild Things (Main Street Rag, 2021) and Imago, Dei (winner, Rattle Chapbook Poetry Prize, 2022). Her poetry and prose appear in The Atlantic, McSweeney’s, Room, Descant, Women Studies Quarterly, and Clockhouse, among others. She is the recipient of Descant’s 2025 Betsy Colquitt Poetry Prize, among other awards. Elizabeth lives in Rochester, NY, where she coordinates the Creative Writing Program at Monroe Community College. Find Elizabeth at www.elizabethjohnstonambrose.com and on Bluesky @poetlady74

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan