A 6000-hectare animal
clambers down the Annapolis Valley.
When wind excuses itself,
our smoky palate dissolves.
Copper light burrows through the
sky.
Ash in last night’s lime crema
or other worldly injustices. Even
then,
it’s easy to forget until your own
hill glows.
Nicholas Selig’s poetry has appeared in Contemporary Verse 2, the League of Canadian Poets, and EVENT magazine. He was awarded Nova Scotia’s Rita Joe Poetry prize in 2023.
the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan
I am your animal filled with light.
My eyes are yellow flame.
In the night I
lurk among the flowers,
where they lie sleeping.
Inside each shadow there is an appointment I am keeping.
I enter the dark and
sit on a chair
made only of the evening air.
When the moon rises I reach up to touch it. Then
I chop off the summer with a hatchet.
Our train arrives at midnight, let’s catch it.
An extensive collection of his poetry and correspondence has been archived at Berkeley University’s Bancroft Library, as well, his poetry has been archived in libraries at Yale, University of Chicago, Ohio State University, UCLA, and in his hometown of Fairborn, Ohio, US.
Originally from Ohio (US), Larry lived in Chicago for 19 years, and recently in Toronto, ON, Canada for 5 years with his longtime collaborator, partner, and fellow poet, Lina Ramona Vitkauskas.
the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan
The critic sighs their minutes into hours and the writer wails so the editor takes down the review as the river clasps around their ankles and night crushes even the ants back into the earth and wind pesters the windows for an encore and the children are turned in their beds like good dough and the naked deciduous, finally alone, pity the human language and the stars imagine a life of decision and the moon performs its small vanities and the sedentary flocks do not think about the moon at all and the clouds hold their breath until they crumble and the crumpled mountains ache for their native rock and the machines stare with their long eyes into the enduring dark and the iceberg floats into a dreamless coma and the stories all begin and end on the same note of music.
At the edge of Peru there is a left
Between that wave and my honeymoon
Lives a hesitation
Pears for dinner
Prussian Blue for lunch
Nothing for breakfast
My wife doesn't eat breakfast
Stale lemon poppyseed seeps from humid plastic
And once again my coffee has frozen solid
Soy sips drip and I don't feel any more, awake
She points to an airplane and like that
we’re late
Matthew Taylor Blais is a Canadian artist who has primarily made experimental movies. His work has had success screening around the world, including VIFF, TIFF, and the Berlinale. In 2022 he began writing poetry, and has recently given it his full attention. Matthew currently lives in Coquitlam with his wife and daughters. He has had criticism and poetry published on The Collidescope, and poetry soon to be featured on The Closed Eye Open.
the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan
