A Light In The Moon
Last week, a Large Hearted Boy got us thinking about all those sexy people we’re dying to date — writers who can sing, singers who can write. A few of these People Who Are Obnoxiously Talented At More Than One Thing include our imaginary boyfriend Ryan Adams. Adams has published a collection of poems entitled Hello Sunshine. (And while we’re talking about imaginary boyfriends, we can’t help but mention Blake Schwarzenbach, an English professor and singer who has a voice deeper than Crater Lake and poetic lyrics that will send the jets of your heart to Brazil.) Second up is David Berman of the Silver Jews. Berman put out a highly-acclaimed debut called Actual Air, which, we have to say, is really good poetry…
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Tagged as:
Literature in the Media,
Poetry
by William Doreski
The rain today looks more naked
than usual. It bastes the treetops
with id. I dreamt I walked a horse
beside the railroad. The creature shrank
with every step until I stuffed it
into my largest coat pocket.
At home I caught you dissecting
an ordinary garter snake.
Split lengthwise, it resembled
a stretch of the Dead Sea scrolls.
Out of my pocket, the horse
expanded to its natural size
and with its famous Scottish accent
thanked me for the ride. The morning
negates that drama, though.
You hustle the cats to breakfast
and rattle dishes in the sink
to alert me that a new world
has risen from the Atlantic
to replace the dream-world I lived
with ample faith. How can I solve
the simple needs of a landscape
I inhabit barely long enough
to learn how to read its idioms?
The rain kneads the sky till it’s soft
and fluffy. The treetops weep with joy.
You order me to eat breakfast
as soon as the cats have finished,
but I want to run out naked
in the rain, naked as the rain,
and although we have no neighbors
to see, my ripening expression
would surely explain everything.
__________________________________
William Doreski teaches at Keene State College in New Hampshire. His most recent collection of poetry is Waiting for the Angel (2009). He has published three critical studies, including Robert Lowell’s Shifting Colors. His essays, poetry, fiction, and reviews have appeared in many journals, including Massachusetts Review, Notre Dame Review, The Alembic, New England Quarterly, Harvard Review, Modern Philology, Antioch Review, Natural Bridge.
Tagged as:
Noir,
Poetry,
William Doreski
by Shannon Carson
In love with the idea of love,
the girl with the papier mâchè heart
says sometimes I see only what I want
then adds another chipped plate
to her collection of broken things.
She dreams the vagina dentata
beneath the arrows of the night sky,
imagines cutting off a breast before shaking
out ashes, dry leaves. It’s in here, she says,
holding up a locked box.
She will tell you anything,
give over her assemblage of facts:
the moon is an embryo playing guitar
and all the stars have teeth. She doesn’t
know it’s after midnight — you are trying
to sleep. This rain-bellied girl takes your pillow.
Where is that freshwater pearl? she whispers,
igniting her spleen. Tired of extraordinary things,
she will ask to hold your eyes. She will open
her hands and swallow them whole.
The wooden corner of her room holds a closet
where she keeps all manner of quiet things.
It smells of shoe polish and sandalwood. It casts
the echo of an antique mirror. I know how to take
down my kill, she will tell you, begging to be prey,
holding her breath until she’s covered you with words.
_________________________________________
Shannon Carson’s poems and stories have appeared in The Portland Review, The Suisun Valley Review, The Smoking Poet, and Caffeine Destiny. She’s published an essay in an Oregon anthology and lyrics for a Bay Area jazz musician. Originally from San Francisco, she now lives and works in Portland, Oregon.
Tagged as:
New Literature Online,
Poetry,
Shannon Carson
by Tyler Zencka
A compacter crunches doves in a clouded bog.
The preacher screams, Wildwood Church crumbles
—– into soft summer earth
Welcome the new believer, herald the sermon’s prelude
—– With a flame-backed mandolin
Welcome the congregation, yellow waders, swamp water
—– And third-edition hymnals
The deacons grin from the warm shore as they sing.
My Mother takes a piece of soggy corndog grass and tastes it.
_________________________________
Tyler Zencka graduated from St. Olaf College in the spring with a B.A. in Religion and Family Studies. He now lives on a quarter horse ranch in Arizona and works part-time at a movie theater.
Tagged as:
New Literature Online,
Poetry
