I am honored and thrilled to report that three of my chapbooks have been reviewed by Svetlana Litvinchuk, reviews editor of the literary juggernaut Only Poems. Thank you, Only Poems team!
3 of My Chapbooks Reviewed on Only Poems
22
Category Archives: Poetry
Poem Up at Sontag Mag
My poem, “Vigilance,” is live at Sontag Mag. Many thanks to editor Asheley Nova Navarro for taking this piece, another in my series of hendecasyllabic poems.
Ode to Bacon (with recording)
Ode to Bacon
How you lend
yourself
to others,
enhancing even
the sweetest fig
in your embrace
over coals,
or consider
your rendered
self, how it
deepens flavor
with piggish
essence, coating
or absorbed,
blended or
sopped. O belly
of delight, o wonder
of tongues,
how could I not
love you
and your infinite
charms, even
when you resist
my efforts and
shoot sizzling bits
of yourself
onto my naked
hands? I pay
this toll
gladly,
today and
next year
and all those
days to follow,
till the last piece
is swallowed
and our sun
goes dark.
Hyperbole
becomes you,
smoked beauty,
salted love,
and I shall never
put you down
or leave you
behind
on a plate
to be discarded
or forgotten,
unloved.
“Ode to Bacon” first appeared here in July 2017, thanks to T.S. Wright’s challenge. Chemotherapy has wrecked (temporarily, I hope) my sense of taste. The other day I fried a few pieces of bacon because I wanted a bacon and egg sandwich. The egg was fine, but alas, the bacon was off. Still, I love the thought of munching on a crisp piece…
Your Armpits Smell Like Heaven
Your Armpits Smell Like Heaven
But your breath could melt a glacier at three
miles, she says, and then we might consider
the dirt under your nails, the way you slur
your sibilants, and how you seldom see
the cracked eggs in a carton, a downed tree
branch in front of you, the ripened blister
of paint in the bedroom, or your sister
lying drunk on the floor in her own pee.
Back to your armpits. Do you realize
we could bottle that aroma and make
a fortune? I inhale it and forgive
your many faults. The odor provokes sighs
and tingles, blushes I could never fake.
Ain’t love grand? Elevate those arms. Let’s live!
I thought it was time to post something for fun, a poem that might elicit a few chuckles. Note that this is in the Petrarchan sonnet form (or should I say Pitrarchan). Thanks Plain Jane!
Never in my wildest dreams did I envision writing a poem about armpits. But the August 2015 Tupelo Press 30-30 challenge/fund raiser, and Plain Jane, the title sponsor, provided that opportunity. This first appeared here in April 2016, and was subsequently published in Algebra of Owls. Many thanks to editor Paul Vaughan for taking it.
Debut Poets’ Interview Series Up at Only Poems
I recently participated in the debut poet interview series at Only Poems. If you aren’t aware of Only Poems, you owe it to yourself to check out this powerhouse of poetry. The editorial team, Shannan Mann, Karan Kapoor, Justine Payton and Svetlana Litvinchuk is nonpareil. I’m delighted (an understatement) at having been able to work with this group.
Poem Up at Elysium Review
My poem, “Restaurant of Dreams,” is live at Issue 5 of Elysium Review . Many thanks to editor Stevie Edwards for taking this piece.
Poem Up at Third Wednesday
My poem, “Ghazal of the Birds,” is live at Third Wednesday. Many thanks to editor David Jibson and the Third Wednesday team for taking this ghazal.
Poems Live at Skeleton Flowers Press
My poems “Another Sunrise, Another Moon,” and “One Becomes Two” are live at Skeleton Flowers Press. I am grateful to the editors for taking these pieces, and to poet-musician Tara Linda for providing the title “Another Sunrise, Another Moon” during a fundraiser for Brick Street Poetry a few years ago.
Does It Have Pockets: Best of the Net Nomination
I am thrilled to report that my prose poem “Metastases” has been nominated for a Best of the Net award by Does It Have Pockets. I am grateful to editor Camille Griep and her team for publishing and nominating this piece.
Letter to Harper from Halfway to the Horizon
Letter to Harper from Halfway to the Horizon
Dear Stephanie: No one connects here, and no matter
how resolutely we trudge forward, ignoring spinal fusions
and attacking hearts, the line skips lightly ahead, mocking us,
I think, in that way only the ineffable may claim. Looking
out, I see a lone wren, clouds filtering the stars, and strands
of barbed wire looped like question marks around cedar
stumps, punctuating the day’s greeting. No answers there,
only more inquiries blanching under the sun. But this
is my febrile landscape, not your lush green headed by
gray. Nothing matters, or, everything’s imperative.
In this gnarled season I can’t tell which, although
the vulture ripping into a squirrel carcass on my
suburban front lawn tells me something ain’t quite
right. Full or empty, the glass is still a glass, despite
my propensity for seeking more, whether cava or beer
or yes, enlightenment. I fear this reveals too much
about me, and wonder if I should draw the shade or
keep tugging it higher, admitting more light. Have you
ever noticed that half often amounts to less the closer
you get to it, each portion diminishing, divided by two,
and again, until only a thin shadow vaguely resembling
the original shape remains? Perhaps this is how we’re
meant to exit as failures on this field. The horizon’s
still there, red stroking green, clouds feathering in,
and maybe if we keep walking we’ll reach it in a sunburst
of doves and glittering red dahlias. Yeah, right. In the
meantime, let’s multiply our losses and sculpt another
morning truer than its source, stronger than its media. Our
optimism has already blown this joint. What else have we
got to lose? I remain, as ever, yours in insolence, Bob.
Originally penned in January 2017, “Letter to Harper from Halfway to the Horizon” was published in MockingHeart Review in May 2018. When I wrote it, I had no inkling of what was to come. I knew only that Stephanie L. Harper was truly special and that I looked forward to our daily communiques. We lived 2,000 miles apart! Little did I know that in a few short years we’d come together in Indianapolis (now that was never on my Bingo card!), to build a home, a life, together. I have led a charmed existence. I love this woman!
O at the Edges 