My poems “Scrambled Eggs” and “Side Effect” are live at issue two of The Calendula Review: A Journal of Narrative Medicine at CNU College of Health Sciences. I am grateful to the editorial team for taking these pieces, which are from a series of hendecasyllabic poems (eleven-line poems, each line of which consists of eleven syllables) begun last fall.
My poem “While Drowning I Gaze at the Moon” is live at Muleskinner Journal. Thank you to Gary Campanella and the Muleskinner Team for taking this piece.
I am thrilled that Does It Have Pockets has published three of my recent prose poems, “Metastases,” “A Patient Noose,” and “Everywhere But Here.” I am grateful to editor Camille Griep for making space for these poems.
I am thrilled that Indianapolis Review has published two of my recent poems, “The Over/Under” and “Bargaining.” I am grateful to editor Natalie Solmer for taking these poems.
I’m delighted to announce that my poems “Moon Cows” and “In the Batter’s Box” have been published in the print journal Shō Poetry Journal. A photo of “In the Batter’s Box” appears below. Thank you editors Johnny Cordona and Dominique Ahkong for taking these pieces. The journal features work by such luminaries as Jack Bedell, Ariel Francisco, Arah Ko, Robert L. Penick, Sage Ravenwood and Jane Zwart, among others.
Note: My two poems are part of a series of hendecasyllabic poems (eleven-line poems, each line of which consists of eleven syllables) written since early September. Another in the series, “Trigger Alert,” was published by Stone Circle Review this past fall.
My poem “Trigger Alert,” which was published earlier this month by Stone Circle Review, has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. I am grateful to editor Lee Potts for the nomination, and for taking this piece, which is one of a series of hendecasyllabic (eleven lines consisting of eleven syllables) poems written since early September. My illness has been rough at times, but at least a few poems have emerged from it.
“Trigger Alert” is live at Stone Circle Review.. I am grateful to editor Lee Potts for taking this piece, which is one of a series of hendecasyllabic (eleven lines consisting of eleven syllables) poems written since early September.
6
Today is my birthday. Six months ago I did not think I’d see this day. But here I am, celebrating Stephanie’s smile, the morning’s first sip of coffee, snowflakes (just a few, but hey!), modern science, the wisdom of Snoopy, friendship, love, and yes, my continuing existence. I am a lucky man.
Prayer
Death does not choose you at random
but approaches at your pace, rumbling
downhill or floating in the air,
debris or dandelion fluff,
concealed yet evident.
Listen: a small cloud bumps another,
merging into one larger being —
can you hear its ecstasies?
All the world’s souls, gathered.
“Prayer” was first published in Soul-Lit.
What the Body Gives, Gravity Takes (Cento)
As if what we wanted
were not the thing
that falls,
as what was given
to answer ourselves with – air
moving, a stone
on a stone,
something balanced momentarily.
Or wheels turning,
spinning, spinning.
The waters would suffer
at being waves,
but nothing of their dream
takes place,
nothing that is complete
breathes. But the world
is peopled with objects.
You grow smaller,
smaller, and always
heavier.
You can think of nothing else.
Credits:
Jane Hirshfield, Gustaf Sobin, George Oppen, Joy Harjo, Alberto de Lacerda, Jacques Dupin, Francis Ponge, Denise Levertov, Jacques Roubaud.
* * *
“What the Body Gives, Gravity Takes” appeared in Issue Four of Long Exposure, in October 2016.
I assembled this cento years ago. It seems aligned with my life today…
5
Woe is me! Break out the tiny violins! I am in full-whine mode!
Numbers, numbers, numbers, numbers. Add, divide, multiply, subtract. Take note, shift columns. Despair. For months, the numbers have been backhanding me, to and fro, up and down. Bullying, mocking, teasing mercilessly, always heading in the wrong direction. Property taxes have increased. Life expectancy has plummeted. The bank account is steadily dwindling. With my illness, work, or a job, isn’t really feasible, though occasionally I sell a book or two (not mine, mostly scholarly or collectible tomes), which brings in a few bucks. And inflation! Everything costs more. Just a few years ago I seldom paid more than a dollar a pound for chicken thighs. Nowadays we’re lucky to pay four times that amount. And so it goes.
But, a few weeks ago, the numbers finally stepped in firmly on my side! In May, scans showed that my lung cancer had spread to the brain; nine small lesions were found, cause for concern, as you might imagine. Now, nine is a fascinating number, majestic, mystical, some might say. Multiply it by two, and you get 18. Add the two digits that comprise 18, one and eight, and you get 9. Multiply it by three: 27. Total the two digits forming 27, and you get, yes, 9. Multiply it by four, by five, by six, by seven, eight or nine. Fifteen. Twenty. Add the digits that comprise the sum and you return to nine. Interesting, no?*
But I’ve digressed. Nine is not the digit one wants to hear when discussing the number of lesions manifested in one’s brain. That was the situation a few months ago. But now, apparently, the numbers have taken my side, and I no longer need concern myself with that figure. Recent scans revealed that the lesions have resolved; they’ve disappeared! In other words, the treatment is working. Oh, the cancer is still with me elsewhere, but after months of bad report after bad report, the news is finally trending in the right direction.
So today I praise the magical number nine, which, in my case, has transformed itself into nothing, a circumstance most worthy of commemoration. What numbers do you celebrate, and why?
*If this sounds familiar, you may have read my essay originally posted here in February 2014.
O at the Edges 