Tag: Poetry

Going Home – Barbara Daniels

Going Home – Barbara Daniels

The second and final poem we will be sharing from Barbara as of now. The story-like quality of both “Her Seven Faces” and “Going Home” were impressive to us, and we imagine you’ll agree. Enjoy.

Do you enter from a garage,

step into a laundry room clacking

and steamy with cleanness?

Or slide a glass door down a track

bumpy with sunflower hulls

left by finches and chickadees?

Do you wipe your feet? Your hand

sorts through mail on a desk

by a door. The skin on the backs

of your fingers. The single

broken nail. I rest my forehead

on my own door. After a while, I go in.


Barbara Daniels’s Talk to the Lioness was published by Casa de Cinco Hermanas Press in 2020. Her poetry has appeared in Prairie Schooner, Mid-American Review, and elsewhere. Barbara Daniels received a 2020 fellowship from the New Jersey State Council on the Arts.

Her Seven Faces – Barbara Daniels

Her Seven Faces – Barbara Daniels

Her Seven Faces

Sleeping in blankets like limp wings,

she dreams a madwoman’s dreams,

(pointing fingers, orange birds

whistling convulsively, cord strung

with teeth and a prickly amulet).

She bursts out of sleep

like a swimmer gasping for air.

Dried salt marks her skin.

She searches a mirror

for her seven faces — stiff grin,

frown her face slumps into,

sales-talk smile, and, damn it.

What were the other ones?

Her teeth are still yellow,

A3, determined when her dentist

held tinted chips against her mouth.

These are her eyes in the mirror,

flecks of grayed slate.

A ghost brushes the back of her neck.

Charms, countercharms.

It’s not too late to be changed.


Barbara Daniels’s Talk to the Lioness was published by Casa de Cinco Hermanas Press in 2020. Her poetry has appeared in Prairie Schooner, Mid-American Review, and elsewhere. Barbara Daniels received a 2020 fellowship from the New Jersey State Council on the Arts.

OK Boomer – Dash Bevis

OK Boomer – Dash Bevis

This comedic poem of Dash’s is a sharp, fun, and enlightening read. Enjoy.

OK Boomer

OK Boomer.

We can’t use books because they have no buttons! GOD that’s funny!

Icecaps melting, wildfires, hurricanes, but it’s just sunny!

“These Millennials are sensitive; I can’t call guys him or that girl her!

Oh, my coupon is expired? LET ME SPEAK WITH A MANAGER.”

OK Boomer.

“What? You just rent? I bet it’s ‘cause of those phones!”

No, Karen, it’s because I can’t afford my goddamn student loans!

“But I worked my way through college! It’s you guys that want the most!”

Said the article that blamed the avocado toast.

OK Boomer.

“That phrase is so disrespectful! This is an insult we will not take!”

What about when everyone you insulted was a “snowflake”?

You’re old and washed up and entitled and annoying.

The world is changing and won’t be enjoying

This negative mindset of superiority,

So feel disrespected, take the insult and leave!

OK Boomer?

Everyone is a wussy for one reason or another!

You aren’t special just for being a grandmother!

We can all get along, it’s not really a big deal,

Though, it would be nice if y’all would tip with your meals…

Crowds – Steve Ablon

Crowds – Steve Ablon

This is the third and final poem of Steve’s that we will be posting this season. We appreciated his storytelling abilities that were ever-present despite the conciseness of each of his pieces. Enjoy.

Oh, and keep an eye out for an announcement we’ll be posting either later today or early tomorrow. You’ll be glad you did so!

Crowds

There is a woman 

lying on the ground, 

a crowd, cars 

stopped, blood 

oozing from the 

side of her mouth. 

There is a man 

fallen on the beach, 

still as a clam shell, 

not breathing. 

A heart attack? 

There is a girl 

on the aisle, 

on the flight, 

faint, sweaty. 

I leave my seat, 

talk to her, 

try to be calm, 

examine her. 

Will the plane 

be diverted? 

It’s diabetes, 

some sugar 

will put her 

back on course. 

I am a doctor 

when crowds 

gather on the 

street, the beach, 

the plane. 


Steven Luria Ablon, poet and adult and child psychoanalyst, teaches child psychiatry at Massachusetts General Hospital and publishes widely in academic journals. His poems have appeared in numerous anthologies and magazines such as The Brooklyn Review, Ploughshares, and The Princeton Arts Review. He has published five full collections of poetry including Tornado Weather (Mellen Poetry Press, 1993),  Flying Over Tasmania (The Fithian Press, 1997), Blue Damsels (Peter E Randall Publisher, 2005),  Night Call (Plain View Press, 2011), and, most recently, Dinner in the Garden (Columbia, South Carolina, 2018).

Mother’s Day, 101 Years

Mother’s Day, 101 Years

Mother’s Day, 101 Years

She fumbles with the phone,

puts it on speaker, turns up

the volume, asks how I am.

I wish her Happy Mother’s Day,

ask what she is doing,

which restaurants,

which theater. I tell her how

I have always admired

her zest for life, her interest

in everyone, the details

of their lives. She says that

sounds like a Hallmark card.

Only in the past few years could

she be a splash of vinegar.

That helps her live a long life.


Steven Luria Ablon, poet and adult and child psychoanalyst, teaches child psychiatry at Massachusetts General Hospital and publishes widely in academic journals. His poems have appeared in numerous anthologies and magazines such as The Brooklyn Review, Ploughshares, and The Princeton Arts Review. He has published five full collections of poetry including Tornado Weather (Mellen Poetry Press, 1993),  Flying Over Tasmania (The Fithian Press, 1997), Blue Damsels (Peter E Randall Publisher, 2005),  Night Call (Plain View Press, 2011), and, most recently, Dinner in the Garden (Columbia, South Carolina, 2018).

Rising from His Chair – Steve Ablon

Rising from His Chair – Steve Ablon

Rising from His Chair

He will not hold the arm rests, so his body 

rocks, a windlass, lifting a few inches  

off the chair. He falls back, recovers, pulls 

in his breath for strength, fixes his eyes on  

painting of the Luxembourg Gardens 

on the wall where light below the horizon  

reaches to hold back the dark. His thighs shake, 

each muscle-spindle recruiting strength,  

recruiting balance to slowly stand. 

He walks, scuffs the carpet. When I offer  

a glass of water, he pushes my hand away. 

Neither the young nor the old like to be helped. 


Steven Luria Ablon, poet and adult and child psychoanalyst, teaches child psychiatry at Massachusetts General Hospital and publishes widely in academic journals. His poems have appeared in numerous anthologies and magazines such as The Brooklyn Review, Ploughshares, and The Princeton Arts Review. He has published five full collections of poetry including Tornado Weather (Mellen Poetry Press, 1993),  Flying Over Tasmania (The Fithian Press, 1997), Blue Damsels (Peter E Randall Publisher, 2005),  Night Call (Plain View Press, 2011), and, most recently, Dinner in the Garden (Columbia, South Carolina, 2018).

A Lowkey Search for Something Long-Term – Ben Nardolilli

A Lowkey Search for Something Long-Term – Ben Nardolilli

A Lowkey Search for Something Long-Term

She laughs at me as I stand in the mirror and says 

I should be so glad to be losing so much! 

My mind? I ask. 

No, so much weight, she replies. 

All trace of stomach, gone. 

How educational these days must be for me. 

How high, how high my character must be, 

she laughs, and looks up, 

there it is! On the ceiling, judging us all! 

I say she’s fine as she is. 

She shakes her head, no, 

and anyway, she continues, it’s judging you too. 

She wishes she could go on my diet, 

visions and the gifts of parties, 

alas, bureaucrats and husbands won’t allow it, 

Afterwards, 

she turns on her side and goes to sleep. 

I look at the ceiling, and end my day in wonder. 


Ben Nardolilli currently lives in New York City. His work has appeared in Perigee Magazine, Red Fez, Danse Macabre, The 22 Magazine, Quail Bell Magazine, Elimae, The Northampton Review, Local Train Magazine, The Minetta Review, and Yes Poetry. He blogs at mirrorsponge.blogspot.com and is trying to publish a novel.

The American Selfcare System – Ben Nardolilli

The American Selfcare System – Ben Nardolilli

This poem is the first of two by Ben that we will be posting. The dry, upfront way in which he handles the subject of each respective piece won us over easily. Enjoy.

The American Selfcare System

Fever? Sure, it’s rising around my ears 

and soaking into my forehead, am I red? Always, 

but this afternoon, I feel it. Drop some water 

on me and watch the steam. 

There’s enough energy here for a city of lights, 

what a shame it’s all going to waste. 

Popular theory: it’s another germ 

germinating inside of me, and why’s that? 

I’ve got a sore throat too, of course. 

It makes sense to blame it on invasions unseen 

that seem to be attacking me 

from my ankles, to my neck, to my forehead. 

Unpopular, romantic theory: I’m red 

because a whiff of spring is loose in the air 

and I’m rendered electric over sudden possibilities 

that the winter months shut up. 

There’ll be rain, but the rain will refresh, 

and there’ll be no more snow to contend with. 


Ben Nardolilli currently lives in New York City. His work has appeared in Perigee Magazine, Red Fez, Danse Macabre, The 22 Magazine, Quail Bell Magazine, Elimae, The Northampton Review, Local Train Magazine, The Minetta Review, and Yes Poetry. He blogs at mirrorsponge.blogspot.com and is trying to publish a novel.

At the Gates – Seth Jani

At the Gates – Seth Jani

At the Gates

The quotidian deaths keep piling 

their black ruins into the earth. 

Life approaches on hushed feet, 

carrying her cage of multicolored birds. 

We best make our peace with these mausoleums, 

these open houses of the rain. 

Rickshaws carry our aging parents 

to the gates of the city. 

Their eyes are exhausted 

by the cascading light. 

After so much stone 

I’m hungry for the sight 

of dragonflies. 

Those shimmering blue bodies 

filling my hands. 

Those dark jewels  

quietly clutched 

from a burning sky. 


Seth Jani lives in Seattle, WA and is the founder of Seven CirclePress (www.sevencirclepress.com). Their work has appeared in The American Poetry JournalChiron ReviewThe Comstock Review, Ghost City Review, Rust+Moth and Pretty Owl Poetry, among others. Their full-length collection, Night Fable, was published by FutureCycle Press in 2018. Visit them at www.sethjani.com.

Fireworks – Seth Jani

Fireworks – Seth Jani

Fireworks

Another year, and a golden fistful of moon 

is dropped over the city, exploding nearby. 

Glitter-fish, bodies of disintegrating angels, 

and galaxies, like heart-states, rising and falling. 

When this life ends, I don’t want to disappear 

into the glacial darkness, wavering, 

a barely audible hum. Let the change be tectonic. 

Rocketing as one would expect  

pent-up love to rocket. Entering the stratosphere 

with streamers of light. Creating a halo 

in the otherwise desolate hull  

of time and space. Letting it be known 

that there is always, somewhere, 

a universe on fire. 


Seth Jani lives in Seattle, WA and is the founder of Seven CirclePress (www.sevencirclepress.com). Their work has appeared in The American Poetry JournalChiron ReviewThe Comstock Review, Ghost City Review, Rust+Moth and Pretty Owl Poetry, among others. Their full-length collection, Night Fable, was published by FutureCycle Press in 2018. Visit them at www.sethjani.com.