Otto Freundlich, Grün-Rot, 1939, Öl auf Leinwand
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
poems by rj gibson
Sub Rosa
Something sexy there
in those sounds,
the necessary depth
of Sub, the uh of it. Hiss
to uh, to buh. Begin with
the fricative, the rub
against, the slip, like sliding
between the sheets, moving into,
walking in a wind. End
with that plosive, the baby boom,
the dumbed climax. The r’s
brief traction, short ground before
that rise with rosa,
the way it holds
a bloom within,
ends in appreciation.
--
Fetish: a Lovesong
I would grab you
at the haunches, pull
you to my face: I would
wear you out
in public as a mask.
I would sing
into the dark heat of you:
of your name & of your taste
until: my voice rang out
your mouth.
I would be in you
as long as we could
both bear. Every hour
I would open you,
would insinuate
further. Thin as you are
I would have you
thinner: like paper:
I would fold you in half:
then half again. I would
carry you:
little slip, little token,
another thing needing seen to.
Ride inside my pocket
with my lighters, my change, my keys.
RJ Gibson holds an MFA in Poetry from the Program for Writers at Warren Wilson College. He is the author of the chapbooks Scavenge (co-winner of the 2009 Robin Becker Prize) and You Could Learn a Lot, both from Seven Kitchens Press. His writing has appeared in Court Green, Columbia Poetry Review, Kenyon Review Online, the Cortland Review,LambdaLiterary.org, and in the anthologies My Diva: 65 Gay Men on the Women Who Inspire Them, Collective Brightness: LGBTIQ Poets on Faith, Religion & Spirituality, and Writing Into the Forbidden: On Cultivating the Courage to Speak. He was a semifinalist for the 2013 Discovery/Boston Review Prize. Currently he is a Lecturer at West Virginia Wesleyan College.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
manager of the gap
Check out my poem "Manager of the Gap" in the latest issue of Court Green--one of my favorite literary journals!
tu(n)esday!
Mixtape from Pharao Black Magic
In love in Berlin...
Nu Basement Jaxx...
Synthy memories of a scientist...
a poem by alicia rebecca myers
Inside the Grotesquery, a Fantasmic Neglect
A little girl screams behind the castle.
Shhh a cricket hears
with its front legs. Once upon a time
everything above the sky
was water. Maybe in the bibbidi
kind was kinder. I'm storybooking
in threes, aren't you? I sell this
for a living. I called the preferred agent line
and got Perdita. No cigarette butts
in the parks like a million dead
stellar cores. I weld this
for the giving. The smell of citrus
wafts like noblesse oblige back to a simpler,
rounder time. Do not resuscitate.
Either Eeyore, or the illusion.
Sorcerer Mickey can control the stars and comets.
Mickey can't.
We have this grief
in common.
A grandma shouldn't squeeze
into a trundle but
she'll try, she'll try.
People are cheap
and terrible. I've been known to exclaim
"Royal Table is the most important meal of all!"
If you wear your own costume please refrain
from signing autographs. Leave that to the real.
The summer I turned 19 I pulled order
tickets from a printer, served mouse-shaped
pizzas, wore purple polyester. Mark
in Maintenance asked to meet me
at the Polynesian. I'd only ever kissed.
I waited in a hammock.
The stars unlatched,
one by one. I've been offered
the survey hundreds of times. I'm afraid
I'm still on hold. Take back
this tiara. I want to be
Pizarro, dreaming
of Peru before he found it.
Rebecca's chapbook of poems, Greener, was released from Finishing Line Press in 2009. Recently, she has four poems in Cream City Review, and a poem in the Southern Poetry Anthology: Georgia. She is currently at work on a collection of non-fiction essays called "From Soho to Silo" about, among other things, life as a travel consultant and her attempt to contact an incarcerated North Georgia murderer who shares her name. She blogs at FromSohotoSilo.blogspot.com and lives in Athens with her husband and tuxedo cat Snickers.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)