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Showing posts from April, 2022

Don Kingfisher Campbell's poem "Arlington Gardens"

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Don Kingfisher Campbell, MFA in Creative Writing from Antioch University Los Angeles, taught Writers Seminar at Occidental College Upward Bound for 36 years, been a coach and judge for Poetry Out Loud, a performing poet/teacher for Red Hen Press Youth Writing Workshops, L.A. Coordinator and Board Member of California Poets In The Schools, poetry editor of the Angel City Review , publisher of Spectrum Magazine , and host of the Saturday Afternoon Poetry reading series in Pasadena, California. For awards, features, and publication credits, please go to: http://dkc1031.blogspot.com Arlington Gardens   elders stand shade provide protection for youngers below trails made to encircle with wisdom patterns on paths squirrels scamper up look down on tall visitors who walk on ground as they traverse branches catch some sunlight breeze on skin whoosh of close yet distant passing cars do they know such an oasis exists just off paved roads where beings can breathe in smell of wood and berry dee...

Puma Perl's two poems "Driving to Humacao" and "The Ava Gardner Museum"

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© 2022 Lindi Gordon, aka Clutterhead Puma Perl is a poet, writer, and performer. She’s the author of two chapbooks , Ruby True and Belinda and Her Friends , and three full-length poetry collections, knuckle tattoos, Retrograde (great weather for MEDIA), and Birthdays Before and After ( Beyond Baroque Books.) Her band, Puma Perl and Friends, brings spoken word together with rock and roll, has been performing together since 2012. She’s received three awards from the New York Press Association in recognition of her journalism and was the recipient of the 2016 Acker Award in the category of writing. In May of 2021, she curated and performed in four shows as part of the HOWL Happening! Artist in Residence program. Driving to Humacao Motorcycles don’t scare horses Bareback riders gallop past our creeping smoke-filled car A Popeye’s outlet grins at the foot of El Yunque, a young girl, wheelchair bound, displays her stump Rain forest waves us off, We took the long way round again Everything...

John Gray's poem "Hotel in Thailand"

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J © 2022 marie c lecrivain John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Sheepshead Review , Stand, Poetry Salzburg Review , and Hollins Critic . Latest books, “Leaves On Pages”, “Memory Outside The Head”, and “Guest Of Myself”, are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Ellipsis , Blueline , and International Poetry Review . Hostel in Thailand  Clock on the sagging wall, like a fat man with a small face, as crickets sing between the sleepers, and slowly the encroaching shadows attend to each and every one of them like nurses on their rounds. The wind loosens the mosquitoes. Sapped of strength by heat, they fall upon the bodies. A fan turns like an inscrutable tide, putting everything back where it was without it having been anywhere. From the corner of my eye, I see my memories in other people, listlessly coiled like sick snakes, or slumped like they've been dumped. On a steamy nig...

Scott C. Kaestner's poem "Chasing God in Maui"

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  Scott C. Kaestner is a Los Angeles poet, writer, dad, husband, and a man on a mission to not be on a mission so he can just chill. Google ‘scott kaestner poetry’ to peruse his musings and doings. Chasing God in Maui   There may or not be a heaven but there is definitely a Maui and I saw God there last July jumping off a cliff at Twin Falls; thought this an opportunity to find out the meaning of life or at least ask a few questions so I jumped off the cliff too. In the water below, I looked for God but the Holy Spirit was already back on the Hana Highway and heading down the mountain. Got in my car and followed God to the Iao Needle where I spotted the Holy Spirit with local Manas twisting and turning through the lush green valleys. Unable to keep up I again lost sight of God but luckily our paths crossed at Dragon’s Teeth where I saw God bubbling up from the ocean and onto the sheet of sharp volcanic rock. Just when I was about to ask my questions, God went back into the oce...

Viola Weinberg Spencer's poem "The Scent of Paris"

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  Viola Weinberg Spencer was the first Poet Laureate of Sacramento, CA, serving as a literary ambassador to sprawling Sacramento’s schools, libraries, parks, museums, government lunch hours and nightclubs. With ten books written, Weinberg also founded The Tough Old Broads, a group of four women with 200 years of writing between them. Together, they wrote Tough Enough , available on Cold River Press. In her working life, she worked in radio and TV news, before joining a think tank and conducting private foundation grantmaking. She retired to rural Sonoma County where she writes in a yurt. She is a Glenna Luschei Fellow.     The Seductive Scent of Paris   Is rarely sensed in this valley town With its bumper-hugging dusty pick ups and Dolled up blondes with pink nails And its boys with caps on backward— Living under the tent of their sagging pants.   But this morning, I waken to the smells Of coffee in small cups at a certain temperature— Trees whirring in th...

Eric Lawson's poem "Nomadic Logic"

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  © 2022 marie c lecrivain Eric Lawson is the author of three chapbooks of poetry, four comedy collections, an always-in-progress memoir entitled Welcome to Inglewood , and four short films. He took the Best Poem honors at the 2012 Los Angeles Neo-Noir Film Festival. Most recently, his work has appeared in A Poet is a Poet No Matter How Tall , The San Pedro River Review , and The Edgar Allan Poet Journal . He is a genuinely silly person with a side of the uber profound. Just don’t come between him and his coffee or ketchup. Nomadic Logic There is no fight, only flight, in the restless heart. Answers to imagined questions on the wind. A backpack and references to MacGyver are the stock and trade of any artistic wanderer. There is no settling, only movement, forward. Winter winds bring questions which linger. Feigned air of indifference and a drifter’s hyperactivity sour those with constrictive roots. In spontaneous travel, the intrepid blood stirs. In stepping ou...