Jeff Eaton sends in this lovely Xmas Mole, who cleverly fends off predators by disguising himself as a piece of holiday jollity:
And Dave Hatchett sends word of a poetic paean in Pakistan, sadly no longer to grace the propagandistic offerings of the public schools.
We're all out of Abecedarii, my friends. If you didn't get one, well, you gotta move on these things! New chaps shall issue in the new year, but it may take a while -- I'm thinking of actually shopping the poems around to journals instead of just stuffing them all in a chapbook right off the bat . . .
Received: Issues 2 & 3 of Magazine CyPress. Looking forward to going through these.
Progress on Applies to Oranges? Glad you asked. We're up to 42.
Suffering ongoing jealousy resulting from other people's sea imagery: see here and here.
Noting the following equation: The Jam's "Beat Surrender" = Instant Good Mood
Hey, world. Give me a line. I will write a poem from or for it. It's just that easy!
In the meantime, here's Applies to Oranges XXXIV, as written during Louis Warsh's reading on Sunday. If second generation New York school poets are good for anything, it's inspiration.
Rules are rules. You lose if you mention
nuclear war. Things never end that way.
Instead, in a foreign city, white with tile,
An ad for oranges puts you in mind
Of an island rifled with spiders, of the ship
That took you away. The anchorman shines
The Zenith from the inside out- plaid
Sleeves wiping glass. He's alone
in the studio, but must let the world know:
Coordinates are programmed. The troops
Are on their way. God bless us all.
End transmission. Behind the red screen
of your eyelids, a host of ghostly oranges
Rises up and the horizon lines give way.
Gonna be a busy poetry week: revising two chapbook manuscripts and preparing a third to go off to a contest-type thingy. Hey -- you never know if you never try.
Still no further along on my "I'll have my own press" idea -- that might be a bit slow in development. Also, the recent purchase of a couch has both put a dent in my pocketbook and, by providing a place in front of the tv where I can comfortably lie at full length, exacerbated my already deadly case of poetic procrastination.