h1

RWB Workshop Poem of the Week – May 8

May 11, 2018

Poem of the Week 05/8/18

A Train That Turned to Stone

Janet Kolstein

Eros and Psyche
rolled in late one night
and took a seat beside me
to help in counting shades.

We’d had a threesome
years before
when my blood pulsed brightly
and my senses, ripely, hung,
burning in the sun.

I was known
for playing cameos
as myself,
and on a train
that turned to stone,
a man in a bowler hat
bombarded me
with the filmy lights
of people left behind.

———————————————————————
Poem of the Week email subscription
https://zc1.maillist-manage.com/ua/optin…

Blog – http://redwheelbarrowpoets.org (258 followers)
Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/RWBPoets (422 likes)
Twitter – https://twitter.com/RWBPoets (104 followers)

h1

RWB Workshop Poem of the Week – May 1

May 7, 2018

Poem of the Week 05/1/18

HERE IS LIBERTY OF CONSCIENCE

Mark Fogarty

There is a saying, that we shall doe to all men
like as we will be done ourselves;
making no difference of what generation, descent or colour
they are. And those who steal or robb men,
and those who buy or purchase them,
are they not all alike?

Here is liberty of conscience, wch is right and reasonable;
here ought to be likewise liberty of ye body,
except of evil-doers, wch is an other case.
But to bring men hither, or to rob and sell them against their will,
we stand against.

Pray, what thing in the world
can be done worse towards us,
than if men should rob or steal us away,
and sell us for slaves to strange countries;
separating housbands from their wives and children.
Being now this is not done in the manner
we would be done at
therefore we contradict and are against
this traffic of men-body.

  • from “Germantown Friends’ Protest Against Slavery,” 1688

First protest against slavery in the British colonies, 92 years before the abolition of slavery in Pennsylvania. Signed by Garret henderich, derick up de graeff, Francis daniell Pastorius and Abraham up Den graef.

———————————————————————

Poem of the Week email subscription
https://zc1.maillist-manage.com/ua/optin…

Blog – http://redwheelbarrowpoets.org (257 followers)
Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/RWBPoets (423 likes)
Twitter – https://twitter.com/RWBPoets (104 followers)

h1

WCW – Yuko Otomo & Steve Dalachinsky

April 27, 2018

Wednesday, May 2, 2018, 7 p.m.

Williams Center for the Arts

Plus the words of William Carlos Williams
and open readings from the floor

Free

YUKO OTOMO is of Japanese origin. A bilingual (Japanese & English) writer and a visual artist, she writes poetry, haiku, art criticism, travelogues, and essays. Her publications include STUDY & Other Poems on Art (Ugly Duckling Presse), KOAN (New Feral Press), and her latest, FROZEN HEATWAVE, a collaborative linked poem project with Steve Dalachinsky (Luna Bisonte Productions). She regularly writes for the collective critical writing forum www.Arteidolia.com.

Poet/collagist STEVE DALACHINSKY was born in Brooklyn after the last big war and has managed to survive lots of little wars. His book The Final Nite (Ugly Duckling Presse) won the PEN Oakland National Book Award. His books include Fool’s Gold and Black Magic (2014 and 2017 New Feral Press), A Superintendent’s Eyes (revised and expanded 2013/14 —unbearable/autonomedia), Flying Home, a collaboration with German visual artist Sig Bang Schmidt (Paris Lit Up Press, 2015) and The Invisible Ray with artwork by Shalom Neuman (Overpass Press, 2016). His latest CDs are The Fallout of Dreams with Dave Liebman and Richie Beirach (Roguart, 2014) and ec(H)o-system with the French art-rock group, the Snobs (Bambalam, 2015). He has received both the Kafka and Acker Awards and is a 2014 recipient of a Chevalier de l’Ordre des Artes et Lettres. His poem Particle Fever was nominated for a 2015 Pushcart Prize. His most recent books are The Chicken Whisperer (Positive Magnet Press, 2018) and Where Night and Day Become One—The French Poems, 1983-2017 (great weather for MEDIA, 2018).

Contact: John Barrale – john.barrale@gmail.com

h1

RWB Workshop Poems of the Week – April 24

April 27, 2018

Poems of the Week 04/24/18

Agriculture Aggregated

Bill Moreland

Little Bear said,
Cut me open, climb inside,
let me keep you warm.
Dunce cap tee-pees,
more ‘had’ than fooled
for repeated lessons
never learned.
Ranges and treaties
far-reaching but broken.
Gold grain woven
with staggered gray piping.
Totem poles and refinery columns.
Mud packed adobes
and stalactite ceilings.
The swallows are nesting
in the barbed wire.
The fires are smoldering
in the fallows.
The farmers’ sons cut through them
with a shallow plow.
Sparks crisscross
the crossed-out lower forty.
The perverted profit yielding
a zero sum’s gaming
propped up soy prices
with shortages.
There’s a Xerox in the barn,
the cows are multiplying,
extra buckets are required.
Manure boots
and three-piece overalls.
Aching bunions call for a drop in the market.
The Wall Street Journal predicts a calf by half spring.
Dawn on the farm,
like automatic garage doors,
crows.

———————————————————————

Careening

Arthur Russell

I don’t want to write a poem to you
or to the dark mole on your arm,
to your affection threading a finger under my shirt cuff,
or your octopus-ink-in-the-water soul.

I don’t want to meet the onrush of your love with words
that may deflect and send it away at an angle
I can only watch with regret, or use my verbal facility to suggest
that I am anyway the master of this rowboat.

But I will write a poem to you in the shape of a couch,
with the sound of the people talking out in the hall
and the smell of a store you haven’t been to in years
where discount dungarees were stacked on rough tables,

and the owner’s mother stopped you from pawing through the piles
by asking, in the nicest way, what you were looking for.

———————————————————————
Poem of the Week email subscription
https://zc1.maillist-manage.com/ua/optin…

Blog – http://redwheelbarrowpoets.org (257 followers)
Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/RWBPoets (420 likes)
Twitter – https://twitter.com/RWBPoets (105 followers)

h1

RWB Workshop Poem of the Week – April 17

April 19, 2018

Poem of the Week 04/17/18

At His House

Arthur Russell

She slept in the car,
under two coats,
half woke cold wondering
whether to go in,
hiding from him and the chill
with reasons banked like drifts
and snow clumping on the window
next to her face.

He saw the car
from the second floor
bedded down in snow,
no footprints, and she wasn’t
in the spare room, the windshield
covered; he stubbed
his cigarette and went down.

Snow on the window screens
made the square grid show;
she opened the car door and blinked.

He opened the door, waited
for her to come, rehearsing,
by slight movements
how he would open his arms
to her.

———————————————————————
Poem of the Week email subscription
https://zc1.maillist-manage.com/ua/optin…

Blog – http://redwheelbarrowpoets.org (255 followers)
Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/RWBPoets (416 likes)
Twitter – https://twitter.com/RWBPoets (104 followers)

h1

GV – Jennifer Poteet and Chelsea Carlson

April 16, 2018

NEW POETRY, MUSIC RELEASES AT GAINVILLE CAFE

The Magic Circle returns to GainVille Café Friday, April 27. Both our guest musician and feature poet are launching new releases so this should be good be! JENNIFER POTEET is launching a book of poems called “Sleepwalking Home” while a favorite GainVille performer returning for an encore, CHELSEA CARLSON, has a brand new single called “Windows.” Also on tap the Red Wheelbarrow Poets’ Bring-Your-A-Game open mic.

A $9 cover includes coffee/tea, dessert. 7 PM

GainVille Café,
17 Ames Avenue, Rutherford
201-507-1800

h1

RWB Workshop Poem of the Week – April 10

April 12, 2018

Poem of the Week 04/10/18

Maggie Amanda Jones at 104

John Barrale

She remembers Nantucket Island when it was the true heart
of her clipper ship captain, his ways set and weathered,
like the gray boards and red brick of the house they shared.

She misses him, still keeps his oil-skinned slicker on the hook
where he hung it to dry, a bulky thing— yellow-colored,
blonde like him.

He is in the small things: his meerschaum pipe
with the carved, bearded face waiting
like the doily on the parlor chair— its weave finer
than the best net, something she crocheted
as if to catch the Bay Rum smell from his hair.

Their house is a maze now, become so in a matter of fact way
when last year’s confusion struck— her stroke a slap
that said sit down.

She is slow. Her pride, like her chair’s wheels,
stubborn as oxen and often stuck in the rug’s pile,
or the floor’s warp—places where she, deer-like,
had once stepped lightly.

Maggie still remembers the hero uncles lost at sea,
each a tale told at midnight by dead aunts
who stare from painted portraits,
their whispers sea swells and dark knots
scattered along the parlor’s pine panels.

The aunts wear bright bonnets in morning sunlight,
and beg a smile when she passes, dear sister friends
who sit with her for breakfast tea by the fire.

She smiles, runs her hand through thinning hair.
She is old, very old, older than they once were.
Her ways simple —Sunday afternoons
one sherry glass set on the table not two.

But she is still alive, quietly enduring,
like her neighbor’s promise kept for sixty years—
not to cut the shared yard’s oak.

———————————————————————
Poem of the Week email subscription
https://zc1.maillist-manage.com/ua/optin…

Blog – http://redwheelbarrowpoets.org (255 followers)
Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/RWBPoets (415 likes)
Twitter – https://twitter.com/RWBPoets (103 followers)