Posts Tagged ‘News’

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GV—Claudia Serea book launch-Jan 25

January 7, 2019

Flyer-Jan 25_v2.indd
Twoxism
, a new book by Claudia Serea & Maria Haro

Claudia Serea and Maria Haro are launching their book, Twoxism, published by 8th House Publishing, Montreal, Canada, at Gainville Cafe on Friday night, 01/25/2019, at 7PM.

Twoxism is a 116-pages, full color book of poetry-photography collaborations with photographer Maria Haro. See more info here.

Musical guest: John Dull.
Hosted by Mark Fogarty.

The Red Wheelbarrow Poets Bring-Your-A-Game open mic with generous reading times follows. $9 includes coffee/tea and dessert.

17 Ames Ave. Rutherford, New Jersey tel. 201-507-1800.

The book is also available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

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WCW—Daniel P. Quinn

January 2, 2019

Happy New Year!

Please join us tonight at the Williams Center for this exciting event.

Williams Readings-DQuinn-Jan2019.indd

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RWB Workshop Poem of the Week—Dec 18

December 25, 2018

Zorida Mohammed

Earthworm

I aspire to be like an earthworm.
How else could I survive
the trauma-soaked debris
that my clients place on my plate?
Unbeknownst to them,
they depend on me to digest it,
making it more acceptable for them
like my mother chewing food from her own plate
and feeding it to me in infancy.

With as little affect as possible—
though sometimes a tear will roll out
without my permission–
I welcome the stories
that mar and rule their lives.

An eight-year-old knows
when it is time to hurry to the garage
(for privacy) so her military father
can be serviced.

I must bear witness to a stepfather
raping a daughter as the mother
forces liquor into her five-year-old mouth
with a stick at hand for any resistance.

Fifty years later, a blond little girl
in a 55-year-old body
no longer looks down from the ceiling
on the assault—

When she eventually is able
to allow herself to remember,
she dry-heaves and wretches for days
as she attempts to evict the demon semen
from her body.

I envy the earthworm
because it completes its life
without complaint and never
questions its place or purpose,
and never gives a shit
that its shit is gold.

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Blog – http://redwheelbarrowpoets.org
Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/RWBPoets
Twitter – https://twitter.com/RWBPoets

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RWB Workshop Poem of the Week—Nov 13

November 14, 2018

Claudia Serea

Windy nights are like alcohol

They both bring back the past
in sips and blows,
both make me dizzy,
drifting.

And, of course, the wind doesn’t speak to me,
and the leaves don’t gossip
in a foreign language,
but still—

On this windy night, I walked out of the bar
where we went for drinks for my colleague Steve
who’s leaving the office,
and where I found myself telling Sam
the story of my life, over Heineken,
from Romania to the United States
(short version, because he asked,
and you should know that Sam and Steve
are half my age,
and charming).

So I realized I drifted through life
sometimes with eyes closed,
other times, wide open,
and, in rare moments, seeing it from above,
understanding it
with a dizzying clarity.

I left the bar with the distinct feeling
I’m drifting again,
eyes open.

Left and right, people rushed, laughing,
chatting on the phone,
looking,
not seeing,
engrossed in their own screens.

The night was windy
and charged.

A Chinese woman passed by
with a blanket over her head,
pushing a loaded cart
with two big sacks of cans
hanging on its sides,
contorted wings.

And her small eyes met mine.

I’ve seen
what you’ve seen,
they said.

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Blog – http://redwheelbarrowpoets.org (263 followers)
Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/RWBPoets (432 likes)
Twitter – https://twitter.com/RWBPoets (108 followers)

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RWB Workshop Poem of the Week: Nov 6

November 9, 2018

Arthur Russell

April Was Fatal For Jesus, But Not For Me

The seasons are not my metaphorical daddy.

The wine-dark leaves of cut leaf maples
spread like a king’s robe on the wet lawn
are not a sign the end is near to me.

I give not the slightest shit
that hardened winter buds
on the slender branches
of a sapling oak
are promises to some sad soul
that spring’s rebirth
is ’round a few months’ corner.

I do not believe
in cherry blossoms clustered
in the climate-varied air of April,
or that any kind of thaw
implies any other kind of thaw.

We are not babies.
We are disappointed people
like to die.

I don’t need summer days
on Vineyard beaches
swimming through my lover’s legs
in sunlit surf
to make me see the truth.

The caveats are ample as a bedspread
without the sweetened lemon suffrage
of an August afternoon.

March is wet and cold,
and so’s your mom.

Go ahead, I dare you to correlate
the weather that eleventh
of September with the outcome.

Seasons are the guy who swears
he didn’t fuck the maid.

And whatever I say about the seasons
goes double for the daffy crap
imputed by the lovelorn mass
to morning, noon, and night.

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

Blog – http://redwheelbarrowpoets.org (263 followers)
Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/RWBPoets (432 likes)
Twitter – https://twitter.com/RWBPoets (108 followers)

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GV-Jim Klein book launch—Nov. 9

November 5, 2018

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NEW BOOK BY Jim Klein
The Magic Circle returns to GainVille Cafe Friday, Nov. 9 at 7 PM for the launch of Jim Klein’s new book THE PREEMBROIDERED MOMENT (Errant Pigeon Press). Musical guest will be Joe Jacovino.

The Red Wheelbarrow Poets Bring-Your-A-Game open mic with generous reading times follows. $9 includes coffee/tea and dessert.

17 Ames Ave. Rutherford, New Jersey tel. 201-507-1800.

Read excerpts, details, and advance praise at Errant Pigeon Press: https://www.errantpigeon.com/the-preembroidered-moment

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RWB Workshop Poem of the Week—October 30

November 2, 2018

Zorida Mohammed

PARKING SPIT IN SUNLIGHT 

Her father missed no chance to spit in her face.
She glared at him, speechless.

Her mother fed her money,
lots of it, on the side.

She stole from her parent’s store.
By the time she was 18,
her tiny frame had ballooned to 300lbs.

She slipped into denial.

Everything worthwhile was unreachable.
Self-loathing was the only knock she embraced.

Chaos was where she thrived.
She developed a knack for it.

She ate to tamp down something that she could not put her fingers on.
Sleeping was her 2ndfavorite thing.

She lived in her id.

She visited the Louvre several times
because it was the thing to do.
It was a listless chore
because no man was on her arm.

Forever in debt,
she learned to return the things
of fleeting happiness.

She managed to stay at 126 lbs.
for years after surgery,
but the pounds, all of it,
crept back ever so slowly.

For twenty years, she’s been picking the droplets
off her face and parking them in sunlight.

Cake and candy,
nay, sugar,
is still her daddy.

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

Blog – http://redwheelbarrowpoets.org (263 followers)
Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/RWBPoets (432 likes)
Twitter – https://twitter.com/RWBPoets (108 followers)