Posts Tagged ‘Rutherford’

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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—Dec 11

December 12, 2018

Mark Fogarty

WUTHERING

The best word I’ve come up with to explain myself
Is “wuthering.” And I don’t know what it means.
Out on the wildass moors, the spectral hound,
The ghost of passion, the sweet-natured vets.
Othello, ready for the hard-won Desdemona
To be swiped away by the prodding Iago.
Clueless. Except I wouldn’t kill her.
I’d check the train schedule for her.

Heathcliffe, it’s me, Cathy
I’m coming home now
So co-o-old, let me in your window.

Wasn’t it Heathcliffe out on the moors
And Cathy waiting at the window?
I guess it doesn’t matter. What’s the difference
Between men and women anyway?
An ounce or two of estrogen, testosterone.
A few inches out, a few inches in.

Kate was too dramatically beautiful even for me.
They model-posed her with her legs wide open on the cover.
I figured, if they want me to check out her snatch
Then her voice can’t be any good.

I can sit by the fire, drinking coffee
With no use for the empty moors.
For all my wuthering,
I can’t sit in an empty theater.

Kate’s voice was, though, good. A little mad, maybe.

The Irish came to the Caribbean, too,
Indentured servants, and stayed
For the green water and the lack of fog.
My brother told me about one of them with our name,
A captain in the Royal Navy,
Went down with his ship fighting the Nazis.
Well done, cousin, on those wuthering waves.

—Lyrics from “Wuthering Heights” by Kate Bush, from The Kick Inside (1978).

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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—Dec 4

December 6, 2018

Mark Fogarty

HOMAGE TO KOLA BOOF

Kola Boof tried to kill herself.
Her boys didn’t want to come for Thanksgiving,
And that was the last straw.

She has been strong enough to survive anything.
Kola Boof was infibulated, as many girls were
In her native Sudan. The butchering knife cutting the labia,
The remaining skin sutured up, I never
Wanted to see it. I had a horror of it.

Kola had her first periods through a straw.
But she said her cut pussy
Was the only way she was like her mother,
Murdered in her earshot when she was a girl.

She spent the night with her mother’s and father’s dead bodies.
She didn’t die then, somehow.

Kola has been nothing if not determined.
She’s had miles of sex jammed in her,
And it hurt every time, she told me.

I was too timid of the blood berry.
But now I want to kiss Kola’s cut pussy,
Not as an act of sex, but of homage.


Mary Ma

I’m Probably Ruining It

(or Why I Never Assert My Pronouns)

Comobordity is another way of saying

salt on the wound.
All I am is a salt wound.
All I taste is the salt
from the blood
from the biting
of my tongue.
I can’t always say the thing.
Can’t we have one night, one dinner, one moment without —
me, throwing up the main course,
running the faucet so no one can hear
or
me, drawing blood from my skin
or
me, making a scene?
All of those nights are a million years old
and by a million years I mean
at least ten. 
A decade is long enough to forget.

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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 27

November 30, 2018

Mary Ma

Human

Myles, I plan on dying first.
Not soon, just in the scheme of things.

Soon is in the time
I’ll spend coming home to you.
I call out “Human!”
and hear you answer, “Yes?”
when I open our door.
We joke that if we ever get a dog
we’ll name them Animal
so that at the end of our day
we can always come home and say,
“Human?”
“Animal?”

Have I ever worn you out?
We talk about how
you grow in the same shape but I
change shapes faster
than I grow.
Okay, I added the judgment there.
You never seem to bring any.

What does it say that my first non-abusive partner
is the partner I married?

I think it says nothing. Maybe it’s just a numbers game—
no shortage of hurt in the world.
But for us, it means nothing.

I wish I could show my child self my now self,
my happy self. Maybe I would’ve had
an easier time surviving, but then again,
fuck it. I’ve already survived.
Maybe we should save these moments for our
future selves– we have so much surviving
left to do.

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

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GV-Don Zirilli book launch—Nov 30

November 27, 2018

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New book by Don Zirilli

Don Zirilli launches his book, Heaven’s Not For You, published by Karen Kelsey Davies at Kelsey Books, at the Gainville Cafe on Friday night, 11/30, at 7PM.

Musical guest: Afro-Peruvian jazz singer Corina Bartra.

Please join us!

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.

Buy the book on Amazon.