Month: April 2022

Borealis in a Glass: Poetry by Dan Raphael

With One Step

at least one mind always open
checking out is checking in, time for your elation
growth is seldom symmetrical, ticking as I warm
with bulbs between my feet, networked so I can fly
when my arm’s a world away, a 65 beetle for a bracelet

a city where you don’t have to go outside, borealis in a glass,
with my contacts everything’s black & white
how decisions are mass-produced—you have to know who to ask
I’m living on a ramen budget so I can afford solar-powered wings
my ribs are just for cooling and messages

the language of weather is almost translated by our emotions
which are polyglot omnivores, a stream 12 inches wide
but uncrossable, not water, the other side of a mirror’s internal organs
I hear toenails of rain, trans-body supplements
calling upon the privilege to exist, tiny clouds of gravy
mandating naps at inconvenient moments when everyone is watching
the stove changes sides and frosts the august windows
so the winded insects can write us instruction
hold to the mirror I’ve sanded my palms for hours to create

by looking in one looks behind, look through to out,
teach the toes to see through shoes and know colors
by their jersey numbers, split formations, shotgun,
only the invisible can score, the name you get when you graduate
the name you need without water, shelter or company
just trees on speed, wind on steroids, how can so much smoke
with nothing to burn, rattlers sleeping in dorito bags


— by Dan Raphael

Copyright© 2022, by Dan Raphael.

Jason Hickel’s Less is More

Animism versus Dualism. Mother Earth versus Descartes. Seeing ourselves and the world around us as continuous, interconnected, and interdependent, versus Subject/object/Master/slave. Seeing the world like a shaman or a bulldozer.

We can’t keep doing this anymore. We can’t keep treating the earth like a trash heap, like we own it, control it, and owe it nothing.

In Less is More, Jason Hickel makes the case for a massive shift in the way we think about the planet, its limited resources, and our (accelerating) role in depleting its former abundance. He does this by shining a fine light on our present, and takes us through roughly 500 years of recent history as well, with the occasional flashback to still earlier times.

Mitch Corber’s windy mischief

Celebrating Beat poet Ray Bremser

You’ve riveted the swivel-mirror with your
reigning game of breakup. Battered eggs renege
a second helping. Saps refute the gluey music.

I’m brothels to a thistle. I’m bootlicks from obeying.
Enter Bremser where the neon adman bellows,
brandishing his tawny beard.

“Kindly time your leap for cheap theatrics!”
Affordable a cordless drill, of tumbling wombs
now doubly whisked to kiss the nipple.

Prison schism scatters rags, as vines climb
the mended fencepost. Would you free a thwarted
comrade? Do weapons spank the cranky?

Vanity o sanitize my sorrows, borrow any feather.
Whether vanes skirmish in the windy mischief,
I’d presume to flutter.

New Poem by Frederick Pollack


Why should the phrase “Nothing is hidden”
occur ten times a day
in my private mumbling? I have no gospel
but poems; it’s used in several
I know, but in error:
no one is watching. Granted, whenever
one buys or types something one is
oneself a product or potential threat;
but those keeping tabs aren’t
the viewer I imply. He, it
sees nothing; no one does.
Yet the data accumulates, and whether
its proper metaphor
is topsoil or a final document,
it will eventually be filed or tended.


—by Frederick Pollack

Copyright© 2022, by Frederick Pollack. All Rights Reserved.

Person, place, or thing

Mirage II

Perception is a trap door in the sky
So they said
As they dragged
And crawled

O’er burning deserts
And rain-soaked fields
On their way into the black
Into night as day as night

For gold and roses were there
Just over there
Just over
The blue horizon

Twice blessed, they believed
But my songs differed
Twice blessed! they cried
But my paintings were oblique


Blues found
Wooden kimonos
For five
Then six

No art for them
Because the moment never came
For backward looks
Or epiphanies

No chorus featured
Wise apocrypha
The moment when —
The space between


—by Douglas Pinson

Feeling productive as of late.

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