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New Poetry by Natalie Crick

New Poetry by Natalie Crick

Sundown   That deluge of haze Just before sundown. Spring shakes Winter’s hand Goodbye. Now the day has truly gone. Street lamps glow A sodium pink When blue milk pacifies, The copper moon sliding up a sleeve of glass, Her luminous lake Drowning the city, A black felt hat against Heaven’s empty dome. An indigo deer slips back Through the shadow of night-green cedar, Loving, Teasing with promise. I could not look away. ___   At the End of Autumn…

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Wallace Stevens and the Mandolins of Spring

Wallace Stevens and the Mandolins of Spring

Rod Stewart’s Mandolin Wind   So, I’m up in the mountains again, and I’m reading Wallace Stevens — reading about him, reading his poems. I take music with me, listen to it before and after the readings. It’s very windy on the top of the mountain. Actually, the winds are ferocious at times. Merciless. And because I heard the Rod Stewart song in the car before I went to my place, my perfect spot, near the beautiful jagged rocks and…

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Rick Garni: New Poems

Rick Garni: New Poems

  THE DIFFERENT PARTS OF THE ORCHESTRA, PT. 1   The bassoon is almost as red as it is brown. It is a complicated color that was invented by the orchestra way back when. It lives life richly. It can be a dying bear when it sings, a smiling hippo when it is at rest. It is not the same. It is different. Anything that is different, is easy to make fun of. Go on, make fun of it. It’s…

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Jaded Poems

Jaded Poems

Jaded Aesthetic Hand-Wringing too Soon     The difference between Nature and nature I think is like Woods and woods Rivers and rivers Rocks and rocks It’s like the sun shining down on the green      And making it more green not less Or the river looking back at you in sorrow or joy As if it’s given up and the day has not Begun yet Or it seems proud of its depth and its clarity Of thought and…

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Before the Frost Comes

Before the Frost Comes

The Realist Struggles With Vacation Brochures   The painter who wanted to sing And write and travel And be the incognito ruler of the world Left his apartment that should have been a house Or a mansion In the country not the city Instead of bleakness He wanted lush greens and grounds And stone pools Shining in the sun Years were to be filled With talks and walks And healing of souls Through his words or images The notes coming…

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Stages Along the Way

Stages Along the Way

Mixed feelings. Images clash. I don’t always or sometimes or never believe in phases, set eras, concrete life-steps that group themselves in any rational order. I don’t think we pass through these things on our way to wherever we find ourselves. It’s random. And this belief I feel at times, no times, as if it were always and never, is something that clashes with my art, what I think and feel about art, how it must happen and be. Order….

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Dwell Here: Nostalgia’s Graveyard Seductions

Dwell Here: Nostalgia’s Graveyard Seductions

  The poem I sent into the aether yesterday, Probably the Last Dawn Poem, was an old one. It was already a slightly belated look homeward (angel) to a time of some social and romantic turmoil, when my life was at one of its all too frequent “crossroads.” I had written a series of poems ab0ut a young woman with the perfect name for all of this, whom I had fallen for, hard, but who was still entangled with someone…

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Nostalgia for Nostalgia

Nostalgia for Nostalgia

Probably the Last Dawn Poem Did I bring them closer Together in this soap opera chain- Smoking pseudo-wooden-fern-bar Port-in-the-storm? Did I care once about her And her high looks soft Threat of a voice Long drink of eyes waiting For me? It’s strange no it isn’t Now I’m old and they’re young And even though I must be above putting things In nice boxes I have to start doubting my level of Reason And my need to find my age…

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