Onanism

A poem from Yoon Yong. I had a debate in the pub the other week about onanism. I have a theory that the violence of men, may have its root in onanism: in one onanistic act, a man lays waste on a rag, to an entire population. Dylan Thomas was concerned with this. So is [...]

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Appearances

There will be a Yoon Yong poem today & tomorrow. I promise. Appearances   …My cheekbones are fine | my chin if a little chiseled. I don’t agree with where my hair parts   the same as my father’s | not symmetrical like my mother. Glad I got mother’s long legs   but my father’s [...]

Nostalgia

Yoon Yong. Nostalgia   …The morning news buzzing in the background... —Her father stopped reading the newspaper   when his sight grew dim. She liked to see him read: she felt in good hands |   that her father could guide her. She tried to replicate the paper’s cackle   with other materials—my own onomatopoeia [...]

Review of Stephanie L. Harper’s The Death’s Head’s Testament

The Death’s Head’s Testament continues on from Stephanie’s previous book This Being Done & fortunate for us Stephanie is in the present progressive, hammering out the dimensions of poems. The poems here continue to wade in the difficulties of womanhood, family, child-rearing, love, life, memory & death. There is wakeful invention, an intellectual alacrity, sure-footedness [...]

Idleness, a dog’s lot

The Rock (not the muscle-headed Hollywood Rock who doesn’t perform his own stunts but looks hard like he does) in T.S. Eliot’s play explains, The lot of man is ceaseless labour,Or ceaseless idleness, which is still harder,Or irregular labour, which is not pleasant. Now assuming idle here isn’t a play on idol—which, with a lit-crit [...]

Amy Soricelli (5 Poems)

5 poems by Bronx poet Amy Soricelli over at Underfoot poetry today.
Poems personally informed & telling, full of anecdote & a close relationship with an urban environment, the ins & outs of a well lived life & commitment to community, family & friends. There is pure life in these poems. Amy’s voice is confident & the poems flow like the dodgy step of a citizen walking through a crowded pavement.

Underfoot Poetry

Teacher Training

I cannot sit her down and say things that will make the
difference in the shape of her feet
or sounds from the kids she teaches when they ask all the time;
they ask about the world
and the lonesome way people behave.
She will say things now, on the phone,
that startle me;
like once in 3rd grade she asked me about God
and it was just sitting there;
the beliefs we carry or don’t.
She tells me about the ‘sometimes scrapes and bruises’
hidden under the kids sleeves
and how they might cling extra hard
before a long weekend.
She shows me math on little cards;
they teach with little cards that fit in my hand,
so little.
I cannot tell her to be careful because
the windows, the doors.
we need them.
if not to show them the world –
its glory and the absolute…

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