My poem Night Thoughts published in Picaroon Poetry Issue #15

Much obliged to Kate Garrett the hard working editor-poet-mother for finding value enough in my poem & giving it a pew in this congregation of poets; especially pleased to see Amy Soricelli in the issue, it's a breath-taker. You can & should read the issue here.

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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 [...]

There’s no need to be a poet (time is forgotten)

This poem from the Yoon Yong series is probably a personal anxiety of my own showing through the tissue paper of personality. I think all poets (I cannot speak for translators) have some such concern as this in their transmogrification of reality & experience into the poetic. The solution: not apologizing for seeing, trying, relying & [...]

John Looker (Chapbook Confessions #1)

So pleased to have John Looker (a poet I personally admire & enjoy reading immensely) to start off our new series Chapbook Confessions.
I really do encourage you, after reading John’s piece, to have a glimpse at what this Chapbook Confession malarkey is all about & if you fit the criteria & want to contribute, then we would be more than pleased to read what you send us. We are hoping this will be not only useful to readers, but perhaps…what’s the right word, Ah! Cathartic (that should do it) for the writers themselves.

Underfoot Poetry

Chapbook Confessions is a series in which poets discuss, at length, the writing of their most recent collection of poems, in whatever way they desire. For more information on the series, go here.

Below, John Looker writes on his 2015 collection The Human Hive (Bennison Books)


519wanKURJL._SY346_Asked to explain the secrets of his craft, the alchemist would wrap his cloak more tightly and withdraw to his tower in silence. The mountebank however, holding his phial of coloured water high, might become loquacious about herbs gathered by moonlight on the shores of Arabia. 

I feel uncomfortable talking about how I write my poems. I would prefer to say nothing. Saying anything at all incurs the risk of becoming a charlatan. However, as I’ve been ‘shown the instruments’ and have to say something, I’ll try to find a middle way. I am grateful to Underfoot for publishing some of my poems, and I…

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Adam Penna (10 Poems)

A series of 10 sonnets by Adam Penna up at Underfoot today.
Poems full of the sound of wind, natural & fresh, full of hope & exhilaration at the small mercies that come from pure observance of the minor joys in life.
You know what to do dear reader.

& an update. Go & read our Chapbook Confessions guidelines in the menu bar if you’re interested in offering your sagely advice & experience from publishing a chapbook or collection, along with poems from that chapbook. All the details are there, but if you have any questions you can email us, which is provide there.
I hope to hear from you soon.

Underfoot Poetry

How to Worship

Today, a thousand fallen leaves: some yellow,
some red, some green, some circling the trees.
They teach us how to worship, and the wind—
it lifts the worshippers. It whips them up.
They seem hysterical with happiness.
I am hysterical with happiness.
The sun shines on my head and on my hands.
It touches the whiteness of the page. Meanwhile,
inside, outside and everywhere, my friends
and people I have never met or known,
contribute to the tumult. Let’s make an aisle,
and, stepping through the happy congregation,
cradle the grocerybags, search for the keys,
and wipe our feet before we enter the house.


The Happiness of Trees

I don’t want to instruct. I want to be
instructed by trees, loosed of leaves and leavings.
I go, step over the threshold and out into the yard.
Already my arms swing overhead. And you,
watching from the stoop…

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Lullabies

From The Wallace Variations a sort of poetry fan fiction that expands & explores the life & work of Stevens', imaginatively, so as i might speak with him, ultimately. Lullabies Wallace phoned in the early hours of a sultry August night that soaked the William Morris wall-paper to make summer noises down the telephone an [...]

Return to Vesuvius

i wrote, roughly a year ago with the annex of a hop skip & a jump tagged on it, a short collection of poems with Wallace Stevens as the central character. he sometimes speaks with me, he speaks with his characters & we sometimes discover things about him no biography could possibly know. it is not [...]