Thursday, February 26, 2009

3 Poems from Dianne Borsenik

These Places
sound like some astronomer's
wet dream

labia majora
gluteus maximus

sensations launched
from fingerpads
from point to point
traveling at the speed
of a synaptic kiss

this astronaut blinded
by the constellations
forming in your sweat-slick
pale universe

looking for that
Big Bang

Summer And Smoke

he holds his cock
like a paintbrush
touches her
white body
with long careful
he trails magenta
down her spine
the edges
he dips
again and again
into the bright
wet pools of color
with stipples
of sweat and cum

late at night
and alone
she dreams the blush
of the eastern sun

and she can hear
his Picasso
and she can taste
his Monet
First Kiss

Rising from a swimmer's dream
of coral and dappled light,
he skims off the beads
of sleep that slick his
eggshell skin.

The sky turns to smoke.
Stars, sprinkled like raw sugar
over the lake, sweeten
his dreams.

The night is different
here, where forgotten shadows
bend silver to their will.
The round nipple
of the full moon rises.

He tastes the honey
of her blood, holds it
on his tongue and remembers
vanished flowers.

Click here to Dianne's links 1
#2 link

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Low Kay Shun by John Burroughs

If you see Kay
Tell her I love her
Miss her
Wish she were on the menu

If you see Kay
Tell her I'm sorry
She's not allowed in this venue

Not sure why
Doesn't make much sense
Might have something to do with religion
Or the government.

Her friends Whore and War are welcome anytime
But if you see Kay
Tell her no way!
She can't come.

Most everyone else
Can come til they're dumb though.

A few other folks are welcome as long as
They wear the acceptable contextual clothes:

Dick Van Dyke
Can come as often as he likes
But buy him
Own him
Call him my Dick
And he's not welcome.

Billowy pussy willows
Can blossom and blow as they wish
But own one
Mention that "My pussy will O..."
You'll soon discover
That fair or bare or not
In this place
You're pussona non grata.

My Ps and Qs and I
Are free to come and go
And lie as often as we will

But if you see Kay
Tell her the powers that be
Have had their fill of her
And swill like her
Is barred from the menu
In this venue
By the men who'd rather
Go home and sin you
While warning a word like you
To not intrude on their poetry
Their peach
Pity free dumb of speech
In this low Kay shun.

For those of you that are not familiar with John's work, he maintain two running blogs in addition to a blog where he features the rest of us. I applaud his efforts and hard work and someday I'm going to make it to his open mic and rock it down! Below are his links. There's some fascinating stuff and a wide range of it too. I saw him read this one on his blog and wanted it with the video but the embed html wouldn't work. For now I can share the poem and will try to add the video later. Enjoy!

John Burrough's website

Jesus Crisis Blog

Crisis Chronicles Online Library

link to watch the video on hisspace

Monday, February 23, 2009

Busy as busy bee me...

I want my blog readers to know I haven’t abandoned you. I’ve been working very hard in my position as production editor at The Cartier Street Review. I want you all to know I’ve earned the title. We both put a lot of effort into creating this magazine that is evolving as we speak. We will continue to spotlight a writer each issue. In the upcoming issue we will be including a new section of reviews since people like the reviews on my blog.

Kate Evans' book For The May Queen

Daniel Sumrall's echap Well Enough

I am actually receiving many books and requests from writers to review poetry chaps as well as full length novels & other works. Upcoming in reviews will be Daniel Borzutzky's one size fits all published by scantily clad press.

Through our creative inputs and ideas we will now be breaking up the writings with people’s artwork photos etc. We’re also working on layout and may make some changes. We’re experimenting. Submissions will remain the same. If you feel more comfortable submitting to me you may do so. If you prefer you may submit to Bernie, principal editor. Directions on submissions are at the website.

The Cartier Street Review

If anyone has any suggestions about how we can improve feel free to write. Our numbers have grown tremendously, which I take credit for and am proud of. I thank all of you for your love.

More News:

As many of you know I am working on a series of Bluetry poems. Yessireee folks, I made up a name for the series. Today I worked on Bluetry #7 & #8. I have only posted up to number 3. I'm saving some for he who comes last, pun intended.

More more new shit:

I recently got involved in pomoting wheelhouse mag at fb. DubbleX was recently online in a fb chat with David Michael Wolach, principal editor of wheelhouse mag (this link to actual mag.) David asked DubbleX to submit audio for the upcoming version of wheelhouse. He said he loves our audio files! He's labeled me editor and I guess I'm actually the publicist since he needs none of my other work. Give a shout out to wheelhouse and their increase in numbers - whooeee!

Don't ask - don't know where that talent comes from but at fb I created a club for Ira Lightman and his numbers are way up.

I've also pumped up the volume for Turntable & Bluelight Mag. I helped wordsalad mag too. I also often feature artists and writer on my facebook profile page. You know who you are. At DubbleX's urging I started our fan club too at fb.

Way New Shit!

I've agreed to get involved in promoting hinge theory and we (Michael Annis, Heller Levinson & I) are in puppy dog stages in this planning process. I am awaiting my package from Michael Annis which is going to introduce me to hinge theory. Look at Heller Levinson's work on line and at the latest edition of The Cartier Street Review to get more of a clue about hinge. Fascinating! Michael has graciously accepted my first bluetry poem, I Sing The Blues For You Today for publication in OMEGA 7. Just got news from Shotgun Slim Sneako aka Michael Annis that So A Black Man is President will be included in OMEGA 7 too.

Saturday, February 21, 2009

Singing Billies Blues By Me, Bluetry #3 (to read)

I implore you look outside the plate window. See how the wind whips the sky. I hear its wail above city sounds way up here in my 16th floor prison here in the Heights. I implore you free me from my tears have become the storm outside. Hear me wail, your other half – We are one, you know us well. Watch me flail, I can’t find a rail to hold onto. I don’t want to fall, but it’s slippery out here. Give me your hand to hold to cross the space.

My fingers ice, froze near the window where I continue to type absorbed in my hype about reality. Nice stories neatly told and packaged for your delight, passed to and fro. I cast my spell; create my own heaven & hell, my well of desire bursting forth.

My family gave me up for lent. Is that the answer or the end? Am I worth more now or less? Where to explore next, I remain sure in my search, I’m seeking answers with leaps of faith, I promise I am I am.

In my solitude
You haunt me
With memories
Of days gone by

4 days in a row I refuse to leave my abode. I can’t go, I should go to the gym, and won’t. I refuse to agree I’m depressed too not just dubblex. I don’t give in to my own reality, the fatality. He’s too old for me with circumspect dark moods. My youthful vision revives him, gives him sight again. All trite and true, not right, not poetry, I swear, reality I swear.

I sit in my chair
And filled with despair
There’s no one could be so sad
With gloom everywhere
I sit and I stare
I know that Ill soon go mad
I implore you stay here

Ahh - a golden glimmer of god finally shines through my frozen world of youthful delight. I see the sun, the truth you held forth for me to see. The sky parts open to expose a bright silver streak of light, the wind so strong it sounds like thunder in my lungs. I want to explore you & forget reality. Let’s talk poetry instead.

The galaxy of my heart swoons for paradise in lost expressions & protestations of love. My blue teardrops tenderly drip down your face. Your faith shadows mine. I bend to kiss your lips like blackberry wine the kiss drips from my lips. None of this is metaphor the wind screams in my face; this is reality. My life left undone. Get a new life tomorrow whispers the wind accompanies my heart returns to the blues in lieu of deed. I sigh with relief though the frustrated wind blows relentlessly without thoughts or feelings about how I feel. I wish she’d stop stop stop in her own good time they say, Okay I say Okay.

A ‘how to manual’ tattooed on heart make me easy to read. Patience, a dash of virtue goes a long way. Make peace not war I implore. W.T.F. about virtues instead? Peace unending everlasting enchanting chore this side of shore. This side of paradise hear my crying my flow of golden words they sing my open heart song for you alone, misty blue hear my wail of thunder & despair. I don’t want to care - I do.

Sunday, February 15, 2009


We forget that this world is naked
we attempt to clothe her with our futility
we dress her up with structures
get her drunk on chemicals - get her high with pollution
then wonder why she is now ill
we question where has the water gone; it used to rain and snow here and there
we seem dumbfounded that certain plants no longer grow
and countless animals have disappeared
the world is still naked but we dress her up in heels
as we dig our oil wells spikes to her core strip mine her land
we alter her with breast implants of nuclear plants
we dye her sky hair with colors of radiation
and we wonder why she is balding; the hole in the ozone layer grows
we take her out dancing - use her for are personal pleasure
then wonder why she is suffering with a fever that is steadily warming
we try to shape her and drape her with our form of beauty
then complain our cities
We feed her our trash and then wonder why things are now out of balance
We care for her not and are surprised how quickly she is now aging
the only problem is we forget that she is carrying us daily in her arms

Dubble X wrote the above verse; his partner, JL, wrote the second verse

Dubble X and I combine our verse to praise our mother earth
I want to power the Mohave desert with miles and miles
Of solar panels – enough to run the entire planet
Power the world on solar energy
I want to do this because I love mother earth,
Worship her in her design, she is my creator
The creator of the generations of humans and time
Creator of our earth she bestows grace, productivity proclivity and life
I want to power the Mohave desert with miles and miles of solar panels
So the earth will survive
So my children’s children and yours
Will inherit the earth, so they
Will have a planet on which to reside
A planet that supports life
Because as it stands now
Mother Earth will survive while humanity will die out
The ice age is coming…
Mother Earth will survive …
She will begin the cycle all over again
Will have a planet on which to survive

Check out Don Coorough's essay, On the Organization of an Enlightened and Ecologically Sound Community

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Blues Part III

first time using a band and the camera battery goes dead. You can hear the band jamming to my tune. Usually there's no camera around to catch this impromptu salad. Last night there was a gal at the redroom who was taping me and some others. She said she'll upload to youtube and then tell me - in the meantime you can check this Youtube link.

Thursday, February 05, 2009

EChap Review: Well Enough

When I asked Daniel Sumrall if I should write a review for his chapbook Well Enough at goodreads, he told me not to bother because people were either indifferent or hostile to his work. This naturally made me more curious .
Although I had a million and one things to do, I decided to read his poetry. Sumrall’s style is approachable and easy to understand. I’m not struggling to understand his meaning and can enjoy his intent, at least with the first poem.
His beginning poem begs the question of privacy in an open space on telephone. In the public domain is about listening in to someone’s personal conversation and then seeing that the other person has caught you doing this and they know you have heard and understood their conversation. He compares this to “a knife’s intense precision when hands lack curative intent.”
Ah, guess I spoke too soon about easy to understand. “If landscape rolls out like a body” refuses to feed me the same way as the poem above now “I must penetrate the city’s architecture towers from erections and penetrations upon the earth…no more natural or necessary as the sea ripped with waves in a chiseled man’s abdomen.” gives me more food for thought and I can flow with sensuousness of the prose. I’m not at expert in poetry or about writing metaphor or similes, alliteration or any of these things, and I don’t claim to be. I feel words that make me move inside. I write what I feel and this is what Mr. Sumrall does too. Now I know why people are either indifferent or hostile to his poetry.

I am adding more links for people who would like to read more free chapbooks.