Cabildo Quarterly #12, summer 2018 is available now! With new writing from Kaylee Duff, Timothy Berrigan, Kelli Stevens Kane, William Repass, Kurt Morris, Paula Coomer, Daryl Gussin, Margaret Emma Brandl and Howie Good. Click here or get at us for hard copies.
Filtering by Tag: poetry
Cabildo Quarterly #8, summer 2015. Featuring new poetry and fiction by Ben Stein, Jes Skolnik, Erica Vega, Richard Katrovas and Ellen Sander.
Hard copies available in/around greater Belchertown MA/Pittsburgh PA.
Additional copies are a buck per – hit us via the gmail, cabildoquarterly.
Cabildo Quarterly #7, dead of winter 2015. Featuring work by Hedy Habra, Joe Mayers, Sara Emily Kuntz, Constance Renfrow, Angele Ellis and Anne Witty.
Print copies available free in/around greater Belchertown MA/Pittsburgh PA and at readings. Additional copies are available for a buck per or five bux for a stack— hit me at cabildoquarterly at the gmail for the address — or digitally on .pdfcast and/or issuu.
Number eight out in May.
At dawn I consider
a year of considering.
This that this that
Job to job to job
Standing in a room with people looking at me like I’m the teacher
I don’t know enough
I babble babble babble
And what do they learn,
These staring people?
And how they give me their power
okay?this poem is a plum treeevery time I write a good line, it getspoached for another poempalate a painterdabs colors togethertransfers to canvas, a landscapethere’s no shape here, only gaspingthere’s no gasping in poetryif only I were getting too old forthis…
Demeter and Persephone in Odessa, Missouri
My momma said all she needed
after her man took off
was a sack of dried beans
and plenty of split wood under cover.
Then I came squeezing through
the difficult dark, too sick to cry
and hot as rolled-up rags the midwife
The Way of Calligraphy
The testing of pens
must be my first work
today—which ones flow
with ink, which nibs leave
only faint scratches,
small hints on paper,
which wait to be cleaned
since the last words jammed
in dried-up channels.
Once words flooded in,
an unruly stream—
my pens now…
Lying in the bathtub with the water on so it never
gets cold, this is where my thoughts go –
bridges, rivers, the sea, the bathtub in a pinch.
I didn’t watch It’s a Wonderful Life this year and have
my cry when the pharmacist boxes
his bad ear. My laugh when he piles on the…
Just in time for tomorrow’s reading is Cabildo Quarterly issue #6, early spring 2014. With new poetry by Bruce Pratt, David Lawton, Karen Lye-Neilsen, Kathleen Ellis and Leonore Hildebrandt, and new fiction by Jeffrey Schroeck.
Another Casualty of War
There are no men
standing by the fireplace, no rats
racing across the ceiling, no enemy
invading the house or the yard.
It is the illness, they tell me;
the illness, I tell my mother
until she can barely stand
the sound of the word, until
neither of us…
It starts in bud, the false willow,
tender as the babies the tomcat got.
He lined them up on my doorstep
like toy soldiers, throats slashed.
Because they were so tiny,
I thought of paper cuts, insult’s welling sting.
I put them in a paper sack for drowning
down the black well of…
before they bloom
that softens in the sun
the heart not listening
for the unexpected
Song of Another
On the days when I am not myself, I am
my aching face, my injured foot, my swollen…
The fifth print issue of Cabildo Quarterly — featuring new poetry and fiction from Kathleen Ellis, Katie Lattari, Bruce Pratt, Mike DeCapite and Analise Jakimides — is available now for free in and around greater Belchertown MA and Pittsburgh PA.
What is Happening?
on seeing the work of Daniel Anselmi
It is a picture of your life.
It is in this room.
It is not the heart of the wind in sweetest May;
It is not the old light of merry Vienna;
You are not the hero.
It is lace, manufactured in Boston.
Their account book had pages like that.
Moss paint from the bridge you see Thursday afternoons.
Our foes are in our midst and all about us.
—Henry David Thoreau
Someone was found dead after someone in a turban stepped out of an alley.
Someone knew someone recited the Qu’ran in her basement at night.
Someone knew someone borrowed sugar from a Muslim.
Someone told someone to mind her own…
My cousin on Facebook
today posted a picture:
Our grandmother, now 85,
on her couch with her six great-grandkids.
Her face was the same
color as her hair, the same
color as her nails,
same color as my front window,
through which I just now saw
a woman the color
of coffee and…
Nurses Who Love English by Paula Marie Coomer
Paula Marie Coomer is a nurse and writer who uses poems as balm. Her latest collection of poetry Nurses Who Love English gives a diverse coalescence of lyric story and song: a soundtrack to a personal history that traces American landscapes of…
UP ON THE ROOF
I like to think
I looked like jasmine petals in
a regular rain, but them jasmines,
the dewberry, even all the
butterfly weed down in the garden
was drowning just like me.
Nothing regular about this rain.
You don’t know me, except for that heartbeat
of a minute when I was all over the news.