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A Celebration of Words

Highland Park Poetry began in 2007. Wow! Amazing! Together with the support of friends and followers, we have created poetry opportunities, experiments, publications, contests, readings, open-mics, pentathlons, and more to bring poetry to the community and beyond the 60035 zip code. Thanks to everyone who has contributed time, energy, talent and cash to this endeavor. Here's to many more!

Thanks to Highland Park Poetry's contributors in 2022 and 2023:

Anonymous

Anonymous 2

Jennifer Dotson

Arlyn Miller & Poetic License

Lakshmy Nair

Marjorie Rissman

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Poetry Book Reviews

Seeing Voices: Poetry in Motion

By Kelly Sargent

Kelsay Books, 2022

35 Pages

ISBN-13: 9781639801350

Review by Lynne Viti

It’s well known that from early childhood, many twins invent and share a private language. In Seeing Voices: Poetry in Motion, Kelly Sargent goes one better, painting a portrait of identical twins who must learn to accommodate the challenge of one twin’s profound deafness. The hearing (though admittedly hard of hearing, as she’s deaf in one ear) twin communicates with her sister using sign language and private gestures, born of necessity and inspired by both twins; inherent creativity when it comes to language in many forms.

Sargent’s suite of poems draws heavily on autobiographical source material—a deaf sister who could silence the hearing one merely by closing her eyes, so as to shut out the hearing twin’s attempt to argue via sign language—

My twin sister used to shut her eyes

To shut me up when we argued.

Born deaf, she held the advantage in any girlhood fight

The irony here is clear—the “disadvantaged” twin seizes the advantage, besting her hearing sister.

Sargent and her identical twin were born prematurely in Luxembourg; one, three pounds at birth, was born profoundly deaf. Both babies were soon surrendered for adoption to an American couple. For the first few years of their lives, as evidenced by the poems “The Mushroom Caves in Madrid” and “Devouring Grace,” the family lived in Spain; these two poems recount the childhood exploration of mushroom caves in Madrid, and the Chinese restaurant in that city their parents took them to, near where a Little Bear statues in a fountain “waved his immobile paw to my twin and me…”

Even as a young child, the hearing twin—the speaker in all but one of these poems—attempts to teach her deaf sister to pronounce the words she can so far only spell out in sign language—“blue-ber-ry, ba-nan-a.” We observe the hearing twin holding her sister’s small hand to guide her: “I wrap your tiny hand around my throat…for you to feel the sounds vibrating within.”

Other poems shift the tone to mystery—the leitmotif of the poet-twin seeing in the mirror her own image which is simultaneously the image of her deaf identical twin:

She crosses

Intuitively between night and day

With starved, skinny, bird-like arms…

Then suddenly, this grotesque creature is brushed aside by a more comforting memory: “We blink away Night…we toast to Midnight.”

Sargent’s language is imagistic, highly visual, blending snapshots of the natural world of beaches and sunsets with the mysteries of the twin’s private one: “…we were/wrapped securely in a vast, uninterrupted galaxy…”

Throughout the collection, Sargent sets up vivid scenes of the past, then quickly brings readers into the present, when the speaker frames these accounts of her and her sister as children as memory: “A mourning dove coos/pausing/to remember.” Here, the cooing dove harnesses sound just as the speaker harnesses a voice that is unavailable to her twin in the same way.

Sargent deftly captures the experience of a child—now an adult—who is intimately entangled with her deaf sibling, the almost-self who remains apart from the hearing world. In the book’s penultimate poem, Sargent assumes the persona of her sister, aiming to describe for us, her readers, how the deaf person perceives the spoken word through sign language:

Fingertips pave slick exclamations,

punctuated by nails sinking low into clamminess

I sculpt hyperboles.

Kelly Sargent does more than deploy poetry to invite readers into the world of sisters who must overcome a language barrier posed by deafness. She demonstrates that sign language is only part of their mutual solution—the real magic lies in their invented language of touch, their mutual respect, and their sisterly love.

===ABOUT THE REVIEWER: Lynne Viti’s most recent poetry collection is The Walk to Cefalù (Cornerstone Press, 2022).

Posted February 1, 2023

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Periods, Pauses and Other Poems

By Jacqueline Nicole Harris

Self-published, 2021

33 Pages

ISBN-13: 978-0578968612

Review by Judith MK Kaufman

Jacqueline Nicole Harris is at turns, defiant, sardonic, self-deprecating and self-celebrating. Her most recent publication, Periods, Pauses and other Poems, arrives at a particularly difficult time in the poet’s life, published in the aftermath of a number of losses, in particular the death of her beloved mother. If anything, loss seems to have strengthened the poet’s commitment to putting her sensibilities out on a platter for all to see and understand.

In “Write Happy,” she tells us that her attitudes are just performance art. But we know what is real to her when we read “Blackness and the Palate of the Human Tongue,” in which the poet describes four stages of a child growing up black in terms of the four tastes: sweet, salty, sour and bitter.

While she strongly identifies with the community in which she grew up and continues to live, a part of her decided to reach out to a community she did not know, and she surprised herself by finding a more welcoming place than she thought she might find. That surprise has everything to do with her poetry.

This is a poet who chose to investigate the poetry scene in a place not too far from where she lives in North Chicago, yet (she must have thought) very far from who she is. In the poem “Preoccupied” the poet describes the time she spends sitting on a bench in Sunset Park in the city of Highland Park. She tries to write, but her ink is stifled by all the serenity, where children play nearby without swearing and dog walkers pick up their pets’ deposits. Despite her initial discomfort, Jacqueline chose to investigate and ultimately join the poetry community of Highland Park/Deerfield, where she found an unexpected welcome for her own very different poetic expression. (By way of explanation, Jacqueline and I are both long-time members of the Deerfield Library Poets, a group that has been meeting for a number of years for the purpose of sharing and improving our poetry.)

As an editor of poetry, there are a few aspects of Periods, Pauses and other Poems that I might change: there is no table of contents, and the poetry could be formatted in a more organized fashion, perhaps using double columns so that individual poems do not end with just a few lines on a new page. But what is important in Jacqueline’s poetry is her point of view, her honesty with herself and her readers, and a fierce determination to express who she is and how she thinks with the rest of the world. In this she is quite successful.

===ABOUT THE REVIEWER: Judith MK Kaufman is Editor-in-Chief of East on Central, Highland Park's own Journal of Arts and Letters. Judith is the author of Caught Laughing: The Esther and Bernie Story.

Posted January 1, 2023

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Tracks: Poems on the "L"

By Lois Baer Barr

Finishing Line Press, 2022

30 Pages

ISBN-13: 979-8-88838-053-6

Review by Cynthia T. Hahn

[S]itting is death" ; these three words close an early poem in Tracks; Poems on the 'L' (Finishing Line Press, 2022, finalist, New Voices Contest). This invitation to move compelled me to share the active poetic gaze that characterizes all twenty-three poems in this new monograph to movement by Lois Baer Barr. Tracks, Barr's second poetry chapbook, after first prize-winning Biopoeisis (Poetica Publications, 2014), captures a pre-pandemic period during which the poet commutes by car to a writer's studio at Bryn Mawr station, before jumping on the "L" train to tutor second grade children as a "reading buddy" at George Manierre school. Partially inspired by Ross Gay's Book of Delights, an intertextual reference in "Dare on the 'L' I", she affirms, "I will dare to go beyond my limits every day for a year." Barr notes that after reading chapbooks on the train, she often arrived at the school early, "bursting to write a poem about the 'L'" and this became a writing habit that ultimately grew this volume of poems (Interview, 12/22/22).

Barr moves us into some momentary uncomfortable places in the text: "yesterday, 4 p.m. two men/were shot on the Argyle platform/fourteen-year-old boy arrested" ("Woman may go blind after attack"), "the chubby kid across from us whose eye is swollen shut" ("Today I worry"), "the rat that brushed our feet in a New York subway" ("Cabrini Green II"), but more often as reader, I am happily jostled by the poetic eavesdropping, seeing and being seen, on the train and off the train, by the quick snippets and unfinished stories of those the poet accompanies. I am struck by the intimate speculation of "Inauguration Day" as it ends with train doors that frame a lesbian couple in a tender moment on the platform and the train whisks us away from the possibility of closure.

Accomplished author Lois Baer Barr, emerita professor of Spanish at Lake Forest College, avid traveler, observer of human nature, with her self-avowed "love of public transportation" (Interview, 12/22/22), underscores in this text her call to tutoring children in Chicago, which came to an end, along with the writer's studio, during the onset of the COVID pandemic, and has since restarted for her in other venues, fueled by the author's curiosity to know others by capturing parts of their story. In the course of these pages, Barr works to break down potential barriers of age, race and class and describes her tone as "casual", wanting "to talk to the reader" (Interview, 12/22/22). In this volume, fully aware of being observed and perceived as an older woman who merits a seat on the train, she stands in stark contrast to others she describes, such as Elder Dillman, a young missionary she engages in conversation, "from a farm south of Salt Lake City" ("Dare on the 'L' II"). In addition, she refers to politicized Chicago figures and beyond: Cabrini, Dr. King, Wrigley Field, Mayor Lori Lightfoot, Charles Tyson Yerkes, Chairman Mao...

In "Social Science Study II", dated as May 2019, she takes note of those who read from paper (19%) vs. those who are tied to electronics (78%) or are dozing (3%"), all the while part of and yet distinct from those who surround her on the train. The poetic narrator chooses her seat, or more often standing place, poised for maximal observation, the senses playing a key role in her rapid sketches. "[T]he clatter of the tracks" ("The Patty Crowley Apartments") is an example of playful instances of assonance Barr uses such as "the meter of the wheels" ("Social Science Study I") and "Chit-chat distracts." ("Cabrini Green II"). These are coupled with effective alliteration, "The guy with robin's egg blue bangs" ("Inauguration Day"), "the girl with the long blonde braid that swishes my shoulder" ("Today I worry") as a way to sketch a quick character portrait. These sensory portraits are drawn with memorable details of speech or look: "Addison, he says with a Slavic Ah. Then Addison with the flat Chicago 'A'" ("Today I worry"); "Brandy has long eye lashes, a rhinestone stud in one ear, dreadlocks and a huge smile"; "—Hey, I'm a boy!" ("Reading buddies at George Manierre School"). Her artistic talent is evident in the images that sparingly line the pages here, leading the reader to sketch quickly alongside her, to see, touch, hear and even smell the experience, from "tweedy wool sneakers" ("Social Science Study I") to "organic Peruvian coffee" ("Edgewater Studio").

Linear progression in the volume is often suggested by poetic stops, such as "Sedgewick is next!" ("Reading Poetry about Maoist China") which easily lead into the next poem. The settings, not always on the train itself, are yet framed by boarding the train, with the school as a primary destination and the ultimate descent in an epilogue, "at home", holding fast to what is "gone" ("the steep stairways, crowded platforms, unreachable straps") during a pandemic that shut down the option of daily displacement.

This author also features more detailed prose portraits in her writing, as in her chapbook of stories, Lope de Vega's Daughter (Red Bird Chapbooks, 2019). Barr has also published and performed short stories featuring commuters; she imagines her father's daily bus ride to his law office and back after the onset of Alzheimer's in "Transit Authority of River City", and her story, "Train of thought", takes place on the Metra train (Highland Park to Ogilvie Station).

The cover art, a photo of Bryn Mawr Station, visually emphasizes the tracks that take the reader along with the poet on a quickly moving encounter with others. In essence, the poet "tracks" her inklings of story and character by observing and asking questions, albeit some left unspoken ("I realize I can't go up to each one to see whether they’re playing Candy Crunch or reading War and Peace." ("Social Science Study II"). We are invited to journey with her and lose ourselves in between poems, as our mind may wander off track and envision the lives of others, suggested by the high-rise housing of the cover photo, and mentioned by name in poems such as "Cabrini Green I", "Cabrini Green II" and "The Patty Crowley Apartments".

The writer's studio described in the begining of the volume along with a blessing, offers a preliminary morning coffee break musing on writing before the action of writing in motion begins. Barr's work in the end leaves one wanting another ride, imagining the next stop. A reader's response to this volume will likely be a kind of anxious curiosity, of a kind that stimulates reflection and envisions a standing pose at the train pole, readied for escape onto the next platform. This reader appreciates the slender line of dramatic tension that shudders into Barr's poems as the train veers around the next corner, and we spy the next dumpster with abandoned mattresses, contrasted with an envisioning of condos with hardwood floors and granite kitchens ("The Patty Crowley Apartments") or when "at home", we contemplate our scattered dog's ashes that will surely "bloom", with a "white-flowered beauty" akin to the "tender wounds" of past and future losses. The inner voice, "Try again. Fail again. Fail better." ("Fail Better I") is a mantra found within two poems in this volume, and we see the poet repeat her efforts to engage with the journey while juxtaposing images of life and death, of dream and disappointment. What guides us successfully through the movement of Tracks is the implication that we too are "buddies" who accompany the 'whistle of wheels' "through the long curve east..." and we become the prized, observed passenger when the narrator cajoles in her poem, "Gentle Reader,": "Gentle reader," I ... want to be your reader too".

===ABOUT THE REVIEWER: Cynthia T. Hahn, PhD, is the author of two volumes of poetry, Outside-In-Sideout (Finishing Line Press, 2010) and Co-ïncidences in French and English, illustrated by Monique Loubet (alfAbarre Press, 2014). She is a member of Highland Park Poets and Bluff Coast Writers, along with Lois Baer Barr. She has been a professor of French, teaching creative writing, translation, literature, film and language at Lake Forest College since 1990. She has published ten book-length prose translations by Algerian, French and Lebanese authors as well as original poems in varied journals such as East on Central and Last Stanza, anthologies and is a regular online contributor to the Highland Park Poetry Muse's Gallery.

Posted January 1, 2023

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What Can Be Held Briefly

By Diane L. Redleaf

Visible Evening Press, 2022

e-Book

ISBN-13: 9798986244129

Review by Carol L. Gloor

Diane L. Redleaf’s What Can Be Held Briefly is an unapologetic celebration of a new grandchild, and, more broadly, of family itself . Her dedication is not only to the child, but to her entire family, “precious and held tightly for as long as can be.”

Always the tension with such a theme is dancing on the edge of cliché, that can only be addressed by facing the duality of family, how we both love and hate them. The love of family is evidenced throughout the book. In the poem, “You Have Many Parts,” the poet describes her new grandson as having “parts” from other family members (“Your mom’s eyes/Your grandpa’s hair,”) all of which are “Perfect/Loved.” And many of the poems trace the development of the baby boy, all expressed with close attention and specific images. In “Tyrant, Pint-Sized” the baby is crying into a scream, and the family attempts “…to fathom/which ministry will quiet the infant beast.” Then in the title poem the poet addresses the boy’s growing skill at holding “…your own bottle today/until it gently slides from your lips” Then the boy learns blocks (“Stacking Up”) and working at puzzles “(Puzzle Pieces”).

All this could well devolve into a baby book, but what saves this is the poet’s sometimes touching on the ambiguity of parenting, and expanding the single boy to the imagined future world in which he will live. In “Tyrant, Pint-Sized,” the poet remembers that

. . . years from now

We will have forgotten these days.

Your parents, even they so devoted

will cry out for you.

And in the poem “First-Time Parents,” the poet considers her own direct parenting of her two children as well as that of the new parents. The poet cannot tell the new parents “. . . what you need to know./ He will tell you what none of us knows.” In “Generations,” the poet reminds the new parents that the boy will become “whole in pieces taken from you,/in pieces he might wish never to have been given.”

Yet the book is not quite saved from such almost too sweet sequences like the “peek-a -boo” stanza in the poem “Next Time,” and the playfulness of baby toes in “Heaven.” Since the project of this book is not only the grandchild, but the poet’s children and the poet herself, what is missing is the incredible difficulty of parenting, which those who have experienced it know well. Where is the smell of baby shit encountered at 3AM? Where is the dry-eyed exhaustion of yet another sleepless night or the continual cleaning up of that food that baby from the plate the baby throws down (in the poem “Next Time”)?

But these failures do not destroy the validity of what is there. What is in these poems needs to be developed more concretely, more shockingly. If one is to discuss parenting, even grand-parenting, one needs to tell the hard truths, and tell them hard. The poet knows that she and her children and the baby boy live

In our pod of blossoms,

this life knows its privilege,

Its selfish inwardness,

Its lucky draw.

We know the arrangements are temporary.

From the poem “Charmed Life, Pandemic Style.” Yes, these “arrangements” are indeed temporary, as are they all. We just need to feel the “arrangements” more specifically; we need to feel the punch in the gut that comes with actual parenting.

===ABOUT THE REVIEWER: Carol L. Gloor’s poetry chapbook, Assisted Living, was published by Finishing Line Press in 2013, and her full length poetry collection, Falling Back, was published by WordPoetry in 2018. Her poems have been published in many journals and anthologies, most recently in Gyroscope, and she is a member of the Chicago poetry collective Egg Money Poets.

Posted January 1, 2023

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...this just in...

By Bill Cushing

Cyberwit.net, 2021

43 Pages

ISBN-13: 978-8182537460

Review by Gail Denham

Beginning with aspirations to become a journalist, poet Bill Cushing was captured by a comment at a journalistic conference. The woman speaker said: “If you want to improve your writing in any form, start writing Poetry.” The speaker went on to outline the value of poetry by way of the discipline of using words, perhaps “miserly” but definitely efficiently. By the next day Cushing began writing poetry and explored all its aspects.

Many of the poems in …This Just In… are ekphrastic, one of my favorite forms of poetry, which uses art, photos, or perhaps a viewed image on which to focus – to stir your imagination and poetic voice.

Some poems show an evident leaning toward journalism also, as in “A Thanksgiving Prayer”, which interjects current news headlines into the poem.

“folks are praying

over plates piled with meat

and mounds of vegetables;’…

and “Downtown tavern shooting”

or “Prostitute arrested.”

He ends the poem with “Life goes on forever and forever.”

In the poem: “Getting Old Is” Cushing speaking of:

“…an emaciated

Santa stands at the curb…

eyeing the entrance to the

free soup kitchen in the church.”

In this poem he also speaks of a drifter:

“all his belongings hang, bagged

at his side – almost a part

of him…

this traveler—this vagrant

wreckage, this canary in our

coal mine…”

Haikus, free verse, and ekphrastics help make this book a good read, quick to the point, and stirring the mind to consider what we see about us. This, to me, is a true mark of a good poet, to notice everything.

In Cushing’s poem “Impotence” he says:

“On a table littered with twisted

metal, stale beer mixes with smoke.”

Cushing speaks of talking to someone at a bus stop – about “The Nature of Snow”, of the funeral of a man’s son, in which his son’s image is projected on a screen at front of the room – a solemn scene. He writes of the military with compassion.

…This Just In…, Bill Cushing’s book, is short, but full of glimpses into the lives of those he views around him, and “news” happenings. I believe he mixes a touch of journalism with good poetry. Cushing has authored several other books which were well received, and is widely published.

===ABOUT THE REVIEWER: Gail Denham says, "Writing keeps me sane at times - Have had stories, essays, poems, and newspaper articles, plus many photos published in magazines, newspapers, books, over the last 45 years."

Posted January 1, 2023

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What is Another Word for Intimacy

By Amanda Baker

Yellow Arrow Publishing, 2022

72 Pages

ISBN-13: 979-8985070439

Review by Jacqueline Stearns

This book is not just another poetry collection dedicated to romance. Every facet from the rhyme scheme to how the poems are placed on the page, catches the reader's eye and draws them in.

As a poet myself, I love Amanda Baker's rhyme patterns which in some pieces are simplistic.

The Fruit Gum Variety Pack: "Like a piece of gum stuck on the bottom of my shoe. Now everywhere I go I have a little bit of your residue.'

In Imagination and Creation, which details a person who is talking to a lover about understanding her thoughts and emotions, we have: " I let go of power to be your equal. Transparent feelings make us people."

Page arrangement kept my attention on the writing. Some poems are one paragraph straight down lines underneath one another.

Other pieces are several paragraphs written in the same style single spaced.

The dedication is written on a diagonal, beginning with the first line on the top left, and the last word on the bottom right.

Other writings have words separated by lines. /

Simplicity is what makes this collection so original. Baker utilities everyday objects to depict relationships.

In the afore mentioned The Fruit Gum Variety Pack, gum alludes to the author's connection to someone important in her life. Upon careful examination, Baker realizes this person may not matter as much as she thought.

Green uses an old green dress as a metaphor for a woman's past and present.

Leave Me In Your Pocket, is a brilliant poem. An imaginary pocket is the catalyst describing the ever changing dynamic of romantic love.

"I never put anything in my pockets. I don't invite anyone in because I don't want to turn mine inside out."

"Okay maybe I invite you in my pocket."

Spare terse language give some of the poems individual flavor. In My Love Language: "I would love you in all ways because I wouldn't have to write poems about you."

In Take Me To The Mountain spins the tale of Baker's flip flopping about what she wants in a relationship. The narrative takes the form of: ,"Take Me To The Mountains, no don't take me to the mountains."

The words are simple. I shout, "Take Me To The Mountains but don't fall in love with the idea.'

Music Is Everything is a dynamic piece where Baker utilizes music as an analogy for a romantic entanglement. Again simple language. "You are an arrangement, a four chord song. Melody and lyrics. I hear you."

What Is Another Word For Intimacy, is a book teenagers and adults of all ages can identify with. Who among us hasn't been profoundly affected by romantic love?

===ABOUT THE REVIEWER: Jacqueline Stearns holds a bachelor's degree in Mass Media Communications from William Paterson College now University. She is honored to have been published in Highland Park Poetry and several Montclair Write Group Anthologies.

Posted January 1, 2023

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Ode to Toni Morrison: (and COLLECTED Poems...)

By Jennifer Brown Banks

Cyberwit.net, 2022

76 Pages

ISBN-13: 978-8182538887

Review by Barbara Eaton

There is no dross in the poetry of Jennifer Brown Banks. Direct, to-the-point, intelligent, and often witty, her poems speak to her experience and ours. Her latest book, “Ode to toni morrison” (and collected poems...) covers the pandemic, the death of her mother, the deaths of Toni Morrison and the artist formerly known as Prince, the joys and fears of parenting, what she calls the “Daddy Deficit,” and many more of the trials and triumphs of life.

The title poem, “Ode to Toni Morrison,” expresses the poet’s wish to have met the Nobel Laureate “Perhaps in some/Quaint coffee shop,/ With an assortment of herbal teas/ And pricey brews,” the young poet “Full of awe and admiration,” “Hoping to emulate.” But, alas, this meeting never took place, since Morrison passed away in 2019. Her works, however, remain “Etched/ In our hearts.”

“Ain’t it Silly? Really!” is a clever little poem about the trivial reasons for family feuds:

“because they disagree,

Over ancient history.

Or money.

Or sibling rivalry.

Or hurtful words

Uttered mistakenly.”

The poet points out that this is selfish and wrong-headed, undermining “Bloodlines that God assigns.”

“In Memory of Arabella,” a tribute to the poet’s mother, Banks compares her bond with her mother to that of Debbie Reynolds and Carrie Fisher. Her mother was her “biggest critic,” as well as her “most loyal/Fan.” They spoke nearly every day, about “girl stuff,” and the troubles of life. Her mother raised five children, and later returned to college to earn a 4-year degree. Keeping her sanity through it all. The poet concludes: “Her legacy/ Is the gift/ That keeps on giving.”

My favorite poem in the collection is “Parenting is Like Baking a Cake.” It is a conceit, an elaborate comparison of cake baking and parenting. The conclusion is characteristically optimistic: you “hope/It rises.”

I enjoyed the poet’s energy and optimism. If you need a shot of energy and optimism, you need this book.

===ABOUT THE REVIEWER: Barbara Eaton is a poet and semi-retired community college instructor.

Posted December 1, 2022

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Talk Smack to a Hurricane: Poems

By Lynn Jensen Lampe

Ice Floe Press, 2022

52 Pages

ISBN-13: 978-1-895637-07-6

Review by Lois Baer Barr

The title of Lynne Jensen Lampe’s debut poetry collection Talk Smack to a Hurricane is a metaphor for growing up the only (she thought) child of a mother who was hospitalized several times for mental disease during the poet’s childhood. The first hospitalization was when Lampe was an infant. Her mother was diagnosed with schizophrenia and manic depression (terms used in the sixties). Her poem “Delivered” says, Nothing but the best 1960s psychiatry. The hurricanes in her mother’s life were electric shock therapy, a lobotomy, numbing drugs, and being shut in with other debilitated people. Lampe spares no words of anger for the medical personnel who diagnosed and treated her mother. She gives voice to the storm her mother endured in “Locked In/Ward, Looking Out/Ward,” a hybrid form one could call a stream of conscious sonnet.

lips red there isn’t a door with a right side here where they make me

empty other patients‘ bed pans choke down pills chew a towel every

time they fry my brain Every brain has a wrong side sometimes two

In the course of the poems, one learns that the narrator has not only survived an absent mother, but also an abusive one. Just like a hurricane, the slap to the face hits the young child from out of nowhere. “Talk Smack to a Hurricane” opens with the mother punishing the daughter for saying “Damn” by filling her mouth with soap suds. Yet, the third stanza reveals a mother who took good care of her daughter by getting her counseling:

Years later/I huddle

on cushions at sessions

she pays for . . .

Almost every poem that deals with abuse also reveals the mother’s love for the child. And the child loves her beautiful mother. In “Tutorial” the daughter looks up to the mother as the ideal of feminine beauty. Lampe names her mother’s bra, girdle, pearl lipstick, Vidal Sasoon haircut, white oval shades, and a Corvair to drive away in. In the first line of the first poem of the collection, we learn that her mother is protective: She grips me, the ceramic bird/at the five & dime she can’t bear/to put back on the shelf. Finally, in “Filtered,” the poet writes, her hands were mostly gentle.

This slender collection should be on poets’ shelves if only for the wonderful examples of fresh ways to use poetic forms. As I said before, “Locked In/Ward, Looking Out/Ward” is a modern sonnet. Lampe credits poet Jericho Brown for a form called the duplex that’s used in “Crazy Rents a Duplex.” At the heart of this collection are six erasure poems from the long letter Lampe’s mother wrote her parents the day the poet was born. After her mother died, the author discovered the letter. The collection ends with two prose poems, “Coda I” and “Coda II,” also formed by erasure of her mother’s letter.

Lynne Jensen Lampe treats other important themes in this book. There is feminist rebellion throughout. She asks, Why are women are always explained away by flowers? Her maternal Jewish roots are another theme that recurs. Mengele’s unspeakable experiments on children and antisemitic slurs sit side by side with sweet memories of Passover.

I hope I haven’t made this collection sound bleak. It is one of the most hopeful and well-crafted works I’ve read. The poem “Chiaroscuro” shows how love and light survived even in the most painful times:

our feet to the floor

every morning. A new dance

in the kitchen, throw open

our curtains to the sky.

Finally, the fierce love between mother and daughter makes this an inspiring collection to read and re-read.

===ABOUT THE REVIEWER: Lois Baer Barr’s poetry chapbook, Tracks: Poems on the “L,” is due out soon from Finishing Line Press. You can read her short fiction in Lope de Vega’s Daughter available from Red Bird Press. Visit her webpage at www.loisbaerbarr.com

Posted December 1, 2022

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Odes: Poets Praising People. Places & Things

Edited By Jennifer Dotson & Mary Beth Bretzlauf

Highland Park Poetry Press, 2022

72 Pages

ISBN-13: 979-8-218-03079-9

Review by Michael Escoubas

This review is reprinted with kind permission from Quilt & Parchment.

In an age of fault-finding coupled with often hypercritical rhetoric (think about the world of politics) how refreshing to encounter a volume devoted to poems of praise! This is not surprising. Editors Jennifer Dotson and Mary Beth Bretzlauf are known for lifting readers’ spirits toward the good in life. The poetic gems in this volume showcase poems about people, places, and things. Its modest asking price is attractive considering what you get: contributing poets from 15 states and the UK, a wide array of styles and diverse “takes” on their subjects, poems by children, poems by established poets, poems from folks new to publishing. If I were teaching creative writing to youth, I would use this volume to illustrate the universal reach of poetry and poetry’s ability to opine on a wide range of topics. Covers 1 and 4 display attractive designs by gifted members of Highland Park Poetry. Toward the back of the volume be sure to catch interesting biographies of each contributing poet.

A moment ago I mentioned poems by children. What better way to begin a review? In the “Odes to People” section, I share “Eyes as Blue as the Sky,” by 3^rd Grader, Louella Kornfeld:

She has eyes as blue as the sky,

Hair that shines so bright.

And I think to myself, what a wonderful Mom.

When she smiles it lights the world.

She’ll love me more than this world.

And I think to myself, what a wonderful mom.

She’s unreplaceable, and out of this world.

She watches me grow oh so.

And I think for myself what a wonderful Mom.

I love you Mom, Happy Mothers’ Day.

This fledgling poet is already using simile and repetition effectively, along with good end-line decisions and a strong closure.

Some years ago I wrote a fun poem entitled “Thing-a-ma-jigs.” It spoofed the entire world of jigs, gizmos, gadgets and other odd devices. I feel a connection. Odes to “Things” comprises the largest of the three sections, 33 poems in all. The editors grant a wide berth of poems in this category. A “thing” might be rain, or black curly hair, or feet, or big hats, or flowers. Just about anything can be a “thing.” Since I am an inveterate chocolate lover, I was all over “Ode to Chocolate” by Highland Park, Illinois resident Marjorie Rissman:

only the sweet smell of chocolate baking arouses

the house to joyful anticipation of luscious frenzy

whether it be brownies or Bundt cate, the aroma

drives us up a wall waiting for the baking to be done,

the cooling to begin, the sampling to be undertaken.

meanwhile the scent is more alluring than perfume,

the taste more mouthwatering than most, the sight

more dreamlike than remembered. I prefer the

baking to the eating, the aroma to the end result

and wish chocolate could fill the air everywhere.

If you have a favorite place to be, “Odes to Places” will not disappoint. My personal bucket list includes a visit to the United Kingdom, specifically London. Cramington, UK resident Adrian McRobb, is my transport in his poem, “Thames”:

Fog clings to water moving with the tide

dim figures to and from under muted lamps

dark ghosts of boats drag sullenly pat

as the meniscus pendulums with movement

weed draped ladders gently sigh in sympathy

pontoons new invisible drum the banks

city spires tower above the river’s shroud

The Tower traitorously lets the water through

as hamlets cling to its condensating base

shadows glide in damp folds of grey cloth

lamenting the turn of their sundial’s hour . . .

For those who may have yawned their way through Shelley and Keats in Freshman English, take heart . . . Odes: Poets Praising People, Places & Things, will have you smiling all the way to study hall.

===ABOUT THE REVIEWER: Michael Escoubas is editor, contributing poet, and staff book reviewer for Quill and Parchment, a 19-year-old literary and cultural arts online poetry journal. This review was originally posted on Quill and Parchment.

Posted December 1, 2022

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Alice's Adventures: A Modern Version of Lewis Carroll's Classic, in Verse

By Paul Buchheit

Kelsay Books, 2022

61 Pages

ISBN-13: 978-1639801831

Review by Judith MK Kaufman

As a child I listened to my mother reciting the poetry from Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass. The favorite in our house was from the latter, the beautifully mocking satire of those two impossible characters, The Walrus and the Carpenter. Mom would recite that poem from memory, and I learned to do the same.

Paul Buchheit now offers us a new version of the first half of that tale with a twist: instead of featuring occasional poems, this author presents us with the entire story in verse. The language, while somewhat modernized, maintains the style of the original 1865 classic. At first, I found it a challenge to read this book-length poem; while the rhyme occurs in couplets (aabb rhyme scheme), the thoughts do not necessarily end with the rhyme. One generally needs to continue reading through a phrase of the line following the couplet to complete the thought. For example, at the end of Chapter 3, The Tiny Doors:

“I’ll never fit my head

through there, and even if my head gets through I dread

to think about the rest of me! Oh, how I wish

that I could crumple like a telescope, and squish

inside the keyhole!” And considering the strange

surroundings, Alice thought her size might really change.

When reading to myself, this didn’t work for me. After a few pages, I decided to read the whole thing aloud, even though no one else was in the room. And that’s when this book came alive for me. I found it a beautiful challenge to read the extended poem in completed thoughts, while still appreciating the end-of-line rhyme. I thoroughly enjoyed the process!

Lewis Carroll’s story has been somewhat simplified for young readers, yet the language of the classic has not been harmed at all. The original 19^th-century sketches have been updated by artist Manahil Khan, while maintaining the sense of humor of the originals and the uniqueness of the characters. Just as with the original, Alice’s Adventures may be read to younger children and shared with older ones, with many pauses along the way to discuss the imaginative events, the chaos, the strange wisdom of the characters, and the language of the writers (both Mr. Carroll and Mr. Buchheit). I can’t wait to share it with my own grandchildren!

Posted December 1, 2022

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Breaking Cover: Poems

By Michael Maul

Amazon Books, 2022

126 Pages

ISBN-13: 9798831760415

Review by Michael Escoubas

This review is reprinted with kind permission from Quill & Parchment

Among the richest of childhood experiences were hunting trips with my father. An expert hunter and bird dog trainer, Dad skillfully worked Lady, our German Weimaraner setter around brush piles in our pasture. He had a good sense about where to find pheasants and quail. Dad cautioned us boys not to panic when our quarry “broke cover.” Inevitably, as Lady went on point, in icy air still as death, Sunday dinner exploded from the brush. 12-gauge shot did its predictable damage. Home, we trudged, with Lady carrying a bird in her tight jaws.

I recalled those hunting trips the moment I read Michael Maul’s title Breaking Cover.

In this review I want to showcase certain poems which “broke my cover.” Poems which startled me, causing a hiccup in my life. The best poets know how to make readers think.

A Word about Style and Format

Maul’s style is conversational. He writes as if he were talking with a friend enjoying soup and biscuits at Pinera’s. Each of the four “books” contains either 15 or 16 poems. However, the individual books do not adhere to strict divisions of theme or content. Many poems rhyme. While I’m not a big fan of rhyme, I like the way this poet uses internal and end-rhyme. He does so without betraying, “Oh, now I have to think up an ending rhyme because, after all, I’m committed to rhyming no matter what.” Observant to a fault, virtually nothing escapes this poet’s notice that cannot be made into a poem. Titles! Maul is good with titles. Who wouldn’t want to read “On Seeing a Teen Girlfriend’s Blouse Displayed in a Vintage Clothing Shop”? Or “Things I Have Heard About You”? Or “To Chinese Hackers Who Stole My Poems”? To readers, I say, “Buckle up for a wild ride!!”

Breaking Cover Book One

I was enchanted with the 7-line poem “Few Finer Things”:

There was a time

when I could image

few finer things

than storks and angels

coming and going,

beginning and ending

our lives with wings.

Poets say familiar things, but they say them in fresh ways, as if it were the first time they were ever said. Here beginnings and endings, alphas and omegas are seen, ascending on the wings of words. Note: “things,” “going,” “ending,” “wings.” Each word knowing where it belongs.

Breaking Cover Book Two

“I Know There Are People” broke my cover in a lovely poem which sheds light on the human condition. From selected stanzas:

I know there are people

who are largely invisible to me.

I don’t know their names,

or where they stay;

I know they are not

who I see on TV.

The poem identifies them as sharing similar life values. But they share them without drawing undue attention to themselves. They know:

We will all be sick, we will all be loved,

we will all doubt ourselves.

We will be given riches unearned.

Knowing joy, knowing sadness.

And when we hate each other,

we will be hating ourselves.

Yes, and yes again, this poem breaks my cover with its truth.

Breaking Cover Book Three

I am stopped “dead in my tracks” by “She Carried Me Just So.” This tender poem chronicles the poet’s mother who had miscarried three times before Michael was born. Ravaged by tuberculosis, she was so proud of her one surviving child, that:

In all the early childhood photos,

including some not far

from the birthing suite,

my mother was always pictured carrying me

strapped to her chest somewhat perilously

with me world-facing out.

Maul writes about his mother regarding him as a special gift to her:

Which is why when we went out

she suspended me from her chest

like a gift

she brought to show the world.

But she was, of course,

the world’s gift to me.

Fighting through years of mother-to-be

then decades of devotion.

My cover is broken by this poem because it brings to mind longings for my own mother who suffered too.

Breaking Cover Book Four

“New Widow in One Chair on the Porch” transported me to a time I dread to face. That time when either me or my wife will put away one chair the other always occupied:

She still sits there

in the shade

hearing sidewalk walkers talk.

But you can see shadows

formed around her eyes,

like the stains on concrete

where, for years,

his matching chair long sat.

This poem, and so many others, broke my cover, like a covey of quail rousted out from the underbrush. Can’t think of anything better for my personal growth than that.

Posted December 1, 2022

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Leave It Raw

By Shakira Croce

Finishing Line Press, 2020

30 Pages

ISBN-13: 978-1-64662-265-8

Review by Michael Escoubas

This review is reprinted with kind permission by Quill & Parchment

As a reviewer the first thing I consider about a collection is the title. Leave it Raw. Who would use those words for a poetry collection and why? I don’t want my food served “raw.” I want it cooked according to the recipe. I don’t want my body rubbed “raw” by the clothes I wear. I want garments whose textures and styles are kind to my body. In conversation, I dislike “raw” language that irritates my sensibilities. Give me well-heeled vocabulary and good verbal manners. Leave it Raw. What is this?

Poet Shakira Croce invites her readers to join her on a journey. It is a pilgrimage of sorts. Croce visits familiar places and experiences. These include making sense out of life after losing everything in a fire (“The Remains”). “Homecoming” returns readers to those long ago days when:

King and Queen

walk down the 50-yard line,

but she feels the arena of eyes

still on her.

“Commuter’s Pastoral” studies a once robust man in the dim light of old age. I give these examples merely to point out that Shakira Croce is a gifted poet. Her poetry paints compelling pictures of reality. Hence, her title, Leave it Raw. When poets tell the truth, the results get our attention. I interpret “raw” in the sense that Croce takes a “fresh” perspective on her subjects.

Croce’s writing style is verse libre. She uses it well. Line break decisions result in pleasant reading cadences. Her poems look good on the page. She varies presentation between couplets, tercets, quatrains and poems without stanza breaks. Croce does not employ end-rhyme. I’m impressed by her craftmanship. Interlinear rhyme, assonance and alliteration are hallmarks of her work.

Earlier I used the term Pilgrimage. Croce includes a poem by that title. I reproduce it here as Exhibit A in my thesis that raw means “freshening of life”:

We can make up time in the air,

the captain explained,

or at least that’s what I understood

between the fuzzy intercom and

broken English,

not mentioning we’d lose

six hours crossing the Atlantic.

They say animals have a different

internal clock, without feeling

passing weeks and years.

Yet the butterfly with a tear

across her right wing

returns at noon each day

to that same turn in the road,

darting between rosemary and dandelions drying

in the honeyed weeds.

The sense of smell is the strongest

for us all to find food, a partner.

Flowers waiting to procreate on a cliff above the sea

bring me back to where I was born.

After spending a lifetime thousands of miles away

that simple power lets me know my home

is not where I live

but a long climb up from Roman rocks and ruins

to the stuff springing from

the uncut earth.

In “Pilgrimage” the poet considers the meaning of place. During a tedious flight across the Atlantic she muses that even a wounded butterfly has a strong sense of belonging. The butterfly returns again and again to those environs which propagate life. The “raw” truth is that occasionally, if we’re looking, we gain a fresh perspective—and life can never be the same again.

This is precisely why Leave it Raw should be in everyone hands. The best poets take the commonplace and infuse it with freshness not thought of before.

Best of all, Shakira Croce’s poetry reflects a good mind. Hers is a mind which takes a deep dive into her subjects. “A Second Honeymoon” demonstrates that Croce knows where her readers live. Two quatrains follow:

Last night I don’t know why

we were fighting.

I think you felt like

everything was on your shoulders.

. . . . . .

It’s time to plan

a break from working our way

up, shift scenery, and

rest our limbs from the climb.

We have come full circle. Leave it Raw, is a pilgrimage down the road of life. Reserve your seat on the plane and buckle up.

Posted November 1, 2022

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American Male

By Steve Henn

Main Street Rag Press, 2022

41 Pages

ISBN-13: 978-1-59948-917-9

Review by Ed Werstein

I believe that a little humor can be an effective tool in poetry, making the poem more memorable. In Steve Henn’s poem, “I Could Have Said This But Instead Controlled Myself,” the opening poem in his collection, American Male, Henn uses humor to good effect. In it the speaker speculates about the nature of God: maybe God loves sports, maybe God loves a champion who gloats, maybe God loathes humility, etc. My favorite lines were these:

“...maybe
The Nuclear Arms Race
jolts up God like
an eleven year old in front
of a tv-full of pro wrestling
sucking down his fifth
can of Jolt! Soda”.

An absurd idea, right? The irony is that religious differences are one of the main things that human beings have warred about throughout history. That kind of pointed humor permeates the poems in this collection. The next poem, “Are You Picking Up What I’m Putting Down?”, contains the lines:

“...isn’t it just like a man to require
reassurance when pretty much the only problem is
he’s being an idiot?…"

This poem also contains the term “toxic masculinity,” and that is what American Male is, an indictment of toxic masculinity. This book explores the many facets of male toxicity from the relatively harmless adolescent pranks of the high school locker room, to the cruel (sometimes bordering on criminal) abuse of both men and women. And in the poem, “A Small Reckoning or Bob-O-Matic”, he lays it right out:

“...this type of thing was always done
by boys…”

While the collection is permeated with effective uses of humor, that is not to say that there are not poignant and downright serious looks at the various manifestations of maleness. To me the title poem, incorporates all of these to great effect. In the first stanza he describes:

“adults who determined that unleashing
a hypercompetitive 9-yr-old contestant
nearly foaming at the mouth
with crazed lust to possess
whatever ball happened to be in play
and put it right where it belonged
would prepare him admirably
for 21^st Century American capitalism
or prison or the Senate…”

I find that funny and deadly serious at the same time. This poem also contains one of the most memorable lines in the entire book: “What nascent genius saddled the American Male with yardwork?” I’d like to know the answer to that question too.

Henn goes into detail about why he doesn’t fish and doesn’t golf. His temper is one factor, but I found one of the other reasons that he doesn’t golf the most compelling:

“The President plays golf too.
Any President. Take your pick.
And there I rest my case
‘cause no ambitious 9-yr-old
with his faculties in tact, capitalist
or otherwise, wants to grow up
imitating that buffoon.”

Henn’s careful titling of his poems added to my enjoyment of this collection. Sometimes I don’t think poets pay enough attention to choosing the right title for what they write. Henn does. From the evocative: “World’s #1 Dad”, and “Once We Got It, We Don’t Want It”; to the humorous,: “How in God’s Holy Name Is This Boy Ever Going to Survive”, and “They Mustache Him Some Questions”, about the deposition of mustachioed National Security Advisor, John Bolton, by the committee investigating a possible Trump impeachment, I was often drawn right into a poem by the title even before reading the first line.

These are important poems written at a time when America is waking up to a problem we need to solve. They are both personal and universal, and delivered with a dollop of humor. I highly recommend this book.

===ABOUT THE REVIEWER: Ed Werstein, is a Board member of the Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets. In 2018 he won the Lorine Niedecker Prize for poetry from the Council for Wisconsin Writers, judged by Nickole Brown. He lives in Milwaukee. www.edwerstein.com.

Posted November 1, 2022

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Chronicle of Lost Moments

By Lara Dolphin

Dancing Girl Press, 2022

35 Pages

ISBN-13: n/a

Review by Michael Escoubas

This review is reprinted with kind permission from Quill & Parchment

Among the many aphorisms uttered by Wallace Stevens is this gem: Poetry is a response to the daily necessity of getting the world right. I have always treasured that quote because it gets to the heart of poetry and why people write poetry. As I immersed myself in Lara Dolphin’s latest chapbook, Chronical of Lost Moments, I was impressed by Dolphin’s eye for detail and heart for the ironies of life. Her poetry demonstrates an affinity akin to Stevens. More on this later.

I lead with the poem which opens the collection: “As The Earth Regards the Anthropocene”:

All our stuff (the concrete the asphalt

the gravel the plastic) outweighs every

living thing on the planet from the Pando

aspens to the pygmy possum—

creation waits for us and while it’s easy

for gestures long-delayed like a greeting card

lost in the mail or a flight stuck on the tarmac—

it’s almost lunch and I’m at the donation center

chatting with Dave as he helps unload a trunk

full of gently-used clothes books and toys—

he’s told me that he’s five months sober

he won’t get the kids for the holiday

I tell him about my job the long hours

the low pay my car that won’t stay fixed

so there we stand among the stuffed animals

and kitchen appliances feeling

the weight of the world on our shoulders.

The title segues into Dolphin’s themes: “Anthropocene” refers to human activity as it relates to climate and environment. I researched Pando aspens and the pygmy possum. A large Pando aspen grove in Utah is in grave danger from several outside influences. I did not know that this tree grove, with its lovely yellow foliage, is the single largest organism in the world and has been around for thousands of years.

There are fewer than 2,000 pygmy possums left in the world. This cute creature is prey to several predators and suffers from a reduction in food supply. These potential losses may seem trivial to some but not to Dolphin. Moving into the heart of the poem, the poet chronicles a series of “ordinary” things common to daily life. These “lost moments” pile on and weigh us down . . . while “creation waits” for meaningful human responses to challenges that could have irreversible impact on life as we know it.

Stylistically, Dolphin writes in free verse. When she uses rhyme, she uses it well. “Lost In L.A.” illustrates:

There is no worry of wind or snow

or time or place in Godot’s Hyperloop below

sidewalks where children run and play

near streets where out-of-towners lose their way.

No trains, parades or fire trucks

no snapping turtles, so safe of ducks

will slow the traffic as it flows

to listen, for what, no one knows.

Where cars sail by on electric skates

and no one sees and nothing waits.

While a variety of environmental themes permeate Dolphin’s Chronicle, poetry as fun and entertaining is important to her. “Pace of Play” pokes fun at baseball. It’s slow pace is about as boring as waiting for the oven to heat. Don’t miss this one!

Dolphin’s heart for her husband showcases one of many tender moments included in Chronicle. Her innate pathos shines in “The Best Time To Plant A Tree”:

we were classmates in seventh grade

hanging out at band practice

riding the same bus home

we made out in high school

then went our separate ways

four years of collect passed

before we met again

and another five years would pass

before you got serious and I got smart

and you asked me to marry you

the fifth anniversary is wood

so let’s plant a tree to celebrate

we make a hole two times larger

than the nursery container is deep

for our hearty Appalachian Redbud

as we dig I try to remember

the last time I told you I love you

that you are my lifesource, my breath

I should have told you twenty years ago

the second best time is now.

I thought the author should have used the title, Chronicle of Lost Moments Recovered. The tenderness and maturity enshrined in the above poem is precisely why. In it Lara Dolphin understands that poetry is a response to the daily necessity of getting the world right.

Posted November 1, 2022

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Long-Distance Romance

By Barbara Eaton

Book Baby, 2022

242 Pages

ISBN-13: 978-1 -66786-026-8

Review by Jacqueline Stearns

Long Distance Romance is a beautifully crafted poetic autobiography. It takes the reader on a fascinating, often tragic journey. Ports of call include family, female friendship, disappointing lovers, education, incest, and mental illness.

Eaton paints her family in shades of love, tenderness, happy memories, pride, and regret. The opening poem, Father Daughter Dance, tells the tale of a young girl and her dad, at a Father Daughter gala. Eaton sets the stage right down to the color scheme. Readers envision pink and white streamers, girls in pastel dresses, fathers in black suits. Eaton wants her dad to be the tallest, handsomest father there. She notices his overcoat isn't new. Eaton realizes she loves her dad, even if he isn't the spiffiest man in the room.

The Best Gift talks about how family traditions are marked by Eaton's mother's cooking. I identify as my mom also expressed love through creating food.

In Pumpkin Patch, Eaton, her two sisters and their parents take a trip to a pumpkin patch. When Eaton returns to the family car with her pumpkin, her sisters are insensitive and treat her cruelly. Neither sibling wants Barbara in the car. Neither one wants to sit on the hump in the middle in the backseat.

In The First Spring Without My Father, we are taken to the funeral of the author's father. Eaton describes military rituals: the playing of Taps, a folded American flag. The line "Please don't put the earth back top of the casket," brings me back to the day of my father's burial. I recall not wanting to leave Daddy in his grave all by himself. Eaton doesn't begin processing her father's death until the following spring.

One of my favorite poems is Pink Cupcakes, a lovely description of a Christening party for Eaton's great niece. Four generations of women are present: Eaton's mother, Eaton and her sisters, her niece, and the new baby. Everyone holds the newest addition to the family. When it's Eaton's turn, she is in baby Heaven.

Listen to me, is a dark disturbing description of the sexual assault the author suffered at the hands of her grandfather. Eaton is traumatized and eventually deals with mental illness. Seclusion talks about Eaton's stay at a mental hospital. She's put on suicide watch.

Having an active dream life, I enjoyed Eaton's dream poems, especially Traveling in My Sleep, which depicts the author's drive to graduate school, a journey which macabre twists and turns. Along way, Eaton ends up in Duluth, and takes a swim in a frozen lake. Then she finds herself driving to work.

Eaton is a Ph.D in Shakespeare and medieval literature and she brilliantly uses this knowledge in her work with several of scenes and characters from Shakespeare’s plays referenced. This book includes sonnets written in the bard's style, golden shovel poems, conversations between Shakespearean characters. These include A Dialogue Between Titania and Oberon, and Twelfth Night, Viola and Orsino.

Much of this book deals with Eaton's graduate school years, and her subsequent romantic entanglement with her Shakespeare professor. They each have assigned roles: she the wide eyed young woman, agog with hero worship; he the jaded older man, stealing her innocence, exploiting her love. Going To Santa Barbara, tells the sad tale of Eaton traveling from Illinois to Santa Barbara to visit her lover. Upon arriving at his home, she is turned away!

Eaton is also involved with Jack, a faithless Romeo, who dates a girl who lives across the hall from Eaton's dorm room. Grudge Poem 4, A postcard From Paris, is Eaton's memory of Jack traveling to Paris with a buddy. After his return, Jack never contacts Eaton, despite sending her a postcard which read, "We have a lot to talk about."

Eaton writes about female friendship. Two Secret Gardens, describes a friendship between Eaton and a girl she met in college who now lives in Germany with her husband. Eaton, yearning for an exciting life in California, never realized her dream. It's a nostalgic piece about shared good times between close friends.

In Her Shoes, introduces the reader to a young woman who shares Eaton's youthful career struggles. She is a lawyer, Eaton is a Shakespearean actress. They've had their ups and downs, and are still together, still sisters.

Barbara Eaton is every woman, writing about life experiences we can all relate to.

Posted November 1, 2022

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Erasing Influences

By R. Bremner

Moonstone Press, 2022

28 Pages

ISBN-13: 9781-954499-87-4

Review by Margaret R. Sáraco

R. Bremner’s collection of erasure poems gives a different slant to old poems. Erasure poems, according to the Academy of American Poets, can also be categorized as blackout poems. If you are unfamiliar, they can take on a variety of forms. As much as poets love form, they equally love breaking the rules.

When writing an erasure, you can challenge a poem by obscuring parts of it to see what remains or begin a new conversation with a poem so something new opens. Poets use a variety of techniques including a black rectangular block to indicate to the reader where the words are scratched out. Poets can delete text and leave white space where words were erased or reformat it entirely so the new and revised poem doesn’t inform the reader where text is missing. Bremner uses the latter two techniques in his chapbook, Erasing Influences.

The author is not afraid of reworking famous poems that some can recite by heart, like in this this example of Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken”:

Two diverged in yellow

sorry I could not be one

As compared to Frost’s famous opening lines, which Bremner reduces:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

Bremner, who has published seven books of poetry including Absurd (Absurdist Poetry from Cajun Mutt Press), and Hungry words (Alien Buddha Press), has a visual acuity of how the words are presented on the page, paramount for erasure poems. The choice of what needs to be removed is as important as what should remain. What it looks like on the page makes erasure poems intriguing, and Bremner satisfies that poetic itch nicely.

In the author’s note, he writes, “All of the poets whose poems I have erased in this volume are greatly respected by me.” The eclectic mixture of poems include: “Morning Song” by Sylvia Plath, “Because I could not stop for Death (479)” by Emily Dickenson, “Mothers” by Nikki Giovanni, “My Shoes” by Charles Simic, “I Loved You Before I Was Born” by Li-young Lee, and others. He even includes Jim Morrison of The Doors (1960s rock band) for “Soul Kitchen.”

Erasing Influences will beg you to find the original poems from this diverse group of poets. You will want to read them side-by-side inviting comparison to continue the conversation Bremner has started for you. As the reader, you complete the artwork: poet, poet, reader—a perfect triple.

There are several poems by John Keats, including “To a Friend who sent me some Roses.” The original poem reads:

As late I rambled in the happy fields,

What time the sky-lark shakes the tremulous dew

From his lush clover covert;—when anew

Adventurous knights take up their dinted shields:

I saw the sweetest flower wild nature yields,

A fresh-blown musk-rose; ‘twas the first that threw

Its sweets upon the summer: graceful it grew

As is the wand that queen Titania wields.

And, as I feasted on its fragrancy,

I thought the garden-rose it far excell’d:

But when, O Wells! thy roses came to me

My sense with their deliciousness was spell’d:

Soft voices had they, that with tender plea

Whisper’d of peace, and truth, and friendliness unquell’d.

Compare this to Bremner’s version:

“An erasure of John Keats ‘To a friend who sent me some roses’”

I rambled in

time:

I saw wild nature

I feasted on

thought

and truth.

In this moment, the reader is down a road, perhaps rarely taken, and what they might find is space to think differently, and perhaps discover something else entirely.

=== ABOUT THE REVIEWER: Margaret R. Sáraco’s full length poetry collection, If There Is No Wind (Human Error Publishing), was released in 2022. She has published her poems and short stories in many journals and anthologies. She was a semi-finalist for the inaugural Laura Boss Foundation Narrative Book contest and received Honorable Mention for a poem in the Allen Ginsberg Poetry contest.

Posted November 1, 2022

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To Talk of Many Things: Selected Poems

By Richard Greene

Jumble Books & Publishing, 2021

239 Pages

ISBN-13: 9780645343762

Review by Michael Escoubas

This review is reprinted with kind permission from Quill & Parchment

As I sit before my writing table on this date, September 8, the news is dominated by the death of Queen Elizabeth II. She was 96 years old. Her remarkable reign spanned 70 years, 15 British Prime Ministers, 14 American Presidents. Queen Elizabeth was a living witness to an incredible amount of history.

I thought about that as I finished reading Richard Greene’s superb collection, To Talk of Many Things: Selected Poems. Also, in his 9^th decade, this amazing writer calls upon the resources of his life and times to create a collection rich in nostalgia, history, and practical life experiences. I found myself pausing, placing myself within his poems, thinking, Ah, yes! I remember that very thing so vividly.

When Greene announces that he is talking about many things, that is precisely what he means. Through 239 poems, there are few subjects that DO NOT find a place within his purview.

Richard Greene writes in Free Verse. His diction is crisp, friendly, accessible. He invites readers to join him on the patio for coffee and bagels shmeared with honey nut spread. However, don’t accept the invitation if you are looking for easy answers to life’s hard questions. This poet is wise, funny and best of all, ironic. Good poets surprise you at the end. I was continually surprised and chagrined.

I begin with “Confession”:

I’m a serial poet.

many times I’ve committed poetry,

taken an image, a feeling, a thought, a phrase

and manhandled it into a poem

I plead in mitigation

that it’s a crime of passion.

Or is it temporary insanity?

Your reviewer never saw that ending coming!! It’s like that throughout the collection. Just when I thought I had the poet “pegged” he turned the tables on me. That is exactly what makes this collection stand out.

Greene’s poems are about life, about things he saw or liked. “First Snow” was written in November of 1952 and reflects a certain “universal” mood:

Rain comes

painting a thousand mirrors

on the pavement,

a dense panorama

half formed

as in a dream.

Vehicles ply with caution

the melting streets,

the landscape in pools.

Then snow.

A man hurries by my window

his coat collar turned up round his chin.

As noted above, Greene has a special capacity for placing readers “in” his poems. The commonplace is among the poet’s favorite themes. After all, among the possible purposes of poetry, is elevating the ordinary. This happens in “Everyday Things”:

The sky that’s always with us

in light or darkness,

a radiance of moon,

the seasons,

the tree behind the house,

the birds that sing so tirelessly in its branches,

the shadow of leaves on a wall,

a spouses touch.

Should we cherish them any the less

for being commonplace?

Poems with titles such as “Firefly Time,” “Pie,” “Old Furnace,” “Smiles,” “Pudding,” and “Rain,” delighted me in elevating the ordinary—this is what poetry, at its best, should do.

Greene worked much of his life in a government position which afforded him travel opportunities to the “uttermost” parts of the world. He devotes several poems to his experiences in exotic places. You won’t want to miss these. I was especially moved by “Earthquake, Port-au-Prince, 2010”:

If we could hear all the cries from Haiti

we’d clap our hands over our ears

our faces twisted in pain.

If we could hear all the cries

from around this world

on almost any day

We’d be pressed to the ground

as if by a raging hurricane,

but we’ve learned not to listen,

or maybe never learned to hear.

My wife and I recently observed our 53^rd wedding anniversary. Greene includes several tender and wise poems about marriage. “Silver Is the Color of My True Love’s Hair,” resonated with both me and my wife:

as if some cunning craftsman

had spun metal

into silken thread.

It was chestnut brown when we met.

Her skin, all smooth then,

has begun to show fine webs

and is slack under her once firm chin.

But, when I look on her, I think

this is the girl I wed

and feel the need to kiss her cheek

or, if she’s bent over some task,

the nape of her neck

or, if she’s sitting with the hem of her dress

resting on her thighs,

to reach out and touch her knee.

Richard Greene dedicates this collection to his 8^th grade English teacher, Mrs. McCracken. Didn’t most of us have a Mrs. McCracken in our lives? I can’t help thinking that on a spring day in May, Mrs. McCracken, walked by Richard’s desk, peered over his shoulder, and found him writing something like this:

It was fine today,

this fifteenth of May,

flocks of fleecy clouds

grazing in cornflower fields

watered by yesterday’s rain.

To Talk of Many Things, by Richard Greene, will not disappoint. This collection does more than merely “talk.” It invites readers to walk in fields watered by yesterday’s rain.

Posted October 1, 2022

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Self-Portrait with Thorns

By Gail Goepfert

Glass Lyre Press, 2022

88 Pages

ISBN-13: 978-1-947-783-788

Review by Michael Escoubas

This review is reprinted with kind permission from Quill & Parchment

In one of the poems from a recent collection by your reviewer, I took on the daunting task of writing a poem about Frida Kahlo’s iconic 1929 painting, The Bus. In researching Kahlo’s life, as I prepared to write my poem, I learned about the incredible suffering she had endured. Here is an excerpt from “Broken”:

How much suffering can one life take?

the bus crash at age 18

the crushed foot

the dislocated shoulder

the broken collar bone, ribs and leg

the same leg would get gangrene

and yield to temptation

the spine and pelvis splintered into pieces

your life, like that of Jesus, disfigured,

acquainted with suffering.

My brief linkage to Frida Kahlo’s life became a clarifying lens in my reading of Gail Goepfert’s moving new collection, Self-Portrait with Thorns. Goepfert’s choice of title is a shortening of one of Kahlo’s most famous works, Self-Portrait with Thorn, Necklace and Hummingbird, (1940).

It is hard to say which of Frida Kahlo’s 200 paintings is the most famous or the most valuable. Today, Kahlo’s paintings are considered priceless national trea-sures by her native country, Mexico.

Of far greater import to her disciples is Kahlo’s life-example of her life. Her lifelong joust with suffering has served to infuse fresh vigor into sister sufferers. Gail Goepfert is among those. As author Emily Pérez points out, Frida Kahlo “serves as mentor, muse, and mirror” for Goepfert, “as she negotiates her own life with chronic pain.”

A Word about Style

Goepfert’s writing style reflects her subject. Of the 47 poems comprising the collection, roughly 15 feature indentations which dance all over the printed page. The majority reside flush left against the margin. While I am not a fan of “wildly” indented poems, Goepfert has convinced me otherwise. Presentation on the page is often crucial to message. I have not always appreciated this. How does a poet depict acute suffering? How does she present chaos? How does she convey anguish that seemingly has no explicable beginning and no ending in sight?

These poems slowed me down. I became more deliberate. Enjoyment increased. Goepfert’s style has everything to do with substance. Here is an example from “A Mind on Pain”:

a fistful of amber

buffets the window—

the blind’s slats

splinter

light into golden bars

still morning

lie down just a minute breathe

The poet’s decisions about phrase-placement and even line-spacing are strategic. Part of a plan to move the reader in a certain direction. The best poets know how to do this.

Clearly, Goepfert has studied Kahlo’s life and work. This does not mean that her poetry plays the role of sycophant. An excerpt from “Guilty” offers a marvelous contextual perspective on what the artist’s life means to her:

Guilty [The Poet Says]

of falling in with worshipers

who would make Frida an icon,

I’m swayable when the earth splits,

drawn to her spine and flaw

and ripeness—she, an incarnation

of fresh courage. She does not veil

her image behind a scrim of muslin.

I too latch on to her painted mayhem

in undiluted color on canvas,

mingle with her idolators.

The poem continues toward a lovely conclusion in which the poet finds in Kahlo’s life a “pattern” for her own life . . . “the rough fabric of her.”

Self-Portrait with Thorns is an ekphrastic collection which responds to the great diversity of Frida Kahlo’s work. It is hard to produce one definitive term to describe Kahlo as a painter. Surrealism comes to mind. However, Kahlo refuses to be run into a corner. I have seen the term “broken woman art.” I like that. Kahlo’s paintings constitute a kind of self-awareness with many tears. The many facets of her sufferings are more than most people ever experience. Yet, there is no extreme in common experience that Kahlo’s life doesn’t touch. This is the key to Goepfert’s collection. She and so many other women have, at last, found a sister that knows and appreciates who they are and what they go through.

A side benefit for this reviewer has been an increased interest in going online to view the art of Frida Kahlo. I was captivated. I was moved. Her paintings spoke to me.

I wondered what it might be like to sit in Frida Kahlo’s presence, if only for a moment. Goepfert anticipated my question, in her poem, “If I Could Lunch with Frida, I’d Tell Her Why”:

I’ve turned my gaze to her body

punctured, crooked

like a young cypress

bent to the spoils of wind—

willing her limbs to swallow

what comes.

Our bodies, hers and mine,

have an appetite for pain.

What is there to do when

betrayal wears pants—or skirts.

In the glow of a cigarette’s burn,

she tosses ash. Swears.

Withdraws. I bottle up.

Fish for the solace of sea.

We scrabble about for remedies.

Frantic. Feed an obsession for answers.

Does she catalog hope

the way I do—

by the timbre of a doctor’s voice?

by the list of doctors yet unseen,

the treatments yet untried?

I window her eyes—

will myself

to be fierce like Frida.

Posted October 1, 2022

apparitions

By Amelia Cotter

Highland Park Poetry Press, 2022

54 Pages

ISBN-13: 978-0-578-34331-0

Review by Michael Escoubas

This review is reprinted with kind permission from Quill & Parchment

Sylvia Plath was one of the 20^th century’s most important poets. While Plath’s poetry reveals the mind of a genius, she was also among the most troubled and tragic poets of her time. In his book, We Begin in Gladness: Essays in How Poets Progress, Craig Morgan Teicher, writes, “The voluminous critical conversation about Sylvia Plath has tended to orbit a few topics: her suicide, of course, and the ways mental illness and madness perhaps predicted her death and marked her poetry.” Indeed, Plath herself, describes her mental condition just prior to her death with these words:

“owl’s talons clenching my heart.”

I thought about Plath as I read Amelia Cotter’s bold new collection, apparitions. Unless a person has lived with mental illness, (as Cotter has) it is impossible to appreciate the level of anguish involved when owl’s talons clench the heart.

Cotter’s collection features modern haiku, prose poetry and haibun, all skillfully knitted together to chronicle a journey from darkness into light.

The introduction sets the stage. Using key words: anxiety, depression, isolation, and trauma, Cotter speaks to readers where they live. She then counterbalances with: hope (found in connection with people), reconciliation, redemption, resiliency. Having experienced two occasions of suicide within my extended family, I quickly sat up and paid attention to Cotter’s plain-spoken outreach to the hurting.

dog’s distant yelp—

my helplessness

measured in yards

This modern haiku pulls back the curtain of despair which visited Cotter’s life. When I say “visited” I don’t mean a quick hit, then blue skies. I mean an uninvited relative who takes up residence, unpacks his suitcase and settles in. Her prose poem, “The Second City” describes a life-threatening diagnosis:

I battled Stage IV Hodgkin lymphoma at the age of 22

with a fiery fortitude and fearlessness that, over time,

has come to burn more like a decorative, scented candle

than the Great Fire it once was.

This well-crafted poem goes on to profile a raft of challenges that brings into stark relief the symbolism of the dog’s distant yelp—

It is also evident from the above excerpt that Cotter came to terms with her diagnosis to the point where it came to “burn more like a decorative, scented candle / than the Great Fire it once was.”

This is what I like about Cotter’s apparitions. This poet is a fighter. Her use of the term “apparitions” suggests phenomena that rise unexpectedly, then recedes as mysteriously as they appeared. “A Haunting,” describes a childhood experience in which the author is chased by a rabid German shepherd. The frightened youth ran for her life until:

I ducked between two cars for the safety of the sidewalk

and the condo building my friend lived in. It

It [the dog] darted suddenly up a hill and disappeared around a corner,

as if it had never been there at all.

At some point beyond a multitude of ghostly figures entering and exiting her life, Cotter’s narrative reaches a “volta” or “turn.” Cotter decides, within her life and within her poetry, to shed darkness as one sheds a bad night’s sleep. She fights upward and outward, like a swimmer giving all her strength in a push toward the surface.

In an age of ever-increasing numbers of people suffering from various forms of mental illness, apparitions by Amelia Cotter is a must read. Cotter’s work sets forth the importance of decisions made amid the crises of life. “Pearl Divers” is a gem waiting to be opened:

Haven’t I always been some composite of lonely and

sad? Jonathan, too. We can either navigate this together or

on our own, searching hopefully in each other’s direction.

confluence

of winding rivers . . .

your hand in mine

Posted October 1, 2022

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A Matter of Dark Matter

By Kate Hutchinson

Kelsay Books, 2022

85 Pages

ISBN-13: 9781639801060

Review by Michael Escoubas

This review is reprinted with kind permission from Quill & Parchment

I love book titles. I usually process titles easily. However, Kate Hutchinson’s newest collection A Matter of Dark Matter, drove me to Webster’s. Why? The term “matter” may be the most common word we never think about as we say it. Matter is physical. Matter is intangible. The finger that bleeds when I cut it matters to me physically … OUCH!!! But it also matters intangibly because it captures who I really am under duress. (A few unrepeatable words usually follow!!) The distinction between physical substance and spiritual revelation quite often takes me to task. Thus it is that Kate Hutchinson’s unique collection offers an intellectual and emotional smorgasbord of poetry.

I also love book covers. Hutchinson’s visual, created by Taneli Lahtinen, masterfully adds to the mix of wonder suggested by Hutchinson’s title. Life has limitations. Conversely, life is transcendent, the human psyche desires more, pines to reach beyond imposed limits. As human beings, we are like a candle’s flame tearing at the wick. What is left after the flame disappears?

A Matter of Dark Matter is organized into five untitled sections. Each section is impressive in its variety of poetic styles and literary devices. Hutchinson is intellectually sharp as well as emotionally sensitive. A rare combination. I like the way she bridges the gap between the world we experience with the five senses and the impact that same world has on the human spirit.

Let’s explore Hutchinson’s title poem in this regard:

         A Matter of Dark Matter

         Dark matter is like an overflowing cup,
         the present moment resting at the surface,
         the great beyond bubbling up into supernovas.

         Above the rim, time accelerates into
         the mystery of the dark, overwhelming
         the five percent that we can see and touch.

         What lies out there, above the holy grail of time?
         No one knows, though Einstein told us
         It was not nothing. A matter of some consequence.

         Darkness matters–a thought unsettling
         to those of us who live in light. So how
         reassuring to know dark matter is not full

         of Massive Compact Halo Objects (MACHOs)
         but Weakly Interacting Massive Particles (WIMPS)–
         NASA’s little joke spinning around us,

         helping us believe no particle wars seem
         imminent in space. Still, light years away
         float the memories of collided galaxies,

         one called–of course–Pandora’s Cluster.
         Here, tiny sparks still hurtle out into
         the vast darkness, their fate unknown.

For Hutchinson, dark matter is like an overflowing cup. She is aware of the present moment resting at the surface, as well as the great beyond bubbling up into supernovas. The poet embodies both the largeness of space as represented by science, with where we live: in the present moment. Her reference to the holy grail of time, suggests a quest motif. Life for this poet is never static. She is “all in” about life. Life is finite. Life is infinite. In the end all of life matters. Her quest is for the “holy grail” of a meaningful life.

For this reviewer the title poem provides a basic framework for the whole. Through a variety of forms: sonnets, unrhymed quatrains, villanelles, golden shovel poems,* free verse, and poems with indentations dancing all over the page, Hutchinson’s journey is a journey freely shared.

*The last words of each line in a golden shovel poem are words from a line found in another poem or text, used in order.

Childhood memories are important for Hutchinson. In part III, many poems with titles like, “Around the World in Fourth Grade,” “After Ice Skating,” “Lions Park Pool,” “Busse Woods, 1970,” and “The Anointing,” paint compelling scenes of a young girl coming of age. These exquisite poems placed me in the poet’s skin. Light and dark mix and mingle. Mystery and majesty become a single being.

Poet Joanna Klink has written, “In my poems I am trying to find my bearings through a world that at times feels remote and inchoate and struck blank with noise.” Kate Hutchinson feels something similar. The poet needs these poems; she intuitively senses that we need these poems.

With Klink’s insight in mind, part IV features several poems about Hutchinson’s middle-adult years. These gems cast light on losing one’s last parent, musings of a mother who, “After your children are asleep, you open / a window to breathe deep the lilac air … [she wonders] would you choose all this again?” This is tender, contemplative writing. In other poems Hutchinson takes on issues such as depression, agoraphobia, and the aftermath of a nervous breakdown. In “Jettison” she faces the reality that even her children will not want those things which, for her, are treasures. Here is an excerpt:

         To approach our waning years is to decide
         when something’s usefulness outweighs
         its sentiment or pure delight. How will we know
         when it’s time to part with the beads and baubles,
         to strip down to seashell white, empty shelves,
         a clear mind, and simple mat on the floor?

In Kate Hutchinson’s work we encounter a finished poet. Her poetry has touched my life. At the end of her volume, she ties a ribbon around the holy grail of time, by writing a poem entitled, “It All Matters: An Abecedarian of 2020.” Do yourself a favor, don’t miss this poem.

Posted September 5, 2022

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Human Cicada

By Carlos Cumpián

Prickly Pear Publishing & Nopalli Press, 2021

112 Pages

ISBN-13: 978-1889568102

Review by Yolanda Nieves

Carlos Cumpián’s much anticipated book of poetry, Human Cicada, is his fifth collection of poems—a breadbasket of delicious truth-telling iced with magical reality. The words come together in a kaleidoscope of memories, ancestral voices, and reflections that read like testimonios—first person accounts of historical events through first-person perspectives. The poems, a highway connecting a life of experiences in the inner-city with images excavated from hallow memories forged in the American west and in American south, Cumpián’s poetry allows us to cross bridges that deepen our understanding of the everyday events that flutter by while we forget to notice. The poems also act as arrows that point to the Brown and Black bodies who metaphorically live under the bridges of our cold-steeled society—those who scavenge for food, sage broken bodies, and can’t remember their personal links to geographic spaces. Like the cicada sound, created by the insects’ tymbals that drum against its body, this book of poetry trembles with the loud music of life’s troubles and uncelebrated triumphs. The words show us how we can live many lives at the same time and not lose the essence of who we are. The poems, as a collection, toll a bell—una campana of counter narratives urging us to remember to honor the voices of our ancestors and take note of narratives that have been largely ignored by mainstream publishers.

Human Cicada kicks back at the “one-voice” and “one-tongue” monotone so often prominent in traditional poetry collections. Unapologetically, Cumpián shares his poems in English, Spanish, Spanglish, Nahuatl, and Lakota. The intersection of languages creates a constellation of movement to the poems that give the reader a glimpse to a deep historical essence that has been largely ignored in mainstream literature. In that way, Cumpián guides our consciousness to remember people whom we are taught to forget. In “It is dream” Cumpián writes:

We emerge from the dark charcoal blanket of night,

our ancestors foraged for more than food,

they generated the genius seed of all Toltecs.

It is too big for hooks, spears, arrows, or nets.

There are poems like “Beauty and the Blade” and “Daughters” where Cumpián reflects on the day-to-day events that color the lives of women so often deemed invisible. Other poems examine our humanity with a clear justified voice of social criticism that relate the spiritual and tangible complications of being Mexicano, Latino/a, indigenous, and multilingual all at the same time.

As our lives continue to be imbued with unreliable information from media sources, and with no one stepping up with a clear plan on how to uplift our humanity toward one another, we must rely on our writers and poets, like Cumpián, whose powerful poetry blossoms from strong roots and declares how the embodiment of human goodness remains in the hands of everyday people. The poems will make you want to shapeshift into a poet. In the poem “Yo Homie, Mexica Tiacauh!” Cumpián’s words resonate as a call to action to speak truth to power:

Don’t be afraid to say it! We affirm that it’s our turn

To go forward, advancing as you help others.

Let’s not be reduced to fragment phrases,

Leaving but a few palabras to heat our chocolate

And our chili, mi estimado amigo con su cara

De nopalito, let me ask you,

Tehuatzin ti Mexikatl? /Are you Mexican, valiant one?

Finally, the valiant collection of memories set to poetry in Human Cicada, acts as a guidebook on how to (re)-view the world, both past and present. A portal that so rarely opens for readers of poetry, Cumpián’s writing is an example of what happens when poets listen to ancestral voices that whisper in their ears. It is like the sunrise that sheds light on a cloudy horizon; voices that have been ignored are lifted to the sky as the written word. Gladly, our poet accepted the call to listen and write Human Cicada. And like the sweaty garment worker embraced by her lover at the end of the day, or the parents who sign in relief with the quiet of children sleeping, we can welcome the Human Cicadas’ song into the canon of fine poetry.

=== ABOUT THE REVIEWER: Dr. Yolanda Nieves, a lifelong Humboldt Park ( Chicago) resident, is an Associate Professor of English at Wright College in Chicago. A multi-genre writer, her research and creative work centers marginalized voices.

Posted September 1, 2022

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The most beautiful garden

By Nikita Rimal Sharma

Yellow Arrow Publishing, 2022

72 Pages

ISBN-13: 979-8985070408

Review by Carol L. Gloor

Nikita Rimal Sharma’s first book, The most beautiful garden, is a story of a young woman learning to speak in her own voice, not in the voice others expect, especially the stereotyped voice of an Asian woman. She explores her roots in family and place, and the way in which she both loves them and needs to separate from them.

Her love of family is most evident in the lovely title poem, in which she speaks of her mother’s dresses and physical presence as a garden:

My Taa dresses up everyday

in the brightest shades of yellow and red

. . . . .

a fragrant bush of roses—

enamored by beauty,

guarded by thorns.

But as the last line suggests, with “thorns,” this bright dress can also be a prison of meeting others’ expectations, as in “Mental health of a South Asian woman”:

So she hides

behind the mask of vibrant red outfits and dangling bangles

. . . . .

“A good woman sacrifices, compromises, smiles always

While the poet embraces her Asian heritage, she is also determined to use that heritage in her own way. In “Unresolved trauma” she speaks of “the remains of my childhood” as “crumbled letters from unrequited love” which she must now read and “Let the tears flow/cut the nets/wipe the shadows.” In “English is my second language” she describes how her “tongue rolls thicker, /invites second glances when I say water,” but clearly, she is willing to continue this struggle.

The strength of these poems is their specificity and use of sustained metaphors. In “Stone, the pit bull terrier,” a dog is lovingly described:

his meaty body sat on my lap, barely fitting,

warm, tiger striped, soft to the touch, strong,

smelling of lavender shampoos and musty rain.

The poem “Raindrops on my window” has an almost Emily Dickinson quality as “a droplet of rain runs through my windowpane and joins another droplet. / They flow together as if they were never separate”. In “House of anxiety” fear becomes “a clear glass house” which both protects and imprisons. Again sustaining a metaphor, in “(not) just a match stick,” the poet becomes that match stick which at first seems “feeble” but then becomes a “light of other light sources.”

But too often these fine specifics are drowned in generalities, particularly at the end of poems. In “Space” the poet compares her voice to a painting, but ends with generalities of “kindness and healing/for you and others,” language right out of a self-help book. Or in “You watered my wildflower roots,” the poet addresses her lover as one “who saw the twisted corners of my being,” an acceptable beginning, but then that insight devolves into “understanding, love and space,” generalities that could describe any nice feelings, when what we are really looking for is more about the lover’s hands, eyes, mouth, etc. Or even worse, some poems are just generalities, little sermons that take us nowhere. In “Maybe this is how we can make the world a better place,” we are advised to “love people when it’s hard to do so,” to forgive people for “everything they aren’t,” and express “gratitude for everything they are.” And in “Gunshots” the poet takes on our endemic gun violence in a series of standard phrases and ends with a question about the lives of those killed, stressing that they were “living, breathing, growing” people, when what we really need is a focus on one specific life we can care about.

The book is worth reading for its aforesaid gems, even though they sometimes might be hidden or overshadowed by meaningless generalities. And for the poet, this is a fine beginning, but she needs to get out her blue pencil for her next book.

Posted September 1, 2022

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February's Rose

By Bing Hua

Translation by Yingcai Xu

Finishing Line Press, 2022

140 Pages

ISBN-13: ‎ 978-1646627820

Review by Michael Escoubas

*This review is published here with kind permission from Quill & Parchment

The esteemed early 20th century novelist Willa Cather (1873-1947) once wrote:

“Many people seem to think that art is a luxury to be imported and tacked on to life. Art springs out of the very stuff that life is made of. Art must spring out of the fulness and richness of life.”

Although Cather was a novelist and Bing Hua a poet, I sense an affinity between them. Both understand the purpose of art. Both instill the idea that life and art cannot be separated. Both know love. Both know disappointment. Both know loss and the joy of recovering stronger and better in the face of loss.

February’s Rose, superbly translated by Yingcai Xu, portrays life with a strong sense of where people live. Intuitively, the poet captures the ironies of love. She does this in smooth, economical lines. With no end-line punctuation, readers enjoy close access to the poet’s mind and heart. She comes across as genuine and accessible. Her poems resonate with tensions of self-understanding; fears of what to do next, and joys triumphant in the human spirit.

Organized into seven sections, February’s Rose, combines seasonal themes with cor-responding seasons of the heart. The sections include: I. The Sunflower, II. February’s Rose, III. That Summer, IV. The Lotus’ Obsession, V. Never Invest in Love, VI. A Hand Fan, and VII. The Scarf of the Moonlight. Even the section titles evoke interest.

Notice the confluence of city, nature and love in this excerpt from “The Sound of Silence”:

          On the busy modern street
          Who runs to the spring of heart

          Bathing in the morning rays of materials
          And keeping off from the moonlight of sexual desire
          Loneliness
          Is the biting wind of winter

          Long black hair
          That drifts in the wind
          Lacerates the air

          When the sound of silence
          Wafts over from the distance
          Nobody can hear it
          That is the gurgling of a rill
          And the throbbing of a mountain

You won’t want to miss how the poet uses the sound of silence to create a memorable moment of love.

Love is Bing Hua’s overriding theme. She includes virtually every month and season of the year showing connections between the outer world of nature and the inner (and often invisible) world of human nature.

Bing Hua’s talent for personification is displayed in “The Amorous Knot of June”:

          Closer and closer, the blue sky
          Walks on white clouds into my heart

          In June’s garden
          Every night, new plants sprout
          Every morning, new flowers bloom

          June’s ocean
          Is a dream to embrace the blue sky
          Is a wing to heave splashes

          A white sail glides to the distance
          Lightly and evenly stretching out
          The colors of the blue sky and the ocean

          On the wind-touched riverbank
          Two coconut palms stand hand in hand
          But cannot tie the amorous knot

Here, the poet is in love with nature. She invokes a kind of emotional completion, which is satisfying to her contemplative heart. Never one to provide an easy answer to life’s challenges, “Two coconut palms stand hand in hand / But cannot tie the amorous knot.”

The poem “Spring” brings Emily Dickinson to mind:

          I wonder what type of fan spring uses
          That has fanned the grass green and flowers red
          I wonder what type of comb spring uses
          That has spruced up the gardens and streets

          I only see
          A fresh and bright rose in the garden
          Blooming in the most eye-catching place
          A wedding float in the street
          Coming from where birds come

          O, spring, you are so sweet and charming
          I want to be the bride of spring too

Love, for this poet, extends beyond human love. Bing Hua feels encircled by love. Possessed by the world’s beauty, and like Dickinson, her work is punctuated with wonder.

As with her section titles, her poem titles attract interest: “Come on Over,” “Why,” “My Longing for You Is Like Snow,” “Fish Begin to Chuckle,” “Teeth,” “Dust,” and “The Scarf of Moonlight,” to name but a few.

Throughout February’s Rose, Bing Hua’s poetry exhibits craftsmanship, maturity and clarity of purpose.

All of this is superbly illustrated in “If I Were Wind”:

          If I were wind
          I would fly and fly
          Till I alight on his shoulders
          If I were wind
          I would blow and blow
          To blow my love into his heart

Yes, Willa Cather would be proud; because, like Cather, Bing Hua’s art springs from the fulness and richness of life.

Posted September 1, 2022

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A Letter to You

By Darius Strong & Lola Writes

Independent, 2021

58 Pages

ISBN-13: 979-8434106788

Review by Barbara Eaton

“A Letter to You,” by Darius Strong and Lola Writes is a sweet little book. The idea is a good one: following the progression of a love relationship from first crush through dating, the honeymoon phase, disillusionment, and, finally, reconciliation. “He Say,” is a wonderful poem, with rich, fresh imagery. “Write me a love note,” too, is an outstanding poem. Some of the others, however, are a little predictable as love poetry.

I want to tell the poets that poetry doesn’t have to rhyme, that youthful angst doesn’t last forever. If it is meant to be, your love will ripen and deepen as the years go by. By all means, give this sweet little book a chance. The whimsical words and definitions that begin each chapter are delightful, as are the illustrations. A valentine of young love. And love must be protected and nurtured wherever we find it.

===ABOUT THE REVIEWER: Barbara Eaton is a poet and semi-retired community college instructor.

Posted September 1, 2022

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Stash

By Miriam Sagan

Cyberwit.net, 2022

48 Pages

ISBN-13: 9788182539266

Review by Tricia Knoll

Miriam Sagan could be called a writer’s writer. To me that means she covers the terrain from memoirist, poet, essayist, blogger at Miriam’s Well, and teacher – beginning with little slips of paper of youth and continuing to sneak-write poems at a Zen monastery when she was supposed to be studying Buddhist texts. She does all of this with an open heart and skilled craft.

Stash suggests that a stash can be a little box full of your old treasures in your mother’s attic. Or a mind holding snippets of memories, bits of the past that are the perfect subjects for short and flash poems that provide insights into how to be, how to live, how to love. She metaphorically explores the past’s boxes, some of which may be translucent. She writes in “Stash It,” “ I experienced these times with some innocence. I didn’t necessarily know what things meant until later.”

These twenty-six pieces of prose and poetry combine many examples of the stash. Sagan offers compact memories: first painting class, dyslexic encounters with words and texts, visits to the Plaza Hotel that freed the family from everyday routine, love making in Manhattan, reactions to My Lai that governed her reaction to war forever, an appreciation of Paul Klee’s painting “Night Fishing.”

Time has given her a perspective on these memory bits resonant with meaning. She addresses husbands, time, parents, self and love. At the conclusion of “Why I am Not a Monk” she writes:

I tell myself, thinking of the corruption of the world and how it has worn me down. I’m going to take vows and shave my head.

Then I just write some haiku instead.

naked zazen

by the small pool, long-bodied

wasps skim along

windowsill Buddha

in his robe, me

in my nightie

As for many of us, parents have their roles here as both strict guidance counselors and forgiving nurturers. Her mother answers a complex question about a Nazi breeding program in “Lebensborn” with one word and Sagan records, “Yes, she said, That was all but it was enough.” After a time at the Plaza Hotel with her father during the Hong Kong flu pandemic, she concludes, “In many ways, my father was my first and ongoing introduction to the complexity of human reality.”

What’s remarkable in Stash is that her finely-hewn stories about her memories inspire readers (that would be me) to examine our own memory stashes, vignettes that glitter like the snow globes Sagan describes shaking in “In Autumn.” At the end of book, she concludes with “Winter,”

Evening, snow so cold! New notebook.

soon I’ll be leaving

a line of footprints

on the blank page

Yes, I loved this collection for its openness, humor, storytelling, and the magic Sagan pieces together as she reviews what her stash meant. Her stories helped me recall my own.

===ABOUT THE REVIEWER: Tricia Knoll is a Vermont poet whose work appears widely in journals and anthologies. She has five published collections in print – Checkered Mates out from Kelsay Books in 2021 and Let’s Hear It for the Horses from The Poetry Box in 2022. Two more collections are coming out in early 2023 – One Bent Twig from FutureCycle Press and Wild Apples from Fernwood Press. Knoll loved the haiku workshop she took from Miriam Sagan. Website: triciaknoll.com

Posted August 1, 2022

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iLearn, iTeach

By Kathrine Yets

Cyberwit.net, 2022

47 Pages

ISBN-13: 978-9390601554

Review by Bill Cushing

In her third chapbook, iLearn, iTeach, Wisconsin poet Katherine Yets returns to Cyberwit for another volume.

Divided roughly into two halves that follow her chosen title, the first part, 11 pages long, moves the reader through remembrances and lessons from childhood, whether those be the poet’s own or her view of what affected or afflicted others. That section is followed by the bulk of her pieces that focus on her life and memories as a teacher.

The second “half,” actually the bulk of the work, focuses on her time as an educator. Even the “Acknowledgements” notes give “the biggest of hugs to my fellow teachers and the students who I have worked with.”

With titles such as “Meeting the Parents,” whose children are seen as “My Zombies,” Yets delves into her professional world as candidly as she does the personal in the first section.

One of the strengths in her writing is imagery. In spite of its title, “Creative Congestion” opens with strength as Yets notes:

An infection in my soul

Chakras out of synch

The colors pallid

Where did my rainbow go?

However, Yets doesn’t rely solely on deft manipulation of image to buttress her work. Most of her poems are first-person narratives that expose the deeply personal aspect of a life.

The volume opens with “During the War,” a short narrative of memory based on viewing the photography of Brittany Sanchez. “When I Was 13” represents the confessional aspects of the work first seen in Yets’s collection and ends by informing readers:

and I am writing poems

about a life that seems so distant

but was mine.

Her honesty can be particularly brutal when relating a bad memory. This is seen when “My Mother’s Lover” immediately moves into “Joists,” a fitting title not only because it plays with the sound of “joy”—a word repeated in the last line—but also because the poem acts as a plank joining the memory of this piece with the previous poem as well as the next one, “Unlove.”

When Yets delves into her professional world, she is equally straightforward. “An A” could have been observations of a Tracy Flick clone except the student in question “swore like a bartender.”

“Learning Haiku” presents a scene wherein the narrator learns by teaching, discovering while her students are “coughing their words,” they’re “enriched with their ideas.” What makes this revelation so poignant is the choice of the preposition “with” instead of “by.” This lets us know that the enrichment isn’t a cause-and-effect process but one of symbiotic growth and maturation.

“My Favorite,” a touching scenario that deals with the narrator trying to reassure a child who has apparently been bullied or denigrated in some way, reappears later as part of “Journals.” In it, Yets reveals how:

I wanted to tell you I loved you,

and everything would be okay

today, tomorrow, and the next day,

but I think you knew.

Still, it is how Yets closes each poem that really captures one’s attention. She becomes like a poetic O. Henry, surprising readers. Witness the closing lines of “Unlove,” which focuses on the rationalization of an abusive husband seen through the eyes of his daughter who learns:

How to wrap memories in newspaper

and keep them in a box.

There is a universality to “Avoiding,” which dwells on the distractions we all seem to use to postpone work tasks. The speaker drifts, albeit with purpose, while she wonders:

What does my eye color mean?

Google, Google, Google.

Scroll my walls.

Wash my walls.

That picture on the wall looks crooked.

Yets finally admonishes herself by realizing that she:

Should probably do that

After I watch this cat video.

Her endings and their strong diction are clearly seen in the title poem, “iLearn, iTeach,” a compare-and-contrast exercise as one standing before students recalls her own time as a student. The poem pivots from complaint to self-reflection while Yets simultaneously gives Gwendolyn Brooks a nod at its close.

The work in iLearn, iTeach reflects that of a poet who is not only observant but meticulous in recording and conveying those observations.

===ABOUT THE REVIEWER: Bill Cushing is a retired English teacher currently residing in California. He is the author of two poetry collections, A Former Life and Music Speaks. His newest chapbook, ...this just in..., is also available from CyberWit.

Posted August 1, 2022

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Ode to El Camino de Santiago and Other Poems of Journey

By James E. Green

Resource Publications, imprint of Wipf and Stock, 2022

29 Pages

ISBN-13: 978-1-6667-3600-7

Review by Michael Escoubas

This review is reprinted with kind permission from Quill & Parchment

James Green describes Ode to El Camino de Santiago and Other Poems of Journey as a variety of poetic styles with the connecting link of “journey.” The interesting part is that “journey” involves a range of applications. The term can indicate a trip, tour, travel, excursion, voyage, flight, and probably a lot more. That said, Green’s verse features a sophisticated “layering” of journey.

From the outset Green’s love of travel is evident. Peripatetic to a fault, Green was an officer in the United States Navy. His academic career has taken him to Southeast Asia, India, Europe, Morocco, and to various locations in the UK, especially Ireland.

El Camino de Santiago in English means The Way of St. James. (The James in view is James, Son of Zebedee, one of the twelve apostles.) Encompassing approximately 500 miles beginning at Saint Jean Pied de Port, France, determined sojourners trek through Spain’s challenging terrain, reaching their destination at the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela, in Galicia.

Travel, for Green, is more than simply moving from one place to another. The poet is a tour guide on a reflective journey that nurtures the inner person. On a personal note, I regard writing poetry as a journey toward ever-increasing spiritual depth. Thus, when Green avers that journey is “more than mere travel to other places,” he hits me where I live.

The layered subtleties of Green’s work are amply illustrated in this excerpt from the volume’s title poem, “Ode to El Camino de Santiago”:

          To find El Camino de Santiago
          begin wherever light and shadow mingle,
          wherever questions stubbornly stay tangled
          in threads of worn-out pieties and the soul

          speaks to a longing for discovery
          of the pilgrim’s way, points the heart’s compass
          toward healing and offers silent witness
          to that part of you that is solitary.

Before a journey begins, travelers must take inventory to ensure they have everything they need. Similarly, for Green, the “journey” begins by taking stock of our lives, by facing places of uncertainty … those places where “light and shadow mingle.” It is the lack of clarity, quite often, that presents challenges. There are times when “worn-out pieties” simply aren’t enough to get us through. Green understands this. Hence, his verse “points the heart’s compass,” toward what can only be found when one appeals “to that part of you that is solitary.”

A point of interest for me, aside from the spiritual elements inherent in Ode to El Camino de Santiago, is being placed in the action. Green’s poems are poems this reviewer enjoys because they are good poems. Many describe landscapes, snowcapped mountains, (“In the High Sierras”) swamps (“The Okefenokee”) and seascapes (“Summer Solstice on the West Coast of Ireland”).

I was fascinated by “Morning on Soi Charoen Krung 85, Near Wat Worachanyawas, Bangkok.” This unique poem describes morning at a market in Bangkok, Thailand. Green captures the odors of boiling peanuts in cauldrons, fish packed in ice, monks collecting alms, stray cats, the blare of taxi horns as a neighborhood greets the day. These are priceless. Indeed, they are the very “stuff” of meditation. How can we go deeper in life without an appreciation of people … people alive, breathing, struggling, living their lives by the lights they have been given?

I noted earlier the rich layering of James Green’s verse. In “Tonight There Are No Stars,” a lovely sonnet, Green blends the most basic form of travel as a means of touching that part of you that is solitary.

          Tonight there are no stars, there is no sky,
          only yellow smudges from streetlights glow
          like ghosts eyes from inside the fog that lies
          heavy laden like a melting cloud low
to the ground while gauzy silhouettes appear,
fade, vanish, regather themselves in a hush
like phantasms hovering in mutable air
beyond the scope of sound or realm of touch.
It’s why I like to walk alone on nights
like this: The edges soften, silence speaks,
opaqueness mutes what stirs disquiet, lights
awakening, as low-anchored mist leaks
onto my skin, into my pores, and thought
dissolves into a presence stillness brought.

Posted August 1, 2022

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No Distance Between Us: a journey in poems

By Marianne Peel

Shadelandhouse Modern Press, 2021

86 Pages

ISBN-13: 978-1945049200

Review by Candace Armstrong

Be prepared to travel to Lesvos, Israel, Ukraine, Nepal, China and finally Close to Home in this book of free verse soaked with vivid detail as the poet takes us on her journey to uncommon tourist places. The descriptions of the people she encounters stand out in the reader’s mind long after the page is turned.

So the title is apt because she artfully tells us there really is no distance between us in this mostcolorful and interesting human family. Touching poems from the Kara Tepe Refugee Camp inthe Lesvos section highlight the poet’s ability to make personal connections such as in The Manand His Words (p. 7) which begins:

I wanted to hold the hand

of the man who wrote English words

on his palm, that he might know

layers of meaning, the underbelly

of each word.

In The Courtyard, in Nepal, is a beautiful tribute to her farewell from the Blind School with a song from Lakshmi. The poem ends:

We don’t need light to see

We don’t need light to hold one another,

shadow to shadow, singing our way

through the absence of light. (p. 29)

Most of the poems are set in China where the poet taught, and my favorite is In Your Country which ends with the poet saying her students gave her a Mandarin name meaning:

a songbird that sings through the fog

a skylark carrying melody

like breadcrumbs or seeds

between the hinges of a broken beak. (p.35)

Saturday Night At the Symphony, Close to Home, describes the sweet rapture of a poor woman’s improvisation of a conductor as she listens to a symphony she can’t afford to attend from the steps of her fire escape on Saturday nights.

She arabesque her way up the fire escape, took flight

among stars, pulsing to the rhythm of her improvisation. (p.48)

These are only short examples of the moving language in this collection. The reader is filled with a genuine sense of connection as the title implies and, speaking for myself, the images expand inmind even more after each reading. Marianne Peel’s heart for both people and poetry can be felt on every page.

===ABOUT THE REVIEWER: Candace Armstrong writes in the beautiful woodlands of Shawnee National Forest in Southern Illinois. She joined Illinois State Poetry Society in 2013 and has published several poems as well as short stories and one novel, Evidence of Grace, self-published in 2021. She enjoys gardening, reading, dog-walking, cooking and of course, writing!

Posted July 1, 2022

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Aquifer: Poems Evoked by Water

By Ellen Sander

Red Bird Chapbooks, 2022

St. Paul, MN

35 Pages

Review by Lois Baer Barr

It turns out Ellen Sander, a poet from Maine, was a peripatetic rock and roll chronicler who has written about the Stones, Eric Clapton, John Lennon and Yoko Ono and many other icons of the sixties and seventies. Her poetry, however, takes a very quiet turn away from steel guitars, drum sets, and amps. Her poem “Gymnopédie” is a wistful nod to Erik Satie’s haunting compositions. Her allusions to other poets reveal Sander’s subtle poetic sensibility, for example, the sparseness of haiku, as well as the work of Robert Creeley and Wallace Stevens.

The metaphor of the title suggests that we as readers will have to dig below the surface to find what we seek. The search is fulfilling. Sander’s work is evocative and musical. Her poems reveal themselves bit by bit provoking a rise in pulse rate or a stirring in your gut when she explores feelings you have had but could not describe. The poems deal with water of all kinds: drops of dew, scalding hot tea, tidal waters, the sea as final resting place of Egypt Air Flight 804, the seascapes painted by her father.

Poet Claire Milliken states that Sander’s poetry is “especially attuned to time.” I read this book in one sitting, and I must say that time stopped for me. The collection begins with an evocation of dawn, one that is not at all rosy fingered. The last poem is “Day’s Final Hour.” A simple cup of latte, when sipped with a friend, can stop time. Or time can explode as it does in her elegy to her friend Euan.

All of a sudden, a flight to Quebec

and that night the sheets lay

against the Serengeti of your chest

moved with the sirocco of your breath

We ransacked the shimmering plains

your monsoon thunder fading

At first reading this stanza seemed out of place with the rest of the book; however, it reflects her experiences in the sixties and seventies, especially the raucous globetrotting and sex.

The most striking and original feature of her poetry is the unusual punctuation. The commas in some of the poem titles seem misplaced or strange. “Water, folding” or “outing, This” are notable examples. In another poem, “water over water,” the comma may be a single drop of water or a metaphor for the saving grace of a single word, if it is the right one. In “day’s final hour” the poem starts with a comma. And two other lines begin with commas.

, grace

notes a dusky

shadow cat

suddenly

In the poem’s final stanza, the poet sits alone. The comma is a metaphor for a stitch to mend a coat, a soul, a world.

, winter

coat in lap

, I

thread in hand

mending

Also innovative is her placement of words on the page. Her most unusual spacing is for a “barn jacked by rain” the divisions of lines, spaces, even words taken to their smallest element, that is spelled out letter by letter, suggest the crashing force of water in flood. In a poem about an island in a storm, the empty spaces surrounded by words evoke the whirling waters engulfing the island.

Sander’s language is rich and inventive but not daunting. Her first poem is called “daybreakage,” a noun I intend to borrow to mean those mornings where you are never fully awake, and everything goes awry. Haiku is used as a verb. She cites Pascal in French and two of her titles are in French and German. I knew the meaning of Licht, (Iight). “Coucou,” I learned from Google, is an exclamation in French that serves as a playful “hi” or “hello.”

I highly recommend this collection not only for the poems, but it is a joy to behold with its beautiful cover, font, and paper. It is hand sewn and numbered with a little swan on water sketched on the last page.

===ABOUT THE REVIEWER: Lois Baer Barr has published chapbooks of fiction and poetry. Tracks: Poems on the ‘L is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press where it placed fourth in their New Voices Contest for 2021.

Posted June 1, 2022

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Blue Flame Ring: Collected Poems

By Tinker Greene

Poltroon Press, 2022

110 Pages

ISBN-10: 0-918395-38-0

Review by Jacqueline Stearns

Blue Flame Ring is an eclectic buffet, offering readers a wide range of subjects including loss, subsequent grief, friendship, house sitting experiences, interspersed with house cats, nature, music, and travel. The book is a patchwork of chapbooks published together in one volume.

The title poem talks about the author's backpacking trip through the Sierra Mountains. Greene faces a sudden snow squall. He is forced to choose one of two paths, think Robert Frost. His options are a chute, or a high route over a rock slab. Greene chooses the chute. He descends and finds a hole in a rock and spends the night there. Greene realizes he's battled the forces of nature and won!

Grenee shares the grief he and his wife endure when their son is killed. They also lost Greene's brother the following year. I sympathize with the loss the author is dealing with. In 2002, my family lost my father when his car was hit by that of a drunk driver.

Part 2 of What I remember About 2002 describes the call letting Greene know his brother is not long for this world. He talks about the drive to the hospital to be at his sibling's side, only to arrive too late to communicate with him. While My Brother Was Dying, describes Greene waiting in the hospital, monitoring his brother's progress. My family and I were at my father's side for thirteen days. On the thirteenth day we lost him.

What I Remember About 2002, part 5 depicts Greene and his wife dedicating a memorial to their son, a grove of trees in Big Basin Redwoods. The grove is a retreat for them to visit with their son, honoring a beloved person through nature.

Greene is a generous poet sharing the stage with other artists. Good Evening by Philippe Soupult, is the first poem readers see when they get past the title page. Slightly Blurry Window, appears on page sixty and was written by Giacome Leopardi in 1819.

The reader is taken to a time of relative peace and reflection when Greene shares a stop gap in his life, housesitting for a friend.

Some of my favorite works detail the adorable antics of house cats. Sleeping Cats, Los Panteros, and A Morning capture the personality and spirit of Greene's two cats.

Music played an integral role in Greene's youth. Hoagy Carmichael Reminiscing About theCornetist Bix Beiderbeke Indiana 1920's, gives readers a birds eye view of two great musicians jamming. The Five Spot is about a Manhattan jazz club Greene hung out in when he was young, listening to Thelonious Monk. Greene wonders if this is the part of his life that has impacted him the most.

Greene shares the good and the bad about travel. What I Remember About 2002 part 8 talks about a frightening time in Mexico. Greene left his cash at the SRO checkpoint. What I Remember about 2002 Part 1 recounts a romantic trip to Quebec.

No matter the location Blue Flame Ring is an amazing journey from beginning to end.

Posted June 1, 2022

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Mile Markers

By Tom Moran

Cyberwit.net

36 Pages

ISBN-13: 978-81-8253-839-9

Review by Michael Escoubas

This review is reprinted with kind persmission from Quill & Parchment

As I opened my heart to Tom Moran’s excellent debut collection, a saying by Seamus Heaney (1939-2013) came to mind: “A poet is someone who feels, and who expresses his feelings through words. This may sound easy, but it isn’t.” Heaney, arguably one of the greatest poets of recent times, is known for the lyrical beauty of his poems and their plain-spoken truth about everyday life. Bullseye!

Growing up in the rough neighborhoods of Chicago’s suburbs, Moran puts readers “in the game” of his life. From the get-go, Heaney was right. Tom Moran feels things deeply. This is poetry’s first requirement. Moreover, words do not come easy for this poet. I sense a certain struggle here. That is, he wrestles with his writing. Again, Heaney, This may sound easy, but it isn’t. That is why these poems are good poems.

As I worked my way through the book, I stopped cold at “Each Dawn.” I was reminded of what my mother told me to do on cold and windy days:

I walk backwards

in the wind

to shield me

from the cold.

Walk backwards

against my poetry,

hide from raw truth.

Walk backwards

from a sunrise,

to drown

in the carpeted night.

I turn,

face my words,

walk across a field

of unwritten poems.

Here, the poet struggles in his psyche: the irrepressible need to “walk across a field / of unwritten poems.” As Mile Markers so poignantly illustrates, Moran’s backward walk into the wind is a journey of growth. It is a journey of learned poetic depth. “Google Maps” reflects on childhood experiences where, as a child standing on the corner of “Stoney Island Avenue, / he raced across eight lanes of traffic / to get to kindergarten.” This took no small of amount of courage. In the same poem, I experience, “how my stomach tightens / walking through a viaduct.” And,

the warm bakery I took harbor

on winter mornings walking to St. Felicitas,

looking for my place in this louder world.

Ah! The aroma of fresh bread and raspberry scones reaches my nostrils!

Moran is no stranger to darkness. “A Gift” is a haibun. The poet exploits this form perfectly using prose to describe the death of his friend Mike. Mike’s life ended at age fourteen when he walked in front of a train. Other friends made a suicide pact. Another died by an overdose of heroin. There are more. But through the darkness, life emerges as an inexplicable gift:

People fly off the potter’s

wheel as wet clay.

God molds a humble mug,

grace sustains the firing.

I return to Heaney, This may sound easy, but it isn’t. I get the feeling that Tom Moran has seen a lot of life. I sense poetry to be a key to Moran’s understanding of life. Wallace Stevens once wrote, “Poetry is a response to the daily necessity of getting the world right.” I don’t know if Moran is familiar with Stevens’ aphorism of not. But the ending of “Moonflower,” a tribute to the poet’s wife Christine, shows his depth of understanding:

We are two raindrops

folded into one;

wait on the day when we’ll realize

Jesus has everyone’s eyes.

We are bits pulled from sourdough batter,

set aside to add to the next batch

to keep the recipe alive.

Mile Markers has nourished the recipe of my life, keeping its nutrients evermore fresh, evermore alive.

Posted June 1, 2022

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apparitions

By Amelia Cotter

Highland Park Poetry Press, 2022

54 Pages

ISBN-13: 978-0578343310

Review by Pauline Kochanski

Amelia Cotter is a prolific writer, poet & storyteller with a number of history and poetry books to her credit. The collection of haibun and haiku in “apparitions” is a personal journey that exposes Amelia’s thoughts, feelings and fears in an open manner that keeps her inner critic at a distance.

Haibun is a Japanese form of writing which includes prose or a prose poem and a traditional Haiku. Haiku are three-line brief poems generally with a focus on nature. The lines are broken down in syllables, the first line is 5 syllables, the second line 7 syllables and the third line 5 syllables. Since Japanese and English are markedly different in syllabication and construction, English versions of the structure were developed; American Syllable based 5-syllable, 3-syllable, 5-syllable or in the 3-word, 5-word, 3-word basis.)

The format of haibun was first used by the haiku master, Matsuo Basho in 17th Century Japan and one of his best examples “Narrow Road to the Deep North” clearly represents one of the main requirements in traditional haibun - combining travel writing with prose. Though the pairing of the prose and the poem can be related in direct or indirect ways, the haibun is not always about a physical road travelled.

The writing and reading of poetry can transform our lives in a manner no other writing form can achieve. It allows a sense of peace or it can pull us out of a reverie into the sun, the wind and the realities of life. Poetry grants us a method of accepting the harshest of realities and make them accessible. Bringing “apparitions” alive is what Ms. Cotter has accomplished in her haibun and haiku. Allowing something remarkable or unexpected to arise.

Even in her fear, she has power and self knowledge which becomes evident in the writings here. Many single lines speak loudly to the triumph and losses of life. How to traverse the insensitivity of others and the attempt to release that which does notn support the best in us.

A single line from “The Second City,” says so much about feeling that the reader does not need to know more.

Embracing life feels at times impossible.

In the following haiku (and many haiku are not titled) Ms. Cotter reveals her ability to see what she is doing at the time she is doing it; an accomplishment of self preservation and self knowledge.

Itch

Of old wounds

I pick myself

Apart

And finally the one called “Hibernaculum” reveals the truth of where ever we go we are always with ourselves.

My weapons come with me everywhere I go.

I am ready for the fight, come lightness or weight of days.

spring thaw —

the barren ground swells

beneath a billowing sky

Fears, anxieties and feelings that Ms. Cotter exposes are personal to her. By expanding these individual personal sentiments beyond herself she allows these emotions to reveal themselves as universal. Her personal words and thoughts manifest into broad reaching essential primal feelings.

As a reviewer I bring my history and reason to evaluate the written or visual art presented. The emotions and feelings, so deeply embedded in these haibun and haiku made my initial reading difficult. Though, after additional readings of these works the personal emotional difficulty of the many feelings represented diminished.

I found a fellow traveler who is one of those artists that grants permission to speak personal truths publicly.

===ABOUT THE REVIEWER: Pauline Kochanski is an exhibiting artist, writer, teacher and meditator.

Posted May 1, 2022

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Doctor Poets & Other Healers: Covid in their Own Words

Editors: Thelma T. Reyna, Frank L. Meyskens, Jr., and Johanna Shapiro

Golden Foothills Press, 2022

130 Pages

ISBN-13: 978-1-7372481-0-1

Review by Michael Escoubas

This review is reprinted with kind permission by Quill & Parchment

About life, poet-physician John Keats wrote: “Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced.” It is fair to say that Keats (1795-1821), himself dogged by illness (tuberculosis) throughout his short life, was conflating life and poetry. As the poems and essays contained in this volume demonstrate, poetry is a conduit for experience. As co-editor Thelma T. Reyna avers in her preface, “Let us listen to their voices. Let us hear their broken hearts and see their tears.”

Let us hear, indeed. During this season of immense suffering I felt the pathos expressed in these poems and essays. Few would deny that America and the world are only now emerging from a scourge we pray will not return. Division, uncertainty, and skepticism have wrapped America in a cloak of cynicism. If there is one thing that struck me about Doctor Poets & Other Healers, it is that each of these frontline soldiers care about people. They are not about political division. They are not about blame-placing. They are about healing.

What They Witnessed

“In Praise of Home School,” by Anna Dunlap, highlights one of Covid-19’s most controversial outcomes. An excerpt:

Some say shelter-at-home is a wasteland

of boredom bathed in cathode rays

of ruminating on things long hid—

slackened bonds of coupledom,

slender reeds of habit,

how family depletes us.

Dunlap’s poem develops the grim reality of isolation. She gives a rabbit social distance as she walks. She reflects on her childhood . . . when “time / was a pleasure to kill—swaying / in a hammock of faded quilts.” This wise poem delivers an in-depth message that “home-schooled” this reviewer’s heart. Don’t miss this one.

“Life from the Other Side of the Tray,” by Pamela Shea, moves from the “intrigue” she once knew as an OR medical assistant to the grim reality that now, her husband, “who usually stands tall / now looks small on the table, pale and barely breathing.” Shea is now on the other side of the surgical tray. This compelling poem has a powerful closure.

How They Were Impacted

Jo Marie Reilly felt an overwhelming sense of futility. Reilly, a gifted writer, pours forth her heart in the essay, “In Need of a Prayer.” After helping patients in dire circumstances as she can, Reilly trudges homeward at 1:30 a.m., more dead than alive herself. As she motors away from the hospital the radio blares “The Prayer,” by Celine Dion and Andrea Bocelli . . . the lyrics seem a fitting commentary:

When we lose our way

Lead us to a place

Guide us with your grace

Give us faith so we’ll be safe . . .

Rodica Stan, is a Ph.D., in biochemistry, from Romania. An accomplished poet, Stan captures impact in her sobering poem, “Status Update”:

I am healthy. Sanitized. Masked. Vaccinated. Alive.

My tears collect in empty espresso cups,

As I mourn my father’s death, alone, asphyxiated,

As I fear my mother’s death, alone, across

An ocean and two continents from me.

There is COVID everywhere;

In the space among us, them, all . . .

In filtrating the air, our intellect,

History, death, and the earth that inters us.

S.O.S.

How They Responded

In her moving prose narrative, “Preventing the Scarring of the Soul,” Dr. Lorna Rodriguez-Rodriguez writes about the grief she felt as her sister Raquel risked her life caring for Covid patients in Spain. During the chaotic period when PPE were in short supply and treatment protocols were changing hour-by-hour, Raquel died. A pall of unspeakable grief descended like a shawl on Dr. Rodriguez. Her story about witnessing the impact of illness on others underscores the overriding truth about our healthcare warriors: They are a people for others. They are people who give their best even when they have nothing left to give. Out of the emotional ashes of Raquel’s death, Dr. Rodriguez rose to a doctor’s ultimate height: the unstinting care of her patients.

In “Grateful for Time,” Dr. Shannon Zhang, writes of a patient, Ms. W. Diagnosed with stage IV pancreatic cancer, Ms. W. was weary of seeing so many doctors. She “just wanted to be left alone.” In the succeeding weeks Zhang began developing a friendship with Ms. W. This happened amid the frenetic atmosphere of Covid care. At a juncture when improvement signaled discharge, Ms. W. grew worse. Surgery was performed. In the aftermath, her patient, whom Zhang had grown to love, began to decline.

“Despite my head running with the “to do’s” of that day and her unwillingness to engage in conversation with me due to fatigue, I stayed with her as she slept peacefully.”

“During my last day on service, I greeted Ms. W. one last time, leaving her room before she could see my tears. I thought back to my first day with her and how I hastily swept out of her room to accomplish my tasks. Ms. W. reminded me about the humanism aspect of medicine: sitting by her side when she was lonely, removing excess bandages to make her more comfortable, and spending a few extra minutes with her even with the m any other things to complete that day.”

As I read through the wonderful poems and essays contributed by these 29 gifted healthcare professionals and writers, I wondered how to end this review. I needed look no further than the tender heart of Dr. Shannon Zhang . . . a heart shared by each contributor.

Editor’s Note: Co-Editors Thelma T. Reyna, Frank L. Meyskens, Jr., and Johanna Shapiro have included photographs and extended biographies of each contributor. These bios testify to the broad spectrum of professional backgrounds and literary expertise that make this volume standout in the ever-growing library of Covid-19 literature.

Posted May 1, 2022

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Art Work

By Terry Allen

Kelsay Books, 2021

101 Pages

ISBN-13: 978-1954353107

Review by Ally Frank

Terry Allen’s Art Work Poems is a book of various styles and lengths of poetry, all connected by the base image that is ‘art’. Not only does Allen refer to written art, he dives into fine art mediums, playwright, dance, and many other styles of art and their relation to life, love, connection, and history.

Even within the first section of the book, it is made clear to the reader that art has played in big role in Allen’s life, a fine example of this being the poem Name that Dog on page 23. The book itself features specific works of art from all points in history, giving it a very fluid pace and cluing the reader into the statement the book wants to make: that art is one of the most important foundations of life.

Terry Allen references that art can be not only a personal interest, but a conversation starter among those who are separated fundamentally, inferentially claiming that everyone can relate to art and that art is what connects all of us.

The book features more traditional poetry, but also some monologue-style pieces, which I think provides a nice balance in the speed of the read. I would venture to say some of my favorite pieces in this book are of this style. More specifically, I very much enjoyed both Latin and Happy Endings, which can be found on pages 57 and 58, respectively. Both of these I found to be very relatable and understandable, even as someone who does not enjoy traditional mediums of art as much as this book may require you to. I found that they put forms of art that everyone knows of in a way that everyone can relate to. I found that Latin even covered some of the personal reservations I had about the book. It covers how the language of Latin is viewed as only ancient and religious, not having any relevance to present-day life, but then brings up things such as Suduko, trivia and Harry Potter, all of which can be enjoyed just a bit more with a basic understanding of the language. I found that this book was directed towards those who love art, all forms of it, which is a demographic I do not find myself in. I did not relate to the parts of the book that stressed how art can be a conversation starter or how important it is to learn about historical art, simply because it is not an interest of mine. However, like Latin proposes, there are certainly many benefits to having a basic understanding of this topic, and I feel as though this poem allowed for a lot of relatability for readers who may be in the same boat as me.

Overall, I enjoyed the cadence and connectedness of this book. I found it to be a nice paced read and I loved most of the language choices. I, however, being someone who does not share Terry Allen’s love and passion for art, did not find it relatable, which is at no fault of his. I would recommend those who love looking at, studying, investigating and exploring different styles and time periods of art give this book a read.

===ABOUT THE REVIEWER: Ally Frank is an 18 year old poet who currently has two books out. Her books, “late night thoughts & all the things i never said” and “telephone line” are both available for Amazon. She is currently a high school senior who will be attending Purdue University in the fall to study psychology and American Sign Language/Deaf Studies. She has been writing poetry since the age of 11 and published her first book in November of 2021.

Posted May 1, 2022

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A Dreamless Night: The Selected Chinese/English Poems of William Marr

By William Marr

Chicago Academic Press, 2021

258 Pages

ISBN-13: 9798761154803

Review by Michael Escoubas

This review is reprinted with kind permission by Quill & Parchment

Of the great Chinese poets of history, Du Fu, (712-770, Tang dynasty), arguably was the greatest. Although this description may apply to many, I use the reference here simply to highlight that William Marr, like Du Fu, seeks to build bridges. Du Fu made poems out of the cloth of everyday experiences, bridging the commonplace with the profound. This is what good poets do.

William Marr doesn’t look for subjects about which to write. The subjects find the poet. Witness his latest collection, A Dreamless Night:

The poems are presented bilingually with the Chinese and English texts on facing pages. I found it fascinating to imagine which Chinese letters fit with their English counterparts. Thus, a bridge of fellowship is formed through language.

With seeming ease, Marr provides a multitude of crossings for his readers. Whether you favor nature poems, or poems about history, faith, family, birds, animals, endangered species, or the bricks and mortar of city skyscrapers and the people who inhabit them, A Dreamless Night has a poem for you.

Marr’s economical use of language is instructive. There is time-worn cliché: Less is more. In this poet’s case “less” is exactly right!

I want to display this “less is more” feature through several examples:

Story

The dog has her eyes closed

but the old man knows she’s listening

Her warm back is moving

closer and closer

Notice how simple life occurrences become occasions for poetry. The crisp diction and lack of punctuation strip out everything not pertinent to the poem. This is a hallmark not only of Dreamless Night, but of Marr’s poetic canon.

Another example:

Bird Cage Again

Open

the

cage

let the bird fly

away

and give

the sky back

its

freedom

Not only is this a prime example of language economy, but its message illustrates situational irony. Marr is a master of this technique. At first reading I assumed that “freedom” was a reference to the captive bird’s release. However, the poet surprised me! The typographical technique of extra line spacings increases the “open air” effect conducive to the poem’s freedom theme.

I appreciate Marr’s ability to bridge the visible outer-world of nature with the conflicting inner-world of human experience. Even when one is emotionally undone (which your reviewer often is) nature offers consolation:

This Little Bird

Having a cold

fighting with the wife

blinded by the sun

excuses are abundant

Yet this little bird

sings the morning

into gold

Personification takes center stage in:

Snowfight

crying a cry of joy

a snowball

whizzes toward you

it lands right on the bud

waiting to bloom

on your beaming cheek

The poet’s bridge between sound and emotion, while commonplace, is made fresh and palpable in:

Rainy Season

Over and over

repeating always the same old stuff

drip drip drip

chip chip chip

O how desperately we long for

a deafening thunder

or an overwhelming shout

SHUT UP!

In poem after poem, I heard my inner voice whispering, “Yes, yes, you know what is being said, you have experienced this.

Marr builds a bridge to romantic tenderness in:

Sharing an Umbrella

Sharing an umbrella

I suddenly realize the difference between us

Yet bending over to kiss you

gives me such joy

as you try to meet me halfway

on tiptoe

Who among us hasn’t been there? Who among us cannot imagine such an intimate moment? This is part of William Marr’s genius. A moment becomes the summation of a lifetime. Thus the power inherent in poetry.

There is virtually no important topic untouched in A Dreamless Night. Marr’s treatment of death is cryptic but effective:

Old Woman

Like a worn-out record

the deep grooves

on her forehead

repeat and repeat

I want to live

I want to

One of the profound casualties of our dependence on manufactured power sources is brought front and center in:

Blackout

a powerless night

when people suddenly noticed

the existence

of the moon

and stars

While the poem “Blackout” carries with it a touch of irony about modern necessities, the abiding value of A Dreamless Night, for this reviewer, is exactly the opposite of its title. This seminal collection points to a world long neglected: a world wrapped in the shawl of truth and love.

Something to dream about in the light of day.

Posted May 1, 2022

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Underground River of Want

By Kathleen Gregg

Leah Huete de Maines, 2021

27 Pages

ISBN-13: 978-1-64662-599+4

Review by Michael Escoubas

This review is reprinted with kind permission from Quill & Parchment

I have always marveled at how seeming randomness returns later to infuse life with meaning. Case in point: Kathleen Gregg’s lead poem recalls how she felt on a fateful day when paramedics strapped her dad onto a stretcher for transport to the hospital. The distraught family holding fast to each other, as the radio blares, I wanna hold your hand.

The collection: Underground River of Want.

The poem, “January 1964.”

Not long thereafter . . .

A cold tug of alarm shivers

through my body. My sister gathers me in.

Unasked questions are swallowed, churn

in my stomach for one terrible week. Until,

the dreaded call from mom; a bedside

summons that wrenches

the two of us from sleep.

This excerpt from “January 1964,” which channels the Beatles classic, sets the stage for a thin volume of poems which is thicker than blood with emotional depth.

One of the purposes of art is to serve as a “rudder” during tough times. When seas are rough the goal is not to capsize the boat. Underground River of Want, is ample proof. I sense that Kathleen Gregg understands this. Without poetry the ship of her life founders.

“Loss” is a key theme for Gregg. Through a series of losses the poet invites us into the surging sea of her father’s death, sexual trysts, and her failed marriage. These amputations become the source of growth within her suffering.

I am moved by the poem, “Father-less.” Without her father to tell her “No” she is in want of an emotional compass when a boy’s eyes say, “I will touch you.” This poem is of central importance. The collection’s title finds its meaning here. Still in mourning, the next several poems explore the emotional vacuum left by her father’s loss.

It is important to note that poetic form plays an important role here. The poems early-on feature gaps in word-spacing and erratic indentations. This is purposeful writing. Gregg’s use of form represents how she is feeling . . . she is showing a disjointed life. Her pain is expressed through poetic form as shown in this excerpt from “Heartbreak is a Winter Wind”:

it blows like the downward lash

of a whip on bare flesh

deep sting

lacerating hope

“Heartbreak” uses powerful similes to underscore the depth of heartache:

it blows like the fat flat of a palm

shoving you backwards

it blows like the stiff straw

of a broom.

The dust of love is swept away.

With an adult daughter of my own, I too, know what it means when someone you love has lost the North Star that she needs.

The first 12 poems set the stage for a subtle shift in the poet’s fortunes. The remaining 9 poems gently raise the curtain on light. The venetian blinds are opened with a slight pull of a cord. The turn occurs in the poem, “Sometimes Freedom Is a ’93 Dodge Shadow:

Boxy, khaki green, low-end model

fully equipped

with rolldown windows,

with one of its keys permanently stuck

in the ignition,

and with two years left on the loan.

I call it my consolation prize

for losing at marriage.

But damn, that Dodge is everything

My ex-husband is not.

I wanted to jump up with a “High Five”! At this point, there is a change in both tone and form. By tone, the feel of winter’s unrelenting chill is replaced by hints of lightness, tinges of hope. By form, erratic word and line-spacing is replaced by coherent, steady stanzas and couplets. Form is steady because the poet is steady. Life is different now.

There is one good reason for the changes described above. However, if I reveal it, I wouldn’t be doing my job as a reviewer. The best I can do is this quote by Willa Cather (1873-1947), “You must find your own quiet center of life and write from that to the world. In short, you must write to the human heart, the great consciousness that all humanity goes to make up.”

This is what poets do. This is what Kathleen Gregg does.

Posted April 1, 2022

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Mapping A Life

By Susan T. Moss

Antrim House Books, 2021

74 Pages

ISBN-13: 978-1-943826-92-6

Review by Michael Escoubas

This review is reprinted with kind permission fro Quill & Parchment

Finding one’s way around country sides and cities is relatively easy these days. GPS systems have made travel simple. From faraway galaxies, an exceptionally large eye surveys the universe. Then a soft feminine voice tells travelers which way to go. Before such genius became commonplace, I was forced to depend on the almost-universal eye of my wife. She was great with maps. Even if the map was wrong or out-of-date, she always got us to our destination. In her new collection, Mapping a Life, poet Susan T. Moss, loves maps. More importantly, Moss loves life and revels in the journey.

Readers get a clue from her epigram by Richard Jefferies (1848-1887), “Give me fullness of life like to the sea and the sun.” Jefferies, author of The Story of My Heart, possessed a delightfully curious mind. He loved nature and wrote and traveled extensively exalting in nature’s wonders. I sense that Moss dwells within Jefferies’ exuberant shadow. Like her spiritual mentor, she lives, writes and travels within the “fullness of sea and sun.”

Divided into four parts (without headings) readers discover life-themes grouped within each division. Part I sets the stage for experiencing nature’s wealth within the long stretch of time. The collection’s lead poem, “Mapping a Life,” offers a perspective:

Sometimes it’s like that: the kind

of journey when I walk

where deer prints mark a path

fringed with scallop-bottomed

mushrooms and speckled stones—

a microcosm of beauty and solitude

at each bend and in every breath

that reminds me I am not even

halfway to anywhere

with so much to examine, hold onto

before the urgency to repack

for life’s next destination, another place

to meet myself at the still point.

Moss’s clear-eyed observations about nature translate and apply to life. It has been said that the outer visible world of nature is analogous to the inner invisible world of human beings. Moss exploits this truth throughout Mapping.

The creations in this section, and throughout, employ luscious language. The poems invited me to join the steady march of time and memories. In “Swimming Freestyle with My Mother,” Moss recalls her mother’s pantry when the peaches were gone; she partakes of the fruit of her mother’s memories and her “sea” of wisdom.

In “Redwoods” her devotion to time is evident. Moss gets a glimpse of eternity “standing / among giants.” In this and other poems, “light” emerges as a significant theme. “Skyward,” avers, that “Even the tallest buildings / can’t hide shafts of light / seeking canyon floors / now mostly deserted.”

Poems such as “Along the Way,” and “Late August,” provide vibrant depictions of color and seasonal progression.

while watching for other changes—

the instant when all meet

at the juncture of past

and future as an infinitesimal

thread connects us

Part II bids us join Moss as intrepid travelers to Moscow, China, Africa, Spain, Japan and more. At each stop, the poet’s eye for detail and historyinform her writing. Moss has done her homework. “Notes on Moscow,” reveals a study in contrasts and how oppressive governments behave when they are afraid of freedom:

citizens who start their day waiting

for the proclaimed existential threats

while we all sleep with one eye open.

“Nippon Memories” is a must-read four-part gem that spans the decades from post WW II to contemporary times. It is a land much different now than when:

My father brought back other

mementos from Occupied Japan

like the cloisonné jars and lacquered

bowls, ivory netsukes and chopsticks

from Kyoto that filled a glass cabinet

in the living room.

On language and style, I would be remiss if did not note the precision of Moss’s verse. This is a mature poet. Her language is vivid and lush. Her diction is nicely paced. She has that special knack of choosing the right word that moves each poem forward.

Parts III and IV sustain the momentum established in parts I and II. Themes of time, light, and the beauty “of sea and sun,” come full circle to “Traveling Light”:

All the indispensable maps

and guidebooks have expired,

heavy luggage expelled

to a basement corner

with Grandmother’s trunks

from eighty years ago,

and I am left wondering

what might happen

if I were to travel

with only the shirt

on my back and nothing

to burden what’s left

of the journey.

Posted April 1, 2022

For a personalized copy please contact the author: stm48@hotmail.com

My Body the Guitar

By Karla Linn Merrifield

Before Your Quiet Eyes Holograph Series, 2021

155 Pages

ISBN-13: 978-1-7328840-6-9

Review by Michael Escoubas

This review is reprinted with kind permission from Quill & Parchment

In the acclaimed 1995 movie, Mr. Holland’s Opus, music teacher Mr. Holland (played by Richard Dreyfus) is mentoring a student learning the clarinet. The student can’t seem to get the hang of it even though her teacher has tried every technique in his teaching toolbox. In quiet desperation, Mr. Holland asks the student to imagine the most beautiful scene she can. The student describes the scene to her teacher, who then replies, “Play to that. Immerse your whole being into that beautiful place.” The student then plays a lovely melody much to Mr. Holland’s admiration.

I thought about that movie and that scene as I prepared to review Karla Linn Merrifield’s new collection, My Body the Guitar. Without a doubt, Merrifield knows something about giving herself wholly and totally to the promptings of poetry and music. I might add, she knows something about love. She would, I’m certain, join the chorus of voices who affirm that without love, the arts are a futile enterprise.

My Body the Guitar, is presented in three divisions: “Part 1, Mere Mortal,” features a series of Études. An Étude is a piece of music played for the purpose of instruction in technique. These are fascinating poems that link the poet’s body in direct relationship to her instrument. “Part 2, Local Heroes,” pays tribute to folks within the poet’s inner circle who influenced, motivated, and taught her through the years. “Part 3, Mighty Gods,” honors a virtual pantheon of great guitarists (by my count, more than 18) which provide a delicious smorgasbord of artistic range and depth. I was delighted to recognize Jimi Hendrix, Tom Petty, and Eric Clapton listed within Merrifield’s gallery of gods.

A Word about Form and Style

Craftsmanship has always been a hallmark of Karla Merrifield’s work. The instant volume highlights the poet’s skills in free verse, pantoum, sestina, double-fibonacci, sonnet, haiku, tanka, abecedarian and more. All of these, mind you, are orchestrated in a symphonic score that delights eye, ear, and heart. “Gentle Weep,” (Preface) sets a tone that provides a clue to the poet’s life. A life in which her body, music, and poetry become a single being.

I don’t have much longer
in the playing fields of love.

So when he looks at the tip
of my ring finger and sees

under the bistro lamp a nascent
callous he perceives desire.

All I do is metaphor,
the still g-string pressed

again, again, again, in B minor’s
third position--thus my hand

remembers what my body
learns of its embodiment.

I am the guitar.
Play me now.

“Sonnet from the Bar,” (featuring experimental “riffs” on the traditional form), is representative of the poems comprising “Part 2, Local Heroes.” Merrifield is clearly appreciative of early influences on her life and what she would become as a professional writer and accomplished musician.

In the church of the Golden Lion Pub,
we tipplers of Hogshead and Guinness,
we supplicants of rock ’n roll music
make a joyful noise unto the spirit of guitars electric.

We sway to the bluesy riffs,
throb to the reverb and loop,
tremble like tremolo strings,
our souls fiercely plucked, our hearts softly fingered.

For here live again the lesser gods of distant youth:
O, Clapton; o, Santana; o Richards; o, Waters.
As the Stratocaster, Telecaster, and Gibson gently weep,
my litany goes long and on into rhythm’s font of Time.

I am the ’60s love child I once was re-amplified,
praying that the mythified chords within abide.

I recall attending the Illinois State Fair in my youth, (circa 1960s). At the time I was part of a 4-piece rock ’n roll band. My idol was Lonnie Mack, arguably one of the finest blues players of all time. Mack played a Flying “V” guitar. I was mesmerized by his hit recording of Memphis. Those long-ago musical memories returned to me as I enjoyed “Part 3, Mighty Gods.” My heart was stirred as I read poems conjuring some of the greatest musicians ever to play. If you have a favorite musician, it is a good bet that you will find a poem attributed to him or her.

Songwriter Harlan Howard is credited with the now famous quote: “Country music is three chords and the truth.” While My Body the Guitar covers the whole range of musical genres, and musical greats, even more importantly, Karla Linn Merrifield is about the truth that inhabits her life and her body, the guitar.

Posted April 1, 2022

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Sand and Salt

By Sheila Elliott

Independently Published, 2021

29 Pages

ISBN-13: 979-8473355222

Review by Carol L. Gloor

Sheila Elliott’s chapbook, Sand and Salt, works in the fine tradition of ekphrastic poetry, that is, poetry based on a work of visual art, in this case Edward Hopper’s painting Nighthawks, a striking evocation of a late-night diner, with a man at the counter and some customers, all floating in a neon bubble in an otherwise dark world. I have seen the painting many times, but I deliberately chose not to look at it again when reading Ms. Elliott’s book, preferring to let her help me remember it and receive new insights into it.

Sand and Salt succeeds best in two ways: when it enlivens the painting and when it almost recreates the feeling of the painting using the poet’s own art, the art of words. The poet uses the painting as a basis for imagining the thoughts and lives of the people portrayed in it. The poet gets inside the head of the man behind the counter in her aptly named poem The Counter Guy at the Café, the man who must pay attention to the “coffee urns big as silos,” but who still dreams of loving connection, “of tilting toward somebody/someday,” in the poem One Glass Unfilled.

The poet also evokes the inner life of the customers at the counter, specifically the woman,who muses “I couldn’t be much clearer with my sigh,” in the poem The Story She Later Told Her Friend. The poet does the same thing for another customer at the counter, a man who remembers “pot roast crisps before it starts to/ sizzle, simmer,” in the poem On the Quiet Man.. . . The alienation of the café floating in darkness speaks through the longing of those in that café, a longing for some kind of home.

But the poet does not just imagine from the painting; she also provides scenes of her own life in a painterly way. The best of these examples are poems of stasis, poems that create a clear, picture of a scene that one could paint if one had the skill. One of these is the poem Evocation, an image of two people on a bus, both watching “a city pass, sideways.” Another is On Turning 69, a lovely shape poem in which age 50 is derided as “still half/-stuffed with youth and ignorance.”

Technically, the poems show some real strengths, but also weaknesses which could be corrected with close attention. The poet’s most impressive strength is her ability to make rhyming poems with the reader noticing it at all, as in the poem Many Years Later. And obviously, as discussed above, the specific imagery is extremely successful in many of the poems. The weaknesses of the poems are: overuse of simile, when the poet could easily speak the same words more directly; confusing punctuation, such as quotations that never close or inconsistency, that is, poems which are free of punctuation and then a sudden comma or period appears; and also, sadly, incorrect word usage, the words “Who’s” and “Discretely” being incorrectly used in the title of the poem On the Quiet Man . . . The poet also needs to pay closer attention to line breaks, specifically those breaking a subject from its verb, particularly in poems where the first line is always capitalized. Punctuation and incorrect word use make the book appear unprofessional, but the poet can correct these issues in her next book, which I look forward to reading.

But these weaknesses are not fatal to the poet’s project, and Sand and Salt as it stands is a good read for a night when one is feeling lonely and needs to remember that is the human condition.

Posted March 1, 2022

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At Work

By Joan McNerney

Cyberwit.net, 2021

27 Pages

ISBN-13: 978-8182537835

Review by Michael Escoubas

This is reprinted with kind permission from Quill & Parchment

Reading Joan McNerney’s latest collection, At Work, recalled my first day on the job as an apprentice printer in Bloomington, IL. As a youth of 17 years old, just out of high school, I felt more than a little intimidated in the world of men. The language, the brusqueness, the confidence of seasoned craftsman and me, barely shaving, never away from family and my small-town environment before. After a few days, I learned that these men, though rough around the edges, were gracious and helpful. They too, were once 17 and just beginning the rewarding enterprise we call “work.” For this young apprentice the “enterprise” lasted 48 years; printer was the only job I ever had.

The 21 poems comprising At Work include “everyday sorts of jobs.” Grocery cashier, housewife, retail salesclerk, waitress, delivery guy, and many more. These are poems which hit me where I live. I’m betting this will be the case for most readers. We are people trying to make financial ends meet in tough economic times.

For example, a waitress named Sally, “thought everything was / up to luck and she had zero. / Her chances got swept / away with yesterday’s trash.” // McNerney doesn’t sugar coat Sally’s life. At the end of the day after stopping to pick up a few groceries, she struggles to open her door . . . readers will be surprised at what greets her as she enters.

McNerney’s style is free verse rather than classical forms. She chooses words appropriate to her theme: folks living and coping with life through their jobs. Her poems appear in couplets, tercets, quatrains and other stanza variations. Rhyme is rare, but clarity and wisdom are hallmarks. I get the impression that there is no silver spoon in Joan McNerney’s mouth. No pretense or condescension. She has lived out her poems. This is one reason they are good poems.

One of the anomalies of our times is the rise of the “delivery” person as a major component on the current economic scene. We depend on delivery people, now, more than ever. In honor of this heretofore under-appreciated skill, I am proud to reprint “Delivery Guy” in full:

Ray comes all winter

with office supplies.

He calls female workers

“gorgeous”. Smiles

spread like wild fire.

Besides reams of paper,

ink cartridges, he carries

the sun. Says it fits perfectly

into his bowling bag.

Sprinting upstairs, balancing

boxes of staples, paper clips,

pens, Ray shouts, I brought

the sun with me today, slung

it right over my shoulder.”

He brings all day glow . . .

what they want on

those dark icy afternoons

to make them

feel sizzling warm.

Joan McNerney’s knack for highlighting the personalities of her characters is in itself, worth the modest asking price. The people which populate her poems are real and relatable. For example, the “Long Haul Driver” liked his job at first, but for reasons inherent in the job eventually, “Coffee was not enough,” the poem develops with a poignant ending that tells the “not-so-pleasant” truth.

This is a collection worth your time. In fact, I see this volume as a valuable text for the classroom. Why would I say this? Elizabeth Bishop once said of poetry, “There is enormous power in reticence.” At Work is a study in poetic restraint . . . equal measures of truth, honesty, and humility. Lessons any aspiring poet should acquire.

Posted March 1, 2022

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Shaded Pergola: Haiku and Other Short Poems with Illustrations

By Eleni Traganas

Tropaeum Press, 2022

95 Pages

ISBN-13: 9780578311982

Review by Thomas H. Chockley

Eleni Traganas is an accomplished artist in many fields; musician, composer, painter, pen-and-ink artist, writer, and poet. In Shaded Pergola she brings her talent to haiku and short poetry. Traganas, in her preface, invites the reader to learn what touched her about Japanese haiku and Tang-era Chinese poetry. Shaded Pergola sets out to view life around her with that Asian attention to the small events in life that somehow add to the depth and meaning of that life.

Haiku poets are warned to “show; don’t tell” the images that make up the poem. They are most often composed of two images that imply a connection between them. Thus, the haiku engages the reader in looking beyond the images to understand how they hint at a deeper, more universal experience. The poems in this collection are gathered into a seasonal framework, as are many published haiku collections. Her pen-and-ink drawings that accompany the short poems they illustrate really resonate well to add a visual depth to many of the poems.

The title of the book also tells the reader that not all of the poems will be haiku. Some are senryu, a well-recognized form in Japanese haiku, and she explains that other poems are short poems not strictly in the haiku genre. She writes using the once typical, three lines and seventeen-syllable format in English-language haiku. As well, she knows that most haiku have no title; however, she has chosen to give titles to all but a few of the poems in this collection. Many haiku poets would take issue with using Western poetic conventions such as titles, capitalization of non-proper nouns, and punctuation in these poems.

Eleni Traganas is adept at the use of colors and flowers in her poems. “Love Letters: / I open your note / and out flitter purple moths… / just pressed violets” (p13) is a haiku with the twist of a love note containing pressed violets; yet, how interesting that on first sight, the dried blossoms seem more like purple moths. Another fine example, and with the accompanying drawing a lyrical haiga, is “Canticle: Pink break of dawn -- / early carnations and / song thrushes crooning duets” (p23). The line drawing of a bouquet of carnations adds a grand visual embellishment. At times, Traganas’s need to have seventeen syllables in the haiku – five syllables in line one, seven in line two, and five in line three – creates the risk of padding the poem with unnecessary words and straining the sentence flow. “The Gift: A lifetime searching / for my kindred soul: Look…a / butterfly alights!” (p33).

Here are two short poems that highlight Traganas’s elegant ability to describe flowers and early morning dew. “Crane Flower: Bird of Paradise / sailing on your orange boat / towards faraway lands” (p48) and “Baptism: Break of dawn: a sea / of liquid pearls ripples in / the sun – crystal dew” (p49). While the two poems do not adhere to the strict haiku form, they are nonetheless graceful short poems that fit well in the collection.

In the following senryu, she shows a fine and humorous experience every reader can relate to immediately; “Air Traffic: Low-flying jets on / this balmy August evening -- / whining mosquitoes” (p52). To her credit, Traganas does not always depict beauty in the world around her; “Conspiracy: Pitter-patter of / rainfall in the dead of night? / Just rats whispering”

Traganas has also included some ten pages at the end of Shaded Pergola that are earlier works of haiku poems on a theme. An example from September Haiku is the following untitled haiku: “Blankets hang and sway: /the scent of camphor vapors /cools the autumn air” (p85) and from Winter Haiku “The crunch of tires / on a crooked asphalt road… / meandering thoughts” (p90).

For the reader, Eleni Traganas’s Shaded Pergola contains an abundance of vividly expressed poems – glimpses of garden blossoms in spring and summer, of the redolent scent of tea in winter, and of the occasional intrusion of New York rats or mosquitos. It is clear to see the long-term impact that Japanese haiku and Tang poetry created in Eleni Traganas. She has an Asian sensitivity to the minutia of human experiences, of nature, and of seasons. Her collection of poems is an honorable homage to that Japanese and Chinese sensibility.

===ABOUT THE REVIEWER: Thomas H. Chockley has had haiku, senryu, haiga, and haibun published in a variety of print and online haiku journals. His first chapbook is Personal Myths 1: Born in Mystery from Red Moon Press. His second book is Personal Myths: Numbers 2, 3, and 4 in print PDF and epub form from Lulu.com.

Posted March 1, 2021

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A Poetess' First Flight

By Carmen A. Cisnadean

Dorrance Publishing Co., 2020

97 Pages

ISBN-13: 9781644262443

Review by Emma A. Kowalenko

Carmen A. Cisnadean collection of poems, A Poetess’s First Flight, brings luminosity to the written word in lyrical and realistic terms. She describes emotions, nature, connections to a higher power, masterfully. At ease with the musicality and vibrancy of language, she brings our attention to various elements of life, including her own joys and her own losses. Her observer’s eye, ear, and mindfulness ever present, generously invite the reader to her world. Her world that becomes the reader’s world. She opens her compendium with Nikola Tesla’s quote, “It’s not the love you make. It’s the love you give.” Her, I’m Grateful for So Much (VI), with short, rhythmic lines, like the music she so loves, carry us to the gratitude we often forget to express. “I’m grateful … To you my audience…” she says.

She captures a writer’s sentiments in her mindful in Despite Not Having Fins (VII) which she begins with “What I write down on paper is only but a fraction…” as she persists in her poet’s mission, “Despite not having fins.” She continues with her transportive ocean imagery with Let the Mermaids Be! (XXI) when the moon punishes “humanity’s ungrateful ways” by snatching mermaids by their fins “coercing them to hide the stars.” Indeed humans have much to learn about gratitude for the precious gifts that our earth, moon, and stars bestow upon us.

She eloquently carries us to environments and worlds that she relishes. Her Letter of Tears to the Bald Eagles (XXIX), reminds us of a much-needed call to action regarding laws and provisions that do not stop senseless murders of fellow human beings. Eternal Rest (XXXVI) is a poignant reminder of accepting life’s effervescence and fragility as “we, ourselves, are but transient observers.”

In Under Chicago’s Stars (XLII), we travel with her, we “hear… the city’s restless ticking…” We experience the sights, sounds, the variety in melodies of life in every poem. As she does, in Oh, Darling, You! (LXIX), we too, willingly respond to “Just take my hand and dance me to this song.” Her poet’s sensibilities, love of music, communication skills, are all seamlessly woven in this engaging compendium of poetic reflections. Take the time to treat yourself to this variety of sensory voyages. Board this “Flight.” Enjoy, relish, learn, share.

===ABOUT THE REVIEWER: Emma Alexandra Kowalenko is the author of From Apricots to Za’atar. Emma lives in Highwood, Illinois, is a member of the Illinois State Poetry Society and Poets and Patrons.

Posted March 1, 2022

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Birds of San Pancho and Other Poems of Place

By Lucille Lang Day

Blue Light Press, 2020

113 Pages

ISBN-13: 978-1-4218-3664-5

Review by Michael Escoubas

This is reprinted with kind permission from Quill & Parchment

Being people of modest means, I doubt if my wife and I will ever take a world-wide cruise. We prefer museums and presidential libraries. However, after reading Lucille Lang Day’s, Birds of San Pancho and Other Poems of Place, I feel no loss. With the poet as guide, I have become the very image of a peripatetic person. My travel brochure includes Mexico, Costa Rica, the Galapagos Islands, a “rosy-fingered dawn” on the Aegean sea, Athens, Greece, Giverney, France (Claude Monet’s homebase), and many more.

The collection is structured in two parts: “Part I. Foreigner,” features poems about a particular place: San Pancho, in Nayarit, Mexico. “Part II. Between the Two Shining Seas,” highlights unique settings in America.

The title poem “Birds of San Pancho,” treats, by my count, 15 separate species. Among them the kiskadee, who is masked like a racoon, sings an exuberant song, and sports a yellow breast. Other stunning species include the yellow-winged cacique, the golden-cheeked woodpecker, the scrub euphonia, chachalaca, (whose song sounds like its name), orange-fronted parakeets and herons, egrets, and pelicans, all displaying a rainbow of colors.

Day’s sonnet “Fiesta” offers the flavor of San Miguel de Allende, Mexico.

All the stars switch on above the street

as fiesta music rises from the square.

Girls in sequined blue jeans tap their feet,

and jacarandas shimmy in their air.

Accordions, guitars, and trumpets sing

for people swaying on the cobblestones

in yellow, red, and blue embroidered clothing

and skeletons who shake their graceful bones.

But I will always be a stranger here

where roosters crow and church bells ring at dawn.

The language comes like birdcalls to my ear;

I want to dance, but I won’t be here long

Enough to learn the steps or even know

Where the dead stop jigging where they go.

Day, leaves San Pancho, to highlight birds in the Monteverde Cloud Forest of Costa Rica. The country is home to “Resplendent Quetzals.” This poem describes the parrot’s striking iridescent green and red feathers. They “sit like gods, high / in an aguacatillo tree, surveying the forest:’’ Day’s descriptions of the forest populated with green and yellow-striped vipers, orchids, insects and other residents of this misty habitat, made me want to go there.

Moving on, Day writes about wildlife on the Galápagos Islands, don’t miss her poem “What the Tortoises Know,” (I was surprised to learn what they know; I should be that smart!). This poem also introduced me to the red-footed booby. This gregarious birds sports feet in a variety of colors including blue and yellow. While Day’s poems are full of delightful descriptions of a variety of wildlife, there is no mistaking the seriousness with which Day, a credentialed scientist, takes environmental issues that threaten wildlife globally. Her poem, “Global Warming in the Galápagos,” bears witness to her concerns:

Three years without rain,

and incense trees are gray, leafless

in what should be the wet season.

Without the trees, where will red-

footed boobies with blue beaks

build nests where fluffy chicks can hatch?

Even prickly pear cacti, looking so much

like clusters of spiny ping pong paddles,

are turning brown and dying.

What will happen to iguanas that eat

the cacti, and lava lizards that nibble

lice from the iguana’s necks and backs?

A warming sea also brings El Niño

with too much rain, flooding,

overheated currents where penguins

can’t find fish, and beaches so hot

that green turtle eggs can’t hatch.

When iguanas can no longer regulate

their body temperature, giant tortoises

and blue-footed boobies will gather

like refugees and strike out for cooler land.

Moving into “Part II. Between the Two Shining Seas,” the poet opens with a narrative poem, “Names of the States.” In it, Day shows the Native American background within the names of 30 states. I had to pause and reflect upon how little I have appreciated the debt owed to these noble tribes.

Poems in this section visit significant places such as Cape Code and Nantucket, “Near houses with gray shingles and white trim, / lined up on bluffs that overlook the sea.” We go behind the scenes at a museum in St. Paul, Minnesota, to visit a “whole vault of dinosaur bones,” and a “fossil tortoise, 350,000 years old.” There’s more. Day visits Red Rock Canyon, where scorpions live, some of them five inches long. We even learn about the “Corpse Flower,” at Berkeley Botanical Garden.

Throughout the entire collection whether set in “places” abroad or in America, Lucille Lang Day’s, strongest suit is love. She loves life. She loves people and family. She loves the environment and evangelizes for its health, conservation, and preservation. Reviewing Birds of San Pancho and Other Poems of Place has awakened this reviewer to a heightened sense of “place” in this beautiful world.

Posted March 1, 2022

Dear Specimen

By W. J. Herbert

Beacon Press, 2021

92 Pages

ISBN-13: 9780807007594

Review by Kathleen Gregg

W. J. Herbert’s collection of poems, DEAR SPECIMEN, is both inspiring and unsettling. Her skill as a poet is especially evident in her masterful use of enjambment, form and double meaning to weave together universal themes of climate change, species extinctions, and her own personal tragedies – oftentimes within the same poem. Her language is elegant and profound, scientific and fascinating. And blunt, as in Errant Eagle, addressing extinct species trapped in the La Brea Tar Pits, “unlike us/you were/never to blame/for the pit, its making”. And in Tipping Point, warning of the decimation of so many animals due to “the greed/of fossil fuel producers”, and of those species becoming “Marvels archived in dust’s dissympathy.”

In describing extinct species on display at various museums, the narrator speaks with such eloquence and unexpected empathy. For instance, in Millipede, she calls it a “rippling sentence/with a hundred/periods/to punctuate”, perhaps wanting the reader to see these specimens in a different light, with her same awe. Yet, at the same time, there is an undertone of annoyance with the indelicate hands that study and display the specimens. This is particularly obvious in Speciesism: telling the viper, “someone’s/cracked your spine to coil/and jimmy you/into the jar; and the Aye Aye, “You would never have perched/like that”. Or in Cardinal, You Would Not Believe, the narrator laments “your bed’s a foam strip/to which you have been pinned.”

Some of the most poignant poems in this collection allude to the narrator’s declining heart, “a dinghy bobbing/wildly as the night/sea deepens” (Triage). In A Homo Sapiens on the Brink of Extinction Speaks to the Fossil Mosasaurus, she muses, “you seem alive/& I’m dying.” And in Sea Lily, she asks, “Lily, why do we have so little time?” It is clear that the narrator feels an affinity with the specimens and fossils she visits, pondering how soon she herself will be “preserved/ and catalogued” (Dear Specimen). She has already endured the death of her father from cancer and her daughter’s several miscarriages, addressed in heart-rending poems. And now, her daughter is asking “for the impossible. They’ll cure you, right?” (After My Diagnosis, Sarah Asks). In Shanidar, First Flower People, the narrator balks at the idea of cremation. “No, lay me down/in that cave where/others were covered/with cornflower,/hyacinth, yarrow/& hollyhock./Leave me”. And maybe, “I’ll become as light/as he did that day,/between the time I closed my eyes/to escape his labored breathing,/and the moment after.”

All of these poems are defined by a tangible urgency. Time is running out for our planet, its species and for the narrator herself. Do yourself a favor and read this collection. It is timely, intelligent and unforgettable.

===ABOUT THE REVIEWER: Kathleen Gregg is the author of The Underground River of Want. Kathleen lives in the bluegrass region of Kentucky and is active in the Kentucky Poetry Society.

Posted February 1, 2022

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Kindred Verse: Poems Inspired by Anne of Green Gables

By Julie A. Sellers

With Illunstrations by Jay E. Wallace

Blue Cedar Press, 2021

61 Pages

ISBN-13: 9781734227246

Review by Jacqueline Stearns

Kindred Verse tells a pictorial and literary tale. Each poem is accompanied by a stunning illustration. For example, the poem "Imperfect Girls" is accompanied by the image of a lovely green and white house surrounded by trees and grass while "On Cavendish Beach" is paired with a breathtaking image of sand and sea.

Kindred Verse is my first experience in reading with a book of poetry based upon a beloved fictional heroine. Reading Sellers' poems rekindled my own identification with Jo March of Little Women and Ariel of The Little Mermaid. It is clear that the character Anne Shirley is real to Sellers. She has a close relationship with all of the characters in L.M. Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables, especially Anne. Anne and Sellers are friends.

Sellers takes her readers on a parallel journey, Anne's and her own. She compares her own life experiences to Anne Shirley's. Kindred Spirits talks about the author's search for Anne Shirley's essence: "You are there although I have never met you. Heart breaking in time with mine." The poem discusses Lovers Lane and Violet Vale, two popular locations in Anne's world.

The theme of kindred spirits is explored further in "Looking For Anne Postcard From Prince Edward Island." While visiting the Nova Scotia home of L.M Monthomery author of Anne of Green Gables, Sellers avidly searches for Anne's spirit.

Marilla's brooch, Anne's much coveted puffed sleeve dress,

none of it none of it looked quite as I had imagined it as a girl.

Unable to find Anne in the house, Sellers seeks out her literary soulmate in a nearby forest, reminiscent of Lovers Lane.

Sellers finds the spirit of her literary companion while strolling along Cavendish Beach.

Sellers recalls different eras of her own personal growth in terms of successive re-readings of Anne of Green Gables. In the poem, "The Enchanted Bookcase": "I find the faces of all the girls, looking for Maude, looking for Anne, looking for Katie Maurice. Their dreams are reflected in my own."

Poems such as "Matthew Cuthbert," "Marilla Cuthbert," "Dianna Barry," and "Gilbert Blythe," Sellers pays homage to the characters who populate Anne Shirley's world.

This is a world I long to revisit, thanks to Julie A. Sellers and Kindred Verse.

Posted February 1, 2021

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Poetry & Science: Writing Our Way to Discovery

Anthology Edited by Lucille Lang Day

Scarlet Tanager Books, 2021

65 Pages - Five Essays with Poetry

ISBN-13: 9781734531336

Review by Michael Escoubas

This review is re-published with kind permission from Quill & Parchment

Poetry and Science is a collaboration of essays and poems by Lucille Lang Day, Alison Hawthorne Deming, Ann Fisher-Wirth, Elizabeth Bradfield, and Allison Adelle Hedge Coke, which illustrate the scientific principles elucidated by each writer.

“Poetry and Science: The Big Story,” by Alison Deming, opens the collection. In a delightful essay, Deming writes about a childhood full of wonderment visited upon her through books.

Deming’s poem, “Letter to 2050,” synthesizes concern for the planet and its inhabitants with the pathos inherent in poetry. Here’s an excerpt:

The Squamscott River

grew lazy in early summer—

muskrat rose and dove

heron swept and landed

and hemlocks that had survived

another century’s practice

of harvesting bark

were thriving. Some suffered

beaver girdles and the predation

by wooly adelgids but still

the pileated woodpeckers

found what they required

in the snags.

Ann Fisher-Wirth has lived in Mississippi for the last 32 years. The poet within her sees that the environmental issues of her beloved state share common ground with its history of poverty and racial injustice.

Channeling poet-obstetrician, William Carlos Williams’ ability to wed science and poetry, she notes that for Williams, “the study of medicine is an inverted sort of horticulture.” Enjoy this excerpt:

By the road to the contagious hospital

under the surge of the blue

mottled clouds driven from the

northeast—a cold wind. Beyond, the

waste of broad, muddy fields

brown with dried weeds, standing and fallen

patches of standing water

the scattering of tall trees

All along the road the reddish

Purplish, forked, upstanding, twiggy

stuff of bushes and small trees

with dead, brown leaves under them

leafless vines—

Lifeless in appearance, sluggish

dazed spring approaches—

They enter the new world naked,

Cold, uncertain of all

save that they enter. All about them

the cold familiar wind—

Elizabeth Bradfield refers to herself as a semi-scientist and a poet. In her essay, “Grappling with the Ineffable; Sciencing the Science: Blurring the Lines,” Bradfield asks the tough questions. Questions for which she candidly answers with Honestly, I don’t know.

As poet, Bradfield skillfully demonstrates in “Misapprehensions of Nature,” how both science and enlightened “thinking souls” might also get things wrong:

That bees are improper

because they have a queen

no king. That crows plant

acorns, twist them into soil,

properly spaced, to serve

as future roosts and manta rays

wrap divers in the dark

blankets (mantilla)

of their wings.

That dolphins

love us, that deer love us,

and the kit brought in and given milk

is just as happy. That we can know

what is for a fox

to be happy.

Allison Adelle Hedge Coke writes: “Poets and scientists share a main line—curiosity.” This pregnant thought is from her essay “Poetry/Science: Lab Coats for House Coats.” Raised in a family where science permeated the very air they breathed, Coke was exposed not only to a steady diet of science and art which piqued her sense of curiosity and mystery.

Such curiosity is expressed in a poem by Arthur Sze, a wonderful synthesis of poetry and science occurs in Sze’s “Net Light”:

Poised on a bridge, streetlights

on either shore, a man puts

a saxophone to his lips, coins

in an upturned cap, and a carousel

in a piazza begins to turn:

where are the gates to paradise?

A woman leans over an outstretched

Paper cup—leather workers sew

under lamps: a belt, wallet, purse—

leather dyed maroon, beige, black—

workers from Seoul, Laos, Singapore—

a fresco on a church wall depicts

the death of a saint: a friar raises

both hands in the air—on an airplane,

a clot forms in a woman’s leg

and starts to travel toward her heart—

a string of notes riffles the water;

and, as the clot lodges, at a market

near lapping waves, men unload

sardines in a burst of Argentine light.

“Poetry and the Language of Science,” by Lucille Lang Day, rounds out the anthology. In an incredibly wise essay, Day argues that poetry and science share the beauty of language. They also share “logic, reasoning, observation, and knowledge.

This basic truth, too long hidden from view, is highlighted in Day’s poem, “Biologist in the Kitchen”:

When the tea kettle whistles

I hear a hundred bushtits

emit tandem calls.

Two gallinaceous birds painted on my cup

must be pheasants,but the coloring is wrong—

too bright for females,too dull for males.

Sunlight slips easily

under the eaves. Mycelia

bloom by the sink

and when the crickets start to sing

I think of the click and shimmer

of polished bone

in the Vertebrae Museum, intricate

skeletons poised on racks.

I sip my cut black tea,

Longing for wind in the forested skull,

where roots embrace whole cities

and fattened ants hang

upside-down, under the grass.

Reviewing Poetry & Science has been more than just another poetry book review for me, I shall never think the same about the relationship between science and poetry again, now I know that “Sunlight slips easily under the eaves.”

Posted February 1, 2022

Behind the Mask in 2020...2021...

By Marilyn Peretti

Splendid Press (printed by Blurb.com), 2021

51 Pages

Review by Wilda Morris

Marilyn Peretti found material for poetry as she dealt with the lockdown caused by the arrival of Covid 19 in 2020 and the ongoing pandemic. Twenty-one of her poems have been gathered together in her book, Behind the Mask in 2020 . . 2021 . ., published shortly after the arrival of the Delta variant.

Peretti pens the “floating fog” (p. 6) created by the lockdown, when one day seemed just like the next, creating the feel of “a hamster wheel/ of continuous days” (p. 7). Many readers will identify with her rendering of sleep disturbances; people dying alone, “no bedside visits/ no funerals, no touching” (p. 17); and the disturbance of family routines due to virtual learning and parents working from home. She also reminds us of some of the ways people tried to deal with the stress and dislocation by taking up new hobbies, such as knitting, or doing more reading than they had been doing.

One of the most poignant themes of the book is the anonymity of the masked face, how the mask hides facial expressions, and thus thoughts and feelings. The first poem, “The Rule of Masking Up,” expresses the reasons for masking, but ends with “Be anonymous / behind your masks” (p. 5). This theme is given an ironic twist near the end of the book, in “The Lost Face,” the only humor in the collection. It is a story about a woman who found a new hair stylist early in the pandemic and didn’t see her unmasked until July 2021, during the period in which it seemed that the pandemic might be coming to a close. I won’t give away the surprise ending.

Peretti reminds us of the unfulfilled prediction of the president who said in 2020 that “we are rounding / the corner” (pp. 16-17) on the virus, which would be gone by summer and of the relief many felt when vaccinations were approved.

You may or may not be tired of reading pandemic poems, but you might want a copy of this book to hand to your grandchildren or great-grandchildren some day to give them a sense of what things were like during the first two years of the Covid-19 pandemic.

=== ABOUT THE REVIEWER: Wilda Morris, Workshop Chair, Poets and Patrons of Chicago, has published numerous poems in anthologies, webzines, and print publications and led poetry workshops in several states. Her most recent collection is PEQUOD POEMS: GAMMING WITH MOBY-DICK. Her poetry blog at wildamorris.blogspot.com features a monthly poetry contest.

Posted February 1, 2022

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Come Walk with Me: Poems reflecting walks around Devon

By Annie Jenkin

Cyberwit.net, 2021

25 Poems ~ 50 Pages

ISBN-13: 9788182538160

Review by Michael Escoubas

This review is reprinted with kind permission from Quill & Parchment

History records that many accomplished people have been inveterate walkers. Such notables include: Aristotle, Charles Dickens, Henry David Thoreau, and naturalist John Muir, among others too numerous to list. All were more-or-less addicted to striding their environs with alacrity. About this obsession, Muir is recorded as saying, “Walking was often the only way to access the subject of my writing and passion.”

Add Annie Jenkin to the list. In a recent conversation with the poet, she said to me, “Standing (or sitting), watching and listening restores my equilibrium. Many people walk but don't stop. I need to stop to access nature’s energy. To do this I need to be mindfully aware of what I see, observe and feel inside of me.”

This disarmingly simple statement is something of a credo for Annie Jenkin. Her debut collection Come Walk with Me bears witness to ways the natural world has energized her life. Jenkin, believes that half the fun of walking is pausing to allow nature to take up residence, thus restoring her spirit.

Style

Jenkin crafts her poems in clear, precise lines, something like walking. She favors verse libre, for its freedom and flexibility. It has been said that free verse isn’t free! Jenkin pays close attention to lineage, cadence, internal rhyme, and other poetic devices. The resulting product is engaging without getting too “chummy.” Her poems are designed to draw attention to the beauty around her. To this end there is a certain self-effacement about her work. As if to say, Don’t look at me, look at everything else!

Aesthetics

The volume is attractively produced by Thompson Press India Limited. Printed on high quality glossy stock, seven full color photographs enhance (but do not overwhelm) the poems. Pictures include: a cherry blossom bush, a field of bluebells, a butterfly perched on a pale green leaf, wildflowers native to Devon, and streams coursing through sun-shadowed woodlands.

Walking with Annie Jenkin through the Seasons

We learn much about the poet and her philosophy of poetry from “Pleasurable Pastime,” the lead poem. As a life-long resident of Plymouth (in the province of Devon) she wears the sea like a comfortable garment. It speaks to her as a companion who understands her needs. One gets the feeling that to be absent from the sea and its environs would be the cruelest of punishments:

When my anchor drifts

aimlessly along,

I slip on my boots

and take a long-awaited walk

tramping through narrow lanes.

Like sensitive spirits before her, the details of nature give rise to the restorative power of spring:

Passing bottle-green ivy

and pale shoots of nettle

below budding blackthorn.

Admiring how purple periwinkle

and vivid wild violet colours

clash with golden gorse

telling us spring is finally here!

In the following stanza, note the density of language, and the poet’s use of tools such as sibilance and alliteration, as well as the long “a” sounds resembling the actions of the sea:

My heart soars

as I taste the tangy sea air

blowing towards me.

It’s exhilarating to see

sprawling rocks stitched

to the sea by a stream

of endless white surf,

row upon row trying

to take hold of the shore

fray and slip away.

Read superficially, these poems may resonate as “just another collection of ‘nature’ poems.” However, there is another level to Jenkin’s work. Poems such as “Devon’s Wild Walkway,” show the poet’s powers of observation and hearing. These offer an important truth: collectively people need fellowship. A bevy of feathery friends meets Jenkin, cavorting amid their “swoops” and “squawks.” “Tribute,” an ode to an ancient beech tree, suggests qualities of longevity and resilience.

“July in Devon,” moves the reader into summer, where:

Like chorus girls

pale green frills of fir trees

wave gaily in morning breezes,

skirts lifting to reveal hundreds

of spindly legs, stretching

back in the deep darkness.

In other summer poems, “Seagulls benignly perch on high rocks / like spectators at the ringside / poised and ready to take action.” // “A kestrel glides on the wind / feathers of bright russet and black / outstretched, streamlined sweeping / over September’s yellow gorse.”

“Autumn’s Arrival,” ushers in the season with a flourish:

Beyond a faded five-bar gate

honey-coloured grasses shimmer

and rattle in the warm wind.

This poem is replete with the aroma of buzzards, (Peee-u), a “rickety bridge” and “sunlight splinters on river ripples.”

Even winter takes its share of glory, “Hidden gems reveal themselves / among naked branches.” // You won’t want to miss Jenkin’s depiction of “nut hatches nestling in holes,” and the plethora of other aviary life, who “walk wrapped in nature’s shawl / awed by her wondrous display.”

Do yourself a favor, accept Annie Jenkin’s invitation to “Come Walk with Me,” around Devon. Enjoy the colorful canvas of flowers, hedgerows, insects, birds, and animals painted by her poems and offered as a loving gift to her fortunate readers.

Posted February 1, 2022

Personal Myths: Numbers 2, 3, and 4

By Thomas H. Chockley

Independently Published, 2021

96 Pages

ISBN-13: 9781716321993

Review by Ignatius

If your haiku palate yearns for poems of a somewhat different flavor, this collection might be to your taste. The poems in Personal Myths Numbers 2, 3, and 4 relate, for the most part, events and observations not commonly found as the inspiration for haiku. And those that do deal with more common themes usually give them novel perspectives. The difference in approach is immediately evident in the title and structure of the book itself. The present volume, a follow-up or continuation to Personal Myths 1: Born in Mystery (2018, Red Moon Press), is divided into three sections: Personal Myths 2, Transcending Sunshine; Personal Myths 3, Urban Myths; and Personal Myths 4, River Twists.

The four-part structure of the two books has its origins in myth-scholar Joseph Campbell’s four functions of myths. He proposed that myths have a mystical function (presented in volume one), a cosmological function to demonstrate the shape and substance of the universe, a sociological function that supports and validates the social order from which the myth arose, and a pedagogical function that addresses the vagaries of human existence. The three parts of this book deal with these last three functions in interesting ways.

Let me begin by pointing out that, although the poems in this book are labeled haiku, a goodly proportion are not. Several are senryu. These poems usually lack a seasonal reference. Some attribute attitude or functionality to inanimate objects. Some blatantly display emotions. All of these are anathema to haiku.

That being said, some of the loveliest poems fit into this category. An example: mercurochrome leaves / autumn stanches / the loss of green (p15). The imagery of leaves close to blood-red in color is breathtaking. Autumn consciously trying to stem the deterioration and loss of green adds another dimension, perhaps hearkening to our own wish to slow the fade of summer.

The poems in Myths 2 all concern themselves with the cosmological function, the larger frame of reference, how the details pf our everyday environment relate to the universe as a whole. A theory in physics suggests all possibilities exist as probability waves and only when a decision is made choosing one over the others do the waves collapse giving concrete existence to the chosen. This theory forms the basis of the exquisite a taste for grape jelly this morning / …collapsing probability wave (p17). Other themes visited through the poet’s poetic eye: the brevity of human life in the context of that of the earth, before during and after me / Niagara Falls (p29); the futility of our efforts in the grand scheme, just shoveled / the walk fills in / behind me (p21).

In Myths 3, the poet focuses on the sociological function of myths. As he writes, “They are the personal or cultural stories people use for coping with life experiences.” Of particular interest are after the eye exams not seeing eye to eye (p37), in which he explores the idea that 20/20 vision may not mean you see all there is to see; lunch with an old love / talk of aching friends / and grandchildren (p41) that touches on the bittersweet sore spots experienced through years after love is lost; and first day of school / the new faces / of old friends, underlining the inexorable passage of time and how even people and things we know well will change, sometimes becoming unrecognizable or, at least, unfamiliar. The poet also uses the opportunity to lament the disappearance of politicians who actually strove to improve the lot of the common man: politicians speaking in bumper stickers (p53) and windshield / wearing ear plugs / during the debates (p53).

In Myths 4 we read poems illustrating the pedagogical function of myths through poems about how to live as a human being. And the pains and irritations we tolerate to maintain a certain lifestyle. For instance, the garbled music while on hold: call waiting / Miles Davis plays / under water (p63); freeze frame – / the hammer hitting the nail / of one’s thumb (p66); snow drifts / the sound of a spoon in her soup / the sound of mine (p75).

All in all, the premise of this collection works. Organized in a different sequence, these poems might paint a significantly different picture. This collection is well worth reading, especially if you want to read poetry that will give you something to think about long after you’ve put the book down.

===ABOUT THE REVIEWER: Ignatius is a poet and member of the California Haiku Society.

Posted January 1, 2022

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View From the Back Window

By Dan Boyd

North Orchard Press, LLC 2021

110 341

ISBN-13: 978-1-7363148-3-38

Review by Michael Escoubas

This review is reprinted with the kind permission of Quill & Parchment

In this illuminating new work Dan Boyd explores five critical areas of life. These areas include: Relationships, Mental Health, Religion, Looking Back and The COVID Crisis. Written in clear, accessible free verse, Boyd offers an arm-around-the-shoulder to his reading audience. I felt in the presence of a life-long friend, even though Dan and I have yet to meet. Indeed, his thematic foci are universal, always relevant, always meeting us where we live.

A Word About Style

Boyd’s writing style is disarmingly simple. He writes in free verse. His poems appear without punctuation. I like their uninhibited presence on the page. Line breaks are well-chosen for a comfortable read. Many poems feature both end- rhyme and interlinear rhyme worked into the poems like a baker’s hands, gently kneading dough. My wife, who enjoyed the book immensely said, “I like these poems because I understand them!”

Relationships

“Friends” opens the collection with ruminations about people close to us that we have lost. The poet explores the impact of loss on our lives and writes encouragingly about a subject we often take for granted. We live in a moment in history, perhaps unprecedented, where people have fewer friends than ever before. Someone has used the term, the cocooning of American life, by which is meant the universal tendency toward living lives of relative isolation. Dan writes:

Hold on to your friends as we take reality in stride

It’s always easier with a partner

And friend

To the end

Boyd has an uncanny ability to “get at” things. His poems sometimes ring an uncomfortable bell about relationships that might have been different; indeed, should have been different. In “The Words Don’t Come,” the poet identifies with countless numbers of readers. As his beloved lies on the threshold of death, he realizes that “My fears and anxiety over you leaving me / Have paralyzed me and my thoughts.”

Mental Health

This section opens with a poem close to my heart. Having retired in 2013, I relate profoundly to the poet’s observations in “Retirement”:

It’s for those that can take it

I have had enough

Retirement is rough

Changing my schedules

Changing my habits

Drinking coffee at 5:00 and taking my tablets

Boyd continues his ironic treatment of a stage of life anxiously anticipated but found, in reality, mildly disappointing:

Work was always my bucket list

I gained confidence and strength

In doing something right

Hard to turn it off

Still thinking at night

About tomorrow

There should be an easy feeling

Instead of sorrow

This poet is not predictable and that is what I like about his work. Many retirees will get an Ah! Ha! moment as “Retirement” ends.

Continuing within the same section, titles such as, “Laughter,” “Can You Remember,” “To Those of Us That Dream,” “Stranger in the Mirror,” “Living in the Past,” and many more, assemble the bricks and mortar of retirement life. I was particularly moved by “Let It Slide”:

Be forgiving as you go down the road

You never know how heavy the load

Might be for your fellow man

Be gentle as you listen to others complain

You might be waiting on the rain

To stop

Then drop to your knees in utter pain

Never assume everything and everyone is good

Be sensitive to your surroundings and the air your breathe

Be cautious to just assume

And then consume

The latest fad

In the “Religion” section, Boyd does not talk down to people, overstate his piety or lecture. He is aware of the wide diversity of thought and belief in this area. Yet he does not shy away the salient truth that as we age, we come to realize that we are in our “last chapters.” Faith, for Boyd, begins to saturate life as never before. In this light the poet offers “Set My Soul Free”:

Set my soul free

To drift upon the wind

Never to hear the sounds of pain

Ever again

Let my spirit rise

In the morning air

The poem continues as something of a petition realized only as this mortal life genuflects to a new and different kind of life:

Might I grab the tail of the closest kite

And breathe

Set my soul free

May I be free to stop the hurt

Amen

Some aspects of life present challenges. I almost skipped over “Looking Back,” because the poet got too close to the real me. After questioning the truth that “hindsight is 20/20,” he asks, “Would you have honestly changed anything? Were you really fair, respectful, honest, and caring in how you treated people?” I got upset with these questions because the plain truth is that I have lived an incredibly self-serving life. There are 51 poems in this section, all soul-nourishing, all designed to wrap the reader in a shawl of compassion.

11 poems about Covid-19 bring the volume to a gentle close. Dan Boyd’s “view from the back window” offers a perspective on life that is not limited those who identify themselves as “blue collar.” Indeed, Dan waxes universal through these lines from the collection’s last poem, “In the Land of Milk and Honey”:

We need the personal connections for all of us are brothers

We bear the burden as we share in the grace

Posted January 1, 2022

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The Trip

By Sharmagne Leland-St. John

Illustrations by Melissa Bergemeir

Cyberwit Press, 2021

20 Pages

ISBN-13: 978-93-90202-97-3

Review by Michael Escoubas

This review is reprinted with the kind permission of Quill & Parchment

Possibly the most popular and effective story-telling technique is the “journey.” Poet Sharmagne Leland-St. John in collaboration with artist Melissa Berge-meier, exploit the journey motif in a delightful story about a mouse and a boy.

Since your reviewer’s name is Michael, I fit right in because, to my delight, both protagonists bear the same name!

The mouse’s name was Michael

Just the same as mine

Mike and I became fast friends

We hit it off just fine

The story opens with Mike suddenly appearing (as characters often do in fan-tasies) perched innocently on the Michael’s bedroom window sill. His little tail is curled into a backward letter “C”. Michael, of course, has just become aware of his new friend’s presence.

A little furry mouse

Crept ′cross my window sill

An oil lamp is lit giving the room an eerie glow, the curly-haired boy is smiling, neither startled nor afraid.

I sat up in my tiny bed

And bid the mouse “Hello”

He said, “I’m off to see the world

Would you care to go?

And with that, the boy and mouse are on their way. Since the trip takes place at night, Bergemeier’s pictures create an aura of mystery shrouded in lovely colors and shadows that highlight the principle characters but do not intrude on the saga of mouse and boy living out their dream.

What makes the illustrations and story unique is the setting. It all takes place in Victorian England. With location in mind, I enjoyed Bergemeier’s depictions of manicured lawns, landscaping, wrought iron fencing, a graveyard, stately build-ings and iconic Big Ben.

With their journey just picking up a good head of steam:

Mike and I took shelter

Beneath a big oak tree

And built a ship to carry us

across the rainy sea

In one of my favorite scenes, the mouse takes Michael’s handkerchief, makes a “sail of white,” it fills with wind, billows out and sails, “Against the starless night.”

Where the two intrepid explorers go from here is an adventure well worth the time it takes to share the beauty of art and poetry with those you love. By the way, you won’t want to miss the ending of this wonderfully crafted poetic journey . . . it has to do with shinnying up a drainpipe. See you there!!

Posted January 1, 2022

Archived Book Reviews Posted October 2021 - December 2021

Shoes: Poems About Footwear co-edited by Jennifer Dotson and Mary Beth Bretzlauf (review by Michael Escoubas)
Not As It Seems by Pat St. Pierre (review by Irene Savine)
Dearest Papa: A Memoir in Poems by Thelma T. Reyna (review by Michael Escoubas)
Forged by Tona Cole (review by Lynn White)
Poetry in an Age of Panic: Poems of Strength, Vulnerability, Loss and Triumph by Terry Loncaric (review by Joseph Kuhn Carey)
Poems to Lift You Up and Make You Smile compiled by Jayne Jaudon Ferrer (review by Michael Escoubas)
Orchard Days by Heather Corbally Bryant (review by Jacqueline Stearns)
Big Questions, Little Sleep - Second Edition by Linda Imbler (review by Kate Hutchinson)
Communiqué: Poems from the Headlines by Ed Werstein (review by Michael Escoubas)
to everything there is by Donna Vorreyer (review by Gail Goepfert)
Remember: Poems for the 20th Anniversary of 9/11 by the Southern Chapter of the Illinois State Poetry Society (review by Michael Escoubas)
A Way of Looking by Jiaqing Zheng (review by Lois Baer Barr)
Calendar Girls by Tobi Alfier (review by Michael Escoubas)
Revelations by Ruben Quesada (review by Kathryn Staublin)
As One Day Slips Out of the Shoe of Another by Marcia J. Pradzinski (review by Sue Roupp)

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Archived Book Reviews posted July 2021 - September 2021

The Kingdom of Birds by Joan Colby (review by Caroline Johnson)
Languid Lusciusness with Lemon by Joan Leotta (review by Barbara R. Saunders)
Common Ground by Kathy Lohrum Cotton (review by Michael Escoubas)
Smoke the Peace Pipe by Roz Weaver (review by Cynthia T. Hahn)
Holding Myselves Together by Margaret Rozga (review by Christine Swanberg)
Nature: Human & Otherwise by D. C. Buschmann (review by Michael Escoubas)
Resonance by Gary Beck (review by Jacqueline Stearns)
The Purpose of Things by Peter Serchuk (review by Gail Denham)
Kissing the Long Face of the Greyhound by Yvonne Zipter (review by Marjorie Skelly)
Second Story by Denise Duhamel (review by Lois Barr)
Melancholia by Alan Balter (review by Mike Freveletti)
Kindness in Winter by Sally Nacker (review by Michael Escoubas)
Time and Tide: An Atlas for Grieving by Denise Thompson-Slaughter (review by Bill Cushing)
The Bold News of Bird Calls by Edward Morin (review by Lynne Viti)
No Batteries Required by Ellen Dooling Reynard (review by Carol L. Gloor)

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Archived Book Reviews posted April - June 2021

Checkered Mates by Tricia Knoll (review by Joan Loetta)
Riding the Waves of Bliss: Seasons of Life Poems by Shai Har-El (review by Barbara Eaton)
Spoken by Melanie Weiss (review by Elizabeth Joy Levinson)
Truth or Dare: Poetry by Marissa Rose Farella (review by Arlyn Miller)
Confluences by Gari Light (review by Lennart Lundh)
Black Forest Dreams: A Journey Through Germany by Joseph Kuhn Carey (review by Terry Loncaric)
Honey from the Sun by Patrice Claeys Boyer & Gail Goepfert (review by Marcia J. Pradzinski)
Music Speaks by Bill Cushing (review by Carol L. Gloor)
Practicing Yoga in a Former Shoe Factory by Heather Corbally Bryant (review by Gay Guard Chamberlin)
When the Virus Came Calling: COVID-19 Strikes America edited by Thema T. Reyna (review by Michael Escoubas)
Running Aground by Elizabeth Joy Levinson (review by Aleca Black)
I have Grown Two Hearts by Zoe Siobhan Howarth-Lowe (review by Tina Cole)
poetry of the engineer by Curt Vevang (review by Cassandra McGovern)
Dead Shark on the N Train by Susana H. Case (review by Mike Freveletti)

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Archived Book Reviews posted January 2021 - March 2021

How Do We Create Love by Michael H. Brownstein (review by Jacqueline Stearns)
Pictures, Postcards, Letters by Lennart Lundh (review by Lynne Viti)
Becoming Vulnerable by Joshua Corwin (review by Mike Freveletti)
Haiku Rose by Colleen McManus Hein (review by Hope Atlas)
Porch Swing Rhyme by Lavern Spencer McCarthy (review by Curt Vevang)
Central Air by Mike Puican (review by Carol L. Gloor)
Dancing at Lake Montebello by Lynne Viti (review by Terry Loncaric)
Decennia by Jan Chronister (review by Carol L. Gloor)
The Samurai by Linda Crate (review by Cynthia T. Hahn)
Beyond the Moon's White Claw by Patty Dickson Piecza (review by Michael Escoubas)
Inside Out: Poems on Writing & Reading Poems with Insider Exercises by Marjorie Maddox (review by Teresa K. Burleson)
Ministry of Flowers by Andrea Witzke Slot (review by Lois Baer Barr)
Dragonflies & Algebra by Dennis Trujillo (review by Ed Werstein)
Apricots to Za'Atar: Across Oceans and Time Memoir Meets Persona in Pantry of My Life's Menu by Emma Alexandra Kowalenko (review by Dr. Jonathan Gourlay)
Time is Not a River by Michael Minassian (review by Lavern Spencer McCarthy)
Other Maidens by Toti O'Brien (review by Linda Imbler)

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Archived Books Reviews posted October - December 2020

My Third Eye Is Blurry: Collected Poems by William Vollrath (review by Arlene Gay Levine)
Rites of Paradise by Geoffrey Heptonstall (review by Barbara Eaton)
Stargazing: Poems of Astronomy by Miriam Sagan (review by Jan Chronister)
Throwing the Crown by Jacob Saenz (review by Mike Freveletti)
Get Up Said the World by Gail Goepfert (review by Caroline Johnson)
Little Kings by Peter Kahn (review by Elizabeth Joy Levinson)
Late Night Talk Show Fantasy & Other Poems by Jennifer Dotson (review by Gay Guard Chamberlin)
Asylum by Elizabeth Marino (review by Elizabeth Harper)
The Eden of Perhaps by Agnes Vojta (review by Jacqueline Stearns)
The Machinery of Grace by Patrice Claeys Boyer (review by Gail Denham)
Still Life with God by Cynthia Atkins (review by Tina Cole)
Dancing a Dizzy Holiness by Larry Janowski (review by Ed Werstein)
Body Falling, Sunday Morning by Susana H. Case (review by Joseph Zaccardi)
Wild Fruition: Sonnets, Spells and Other Incantations by Christine Swanberg (review by Barbara Eaton)

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Archived Book Reviews posted July - September, 2020

Sylvia Cavanaugh, Angular Embrace (review by Barbara Eaton)
Jeff Snatuoso, Body of Water (review by Elizabeth Levinson)
Michael Escoubas, Steve Henderson in Poetry and Paint (review by Charlotte Digregorio)
Storiword/T.J. Morris, Poetry With a Passion (review by Mary Beth Bretzlauf)
Wilda Morris, Pequod Poems: Gamming with Moby Dick (review by Mike Freveletti)
Curt Vevang, poetry as we like it (review by Mary Beth Bretzlauf)
Herb Berman, Sympathetic Magic (review by Gail Denham)
Mary Jo Balistreri, Gathering the Harvest (review by Charlotte Digregorio)
Charlotte Digregorio, Ripples of Air: Poems of Healing (review by Michael Escoubas)
Cheryl Caesar, Flatman: Poems of Protest in the Trump Era (review by Barbara Eaton)

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Archived Book Reviews posted January - June, 2020

Gay Guard Chamberlin, Through a Rusty Needle (review by Lennart Lundh)
Anara Guard, Hand on My Heart (review by Lennart Lundh)
Frank Watson, In the Dark Soft Heart of the Earth (review by Mary Beth Bretzlauf)
Mary Jo Balistreri, Still (reviews by Mary Beth Bertz

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