by James B. Nicola I heard my mother’s voice today. Thanksgiving weekend. Ten years this January. My nephew played a very loving voice mail message from her he has kept on his cell phone ten years. My brother said he has kept three such messages. My nephew said he had another one and wept awhile. It made…
By Matthew Bartlett Like a graceful Baisemain, anEntrechat of Bejamin’s frolicsomeHands that soften her to dance;Their eyes; white angel flamingStars praise to this God his glory,Their fiery Althaea eyes weaningInto their gowns, and spin like a streaming‘pas de bourree couru’. Such poetryTo be spread in secret,Unaware your feet are gleaning…
By Matthew Bartlett in the fresh andante of the dawnher body is primrose.more pleasure to feed uponthan touch this one i love so much. my kitten is purringas he watches us stirringin the nocturnal down-linen of our warmth. but it is she who sleeps, while I am clandestine,eyes full-wide wearing…
By Matthew Bartlett The shadow of an unknown power floatsabove me, a shadow without shape,An eidolon unseenIn delphic, cool dances on rainy clouds,Coming and going like Shelley’s “Spirit of Beauty”In the swishing wisp of a scythe through hyacinth.I am touched by the anoesis;The great nomadic deathOf folie a plusieurs …And…