FIRST LITERARY REVIEW-EAST
MARCH/APRIL 2025
In like a lion and out like a lamb, with some awesome poems in between.
Be well and enjoy!
—Cindy Hochman and Karen Neuberg, Editors
Looking Up
The sky is pastel pink
& baby blue tonight
God/dess cloaks me
with a blanket
created for a newborn
—Mindy Matijasevic
Mindy Matijasevic writes poetry, memoir, and her stand-up comedy material. Her work has been published in numerous journals and anthologies, including NYC From The Inside; her comedy has been aired on “Joy of Resistance,” a WBAI-FM feminist radio show hosted by Fran Luck.
Last Night
I did not hear the great-horned owl.
I did not see the moon filling my room.
I did not hear you get up early.
I was with the wild dogs in the Serengeti.
We were tired and slept soundly.
—Celia Lewis
Celia Lewis’s grandfather always sang his poems, loudly. Her grandmother wrote hers quietly. Now that she lives where they did she does a little bit of both—singing outside usually on the tractor, and writing inside, most of the time. Until recently, she worked as an educator, ornithologist, and environmental public health researcher.
Nonet for April
It begins with a day for tricksters
this month of tree frogs and bloodroot
striped spring beauties in clusters
wood ear after the rain
comma butterflies
forsythia
shooting stars
vinca
skinks.
—Marjorie Hanft
Marjorie Hanft lives in East Central Illinois, where she monitors two hiking trails for Grand Prairie Friends, a conservation organization. Her poetry chapbook, Scrutinizing the Dust, was published by Finishing Line Press in 2024.
Walking into the Sunrise
Dawn chooses her finest tipped brush.
Dips. Pot of red paint, dahlia-red velvety and deep,
Slow strokes banana leaf. Outline. My mother
eyes herself in the bathroom mirror, lipstick.
Top lip first, bottom, tissue, kiss-kiss.
Blood red.
—Rachael Ikins
Rachael Ikins is a multiple Pushcart nominee, 2018 Independent Book Award winner, 2024 winner 2nd place Northwind Writing Awards, author/artist of 13 books. Her cats and dogs remain unimpressed with this and will sit on the keyboard if she works past their mealtimes. Her artwork has appeared in NYC, Paris, France; and Washington, DC. Syracuse University grad, member Bayou City branch NLAPW, and Associate Editor of Clare Songbirds Publishing House, Auburn, NY.
Unspoken
A breeze flits through the pine trees––an implicit
agreement between roots and sky, language
left open to interpretation—will you run or will you
fly? You open the window, scent of morning coffee
waking the roses, bird wings stirring the breakfast pot.
We make meaning out of this: the curvature of spine,
the angle of your head against my open palm,
the dialect of bodies.
—Amy Smith
Amy Smith is a poet living and writing in Northern Nevada. Her poems have appeared in several places, including Humana Obscura, contemporary haibun online, Unbroken, and wildscape.literary journal. Amy is currently pursuing her MFA degree in poetry through the low-residency program at the University of Nevada, Reno at Lake Tahoe.
Looking in the Mirror with the Sun at my Back
As I start my day’s
ablutions, I admire
sun’s two golden glows,
one taking over sky,
as wind-herded clouds
driving the dark of
night and storm
back into oblivion;
the other, its reflection
in my mirror,
beckoning me
from sleep
to wakefulness.
I take a deep breath.
My day begins.
—Joan Leotta
Joan Leotta plays with words on page and stage. Internationally, including in The Ekphrastic Review, published as essayist, poet, short-story writer, and novelist, she’s a two-time nominee (fiction and poetry) for Pushcart and Best of the Net. And has won prizes for her mystery/crime and flash fiction as well. As a story performer she offers folktale programs and a one-woman show, Louisa May Alcott Gives an Author Talk. You can find Joan on Facebook, Joan Leotta, or contact her at joanleotta@gmail.com
12-Bar Underground Poem
To Bessie Smith
A Jerry-bearded guitar player
In this N.Y. subway station,
Yes, a Garcia-bearded guitar player
In this here Midtown subway station
Is singing “Empty Bed Blues”
For the morning commuters.
—Joel Allegretti
Joel Allegretti is the author of, most recently, Platypus (NYQ Books, 2017), a collection of poems, prose, and performance texts, and Our Dolphin (Thrice Publishing, 2016), a novella. He is the editor of Rabbit Ears: TV Poems (NYQ Books, 2015). The Boston Globe called Rabbit Ears “cleverly edited” and “a smart exploration of the many, many meanings of TV.”
Clair de lune
In some grand, idyllic world
someone’s always playing Debussy on piano.
We watch one elderly couple dance & twirl.
In some grand, idyllic world
they meet, by chance, a small fair—that boy and girl.
The piece repeats: the tempo slows.
In some grand, idyllic world
someone’s always playing Debussy on piano.
—Arthur McMaster
Poet, playwright, and novelist, Arthur McMaster’s work has been featured in such literary journals as Southwest Review, North American Review, Poet Lore, Rattle, Rhino, Poetry East, and First Literary Review-East. He teaches in the Continuing Education program at Furman University. His most recent full-length poetry book is The Whole Picture Show.
Heartland
Remember me to one who lives there
—Bob Dylan
“The girl from the end of the lake,” that’s what my dad,
at ninety-seven, named her, my new love, when I mentioned
she grew up in Duluth, Minnesota, the north country for sure,
Zimmerman’s town. It pleased him that she was from there—
an honest place meant a good person—and he had worked
the neighboring shores of the U.P. after the war, small parishes
in fishing villages, and I was born there, so it all fit,
sort of. Those lakes, great as the heartland he loved,
where “the farm boy from Ohio” had married “the girl from Kansas,”
titles he bestowed with pride to tell his story,
to fix names fading at summer’s end.
All good, except that true love of mine is no Dylan girl,
make no mistake—she’s freer than any howlin’ wind,
stronger than the snowflakes storm, and loves,
loves more deeply than any northland lake.
—David Hummon
David Hummon is a poet, painter, and emeritus Professor (Holy Cross College, Sociology), whose scholarship often addressed conceptions of place and identity in American Culture. His poetry and painting frequently speak to similar themes, joining text and image in conversation. His poetry appears in The Healing Muse, The Bicoastal Review, Connecticut River Review, The Naugatuck River Review, The Unitarian Universalist World, and other journals. How to Write a Bench, his full-length collection of poems with selected art, is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press in 2025.
Big Sur, Big Leaf Bud
In a flood of nascent leaf buds,
he arrives, a survivor of foiled adventures.
He now prefers forest to sea, a gardener
nee sailor.
Cold comfort of cold frame greenhouses,
tattered plastic. It warms him and stokes
his faith that leaves will grow.
Dazed by the sun bouncing on the ghastly,
mottled plastic, he breaks into a sweat,
imagining those plants emerging, fuzzy, and
unshaven.
He needs to remind himself
that it’s a botanicalspecies, not a small animal.
He swears he can
hear it moving, reaching skyward.
—Lynne Kemen
Lynne Kemen’s full-length book of poetry, Shoes for Lucy, was published by SCE Press in 2023. Woodland Arts Editions published her chapbook, More Than a Handful, in 2020. Her work is anthologized in The Memory Palace: an ekphrastic anthology (Ekphrastic Editions, 2024), Seeing Things and Seeing Things 2 (Woodland Arts, 2020 and 2024). Lynne is President of the Board of Bright Hill Press and serves on many other not-for-profit boards. She is an Editor and Interviewer for Blue Mountain Review. She is a nominee for a Pushcart Prize this year. (#90)
Bestiary
the small, white, blacklegged egret,
how beautiful!
green shadows & dark dreams of fish
the dog with daisies for eyes
even the leaves have thick tongues
the mango is a great gold eye
the mock orange bush is in fruit
raccoons seek the odour of bruised plums
the trees & I will soon be bare
I nail my left palm to my right ankle
the cow’s breath, not forgotten in the mist
hey-ho, little brown bat guano,
it is still today!
when dead sharks wash up along the beach
& every morning the sun comes : the sun
—Stan Rogal
Stan Rogal lives and writes in Toronto. Work has been published in numerous journals in Canada, the US, Europe, and Asia. The author of 27 books, including 12 poetry, plus several chapbooks. A 13th collection to be published in 2025 with ecw press. He is left-handed and has never owned a smartphone.
Incongruous Lives
A respite from carrying weight, I’ve unpacked
my baggage here while passing through.
Wheels that are supposed to travel
easy are dulled, move like they’re made
of sponge. Did you know the archaic
definition of baggage is a worthless
or disreputable woman? As if I’ve been lugging
myself behind me all this time. Fool’s errand
perhaps—I can’t find the kindness
that I thought I’d brought. Along the route,
they told me, flowers were in bloom—reds
and purples everywhere—flowers I can’t
find. Since I’m not deaf, I must be blind.
—Susana H. Case
Susana H. Case is the award-winning author of nine books of poetry, most recently, If This Isn't Love, Broadstone Books, and co-editor with Margo Taft Stever of I Wanna Be Loved by You: Poems on Marilyn Monroe, Milk & Cake Press. The first of her five chapbooks, The Scottish Café, Slapering Hol Press, was re-released in an English-Polish version, Kawiarnia Szkocka by Opole University Press and as an English-Ukrainian edition, Шотландська Кав'ярня by Slapering Hol Press. https://www.susanahcase.com
Elizabeth Street Garden
Does the sky dream of rain?
The statues dream of twinkling moons and trees that climb like ladders to an obverse sky.
What is the rain thinking about?
And do the clouds serenade the thoughts of wandering ghosts?
—Alison Ross
Clockwise Cat publisher and editor Alison Ross pioneered the genre of Zen-Surrealism and the tenets of Zen-Surrealist Socialism, and uses those as her guiding aesthetic. She is a staff writer for PopMatters.
we are meant to move through life windswept
unsettled and tossed into uncertainty,
unanchored in the forever wistfulness
of a breeze that leaves willing hearts
ready to fall in love under the drizzle
of evening rain at a train station, in
a used bookstore on a tired afternoon.
we are meant to walk blurry-eyed along
a riverfront, our ankle drags over wet
grass. we are meant to tear strips of
notebook paper into a backpack to be
discovered in the docile sleeping hours—
unfeigned reminders to fold into shallow
pockets, a honeyed sentiment we never
let die. we are meant to billow and
billow, our compass hearts spinning
and spinning.
—Kendall A. Bell
Kendall A. Bell's poetry has been most recently published in Ovunque Siamo and Nobody Thoughts. He was nominated for Sundress Publications’ Best of the Net collection seven times. He is the author of four full length collections, The Roads Don't Love You (2018), the forced hush of quiet (2019), the shallows (2022), all of this bruising (2024), and 36 chapbooks, the latest being Blooms Of Oblivion. He is the publisher/editor of Maverick Duck Press and editor and founder of Chantarelle's Notebook. His chapbooks are available through Maverick Duck Press. He lives in Southern New Jersey.
Still
Still
is this
night, still chilled
by a late rain shower
silvered by moon
beaming on
dreams
—Lorraine Caputo
Lorraine Caputo is a wandering troubadour whose poetry appears in over 500 journals on six continents, and 24 collections of poetry, including In the Jaguar Valley (dancing girl press, 2023) and Caribbean Interludes (Origami Poems Project, 2022). She also authors travel narratives, articles, and guidebooks. She is a Best of the Net and Pushcart Prize nominee. She journeys through Latin America with her faithful knapsack Rocinante, listening to the voices of the pueblos and Earth. Follow her adventures at
www.facebook.com/lorrainecaputo.wanderer or https://latinamericawanderer.wordpress.com
Liminal
Just jump in! It will be OK! Trust, have faith! Round and round—I’m tested again. Inside, darkness wraps like a blanket. Air flow slows, stops. Dim luminescence permits timid motion. Trip, but don’t fall. Mildewing leaves, cool night, dampness. Move toward a pinprick where light glints, one foot at a time. Legs are like logs, just drag them. Light slowly grows with each step, then the opening. I climb through into fresh air, the bright, full moon.
—Ann Wehrman
Ann Wehrman is a creative writer and musician living in Northern California. She teaches English composition online for the University of Phoenix and the University of Arizona Global Campus. Ann's poetry, short fiction, and literary reviews have appeared in various print and online journals. Her chapbook, Inside (Love Poems), was published by Rattlesnake Press. She can also be found teaching yoga, reading, cooking, and playing her flute.
Triangle Moon
I see the moon
as she waxes full
and the moon sees me.
I raise my face to her
hard, cold light
and whisper my secret.
At this moment
somewhere in this world,
you see the moon
and yet,
you are so many miles
and so many years
away.
—Dorothy Cantwell
Dorothy Cantwell has worked as an educator, actor, and playwright. Her poetry and short fiction have been published in the Long Island Literary Journal, Constellate Literary Journal, Flash Boulevard, The Assisi Journal, River and South Review, Poetrybay, Angel City Review, Amethyst, and other print and online journals. Her poem “Edward under the Sky,” published in Brownstone Poets Anthology 2024, has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. She is often a reader at various venues in NYC, where she lives and works.
Obituary (Props to Victoria Chang)
Sylvia Siegel was born in Rochester, NY, on September 29, 1918. The daughter of Jewish immigrants, no that’s not how I want to start. Sylvia Siegel married Joseph Grossman on June 1, 1951, in Manhattan, New York. They separated in October of 1953, no, that’s not it either. Sylvia Siegel was killed in a car accident on Mexico Highway 2D on May 22, 1972, no, no, no. Sylvia Siegel lived fifty-four years and was a loving mother to her son Gary, who survived her passing. NO. Sylvia Siegel led a troubled life, perpetually trapped under a glass ceiling that held women down until the twenty-first century, and the lack of effective psychoactive drugs for control of bipolarity. Almost there. Sylvia Siegel …
—Gary Grossman
Gary Grossman likes to write and share his work with readers. His work has been nominated for awards but hasn’t yet won, so, meh, right? Gary enjoys running, music, fishing, and gardening. His poetry books Lyrical Years (2023, Kelsay), What I Meant to Say Was … (2023, Impspired Press), and graphic memoir My Life in Fish—One Scientist’s Journey (2023, Impspired) all are available from Amazon or the author. Website: https://www.garygrossman.net/ .
Lake Azoscohos Haiku II
Painting mother’s bedroom
a neutral color
before selling her house
The loon’s call,
too,
goes unanswered
Two loons
calling and calling.
Or just one?
Where the thistle
breaks into blossoms—
a deer's dry fetlock
Spring’s war dead
and cherry blossoms
once again
—Andrew Kaufman
Andrew Kaufman’s most recently completed book, The Rwanda Poems was published by New York Quarterly Books. His previous books include The Cinnamon Bay Sonnets, winner of the Center for Book Arts Award; Earth’s Ends, winner of the Pearl Poetry Award; and Both Sides of the Niger. He is an NEA recipient.