FIRST LITERARY REVIEW-EAST

JUNE 2011

Editor's Note:  As always, our call for submissions (with a focus on Father's Day poems) yielded an interesting and varied mix.  We hope you enjoy this issue as much as we enjoyed putting it together!

The Single Dad Sandbox Ditty
Carl Schurz Park
New York City

Don't get annoyed
Sigmund Freud
but the mother I'm wanting
isn't my own

Kids R crawling
toddlers brawling
& I'm i-balling you

& you
& you & you &
you. . . .
                                              -Matthew Hupert

Matthew Hupert is the author of  "Ism is a Retrovirus" [Three Rooms Press] which has been lauded by Mondo 2000 editor R.U. Sirius. Dennis McNally, author of "Desolate Angel: Jack Kerouac, The Beat Generation and America", and "A Long Strange Trip: The Inside History of the Grateful Dead" , says that "[Hupert] sees how the words work, listens to them working, feels their meaning and spits ‘em out. I love his poetry." Matthew believes the primary role of the Artist is to be the stick that your Zen master smacks you in the head with. His poetry has been published in "The Formalist", the Dadaist journal "Maintenant3″, and the Anthology "150 contemporary sonnets."

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epitaph

you created me
you swaddled me in solitude,
gave me your aquiline nose,
a caravan of fears,
and a bandage ‘round my broken heart

you were my jack-in-the-box joker,
my midnight organ grinder

(previously published in Pegasus Magazine in 1996)

Cindy Hochman's chapbook, "The Carcinogenic Bride", is slated for publication by Thin Air Media by mid-summer, and she hopes that you'all will buy a copy!

An Escape

Tempers of the near dead
Cursing each other and you,
You struggled for order,
And groomed, shambled
Into the chiaroscuro of dazzling morning
And mourning toward a procession
Of flower decked hearses.
The sun leaped from
Storefronts, mirrors, windows of cars,
And chill air embraced you,
Was jovial, familiar, quick.
                                                  -Michael Graves

Michael Graves is the author of two chapbooks, "Outside St. Jude's" (R.E. M. Press, 1990), "Illegal Border Crosser" (Cervena Barva, 2008), and a full-length collection, "Adam and Cain" (Black Buzzard, 2006). A second full-length collection, "In Fragility", is forthcoming from Black Buzzard this year. In 2004, he was awarded a grant from the Ludwig Vogelstein Foundation.

Leigh Harrison is a writer, poet, singer/songwriter, and teacher of poetry and writing. Her CD's (Eclectic Chanteuse and Oh, Wow!) were released by SongCrew Music. Her books include "Tour de Farce" (Poet Tree Press) and "Our Harps Upon the Willows" (Cross-Cultural Literary Editions). Her book reviews have appeared in American Book Review and OnTheBus; her poetry has appeared in numerous publications, in the U.S. and internationally. She is the creator of the 20th century poetic form, the "pentina," and has taught writing at several schools, colleges, and universities. She is currently working on a chapbook called "Finding Sermons in Stones", and she continues to work with Cindy Hochman in their proofreading business.   www.leighharrison.com

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Carousel

Mary goes round, and up and down
she spots Papa's smile in the blurry crowd
reigns tight in hand, streamers tumble down
the bucking horse, her legs firmly around

curls bounce back, she blasts a laugh
toothy grin, rosy cheeks, Mary's brown eyes dance
the pony - bubble gum pink and bleu de France -
matches spun sugar in Papa's hands

‘Mary goes round!' she squeals at the lights
Mary goes round one last time tonight
the ride suddenly slows, one last organ note rises
Mary shuffles down, tears in eyelashes.
                                                                     -Christy Rosell

Christy Rosell works as the business development and marketing director at the nonprofit and historic Earl Smith Strand Theatre in Marietta, Georgia, just north of Atlanta. Formerly, she was a marketing manager for a full-service advertising agency. She studied poetry as a way to learn to get a message across using carefully selected words - a tool for advertising. But, it turns out, poetry is fun. Christy is grateful for poetry as a creative outlet; appreciative of her "secret" poetry group and fellow encouragers; and honored to be making her public debut as a poet in First Literary Review.

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Working Class

He never showed me how to get down, stay
in front of hard hit grounders. Never bought
boxing gloves or taught me to use tools.
We never went hunting or fishing. Never
woke up at four in the morning, whispered
in and out of the bathroom, packed gear
in the back of a station wagon. Never fed
a fire or slept under the stars. No ice cold
beers to drink. Not one Korean War story.

My father went to work six days a week, left
while I still slept and came home hours
after dark. Sitting down to supper, he grunted,
nodded his head when I told him about A's
on history quizzes, no hitters I pitched.
He ate quickly, drank black coffee, flicked
cigarette ashes in his dish and pushed back
his chair. He kissed mom's forehead, brushed
a hand through my hair, went upstairs to bed.
                                                                      -Tony Gloeggler

(previously published in the New York Quarterly)

Tony Gloeggler is a native of NYC and currently manages a group home for developmentally disabled men in Brooklyn. His work has been in numerous anthologies and journals (including the previous issue of this one!) His chapbook, ONE ON ONE, received the 1998 Pearl Poetry Prize, and ONE WISH LEFT, a full-length collection, was published by Pavement Saw Press in 2002. MY OTHER LIFE was published by Jane Street Press in 2004, and GREATEST HITS came out from Pudding House Publications in 2009. THE LAST LIE was put out by NYQ Books in 2010.

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Pounding The Pavement (for my Father)

Things remind me . . .  Little things. Sometimes
The simplest of sounds or
Sights or a color of light
Nudges a thought.
The time of day casts your shadow.
A word or flavor on the tip of my
Tongue- suddenly you appear gazing
At me with your comments and the
Sound of your voice reminds my ears of
How much they miss you.

I want to drop down and pound
The pavement with my fists till it
Cracks open to release you and
Bring you up from the dust,
Bring you back to the world so
You can fix things again. And
I will stand there dutifully, happy
To hold a flashlight for you
Into the dark night
While you work.
                                                     -Su Polo

Su Polo is a multitalented artist. A native New Yorker, her writing conveys unusual insights and surprises found in life's everyday events and encounters. She is a singer/songwriter with guitar and dulcimer in the band The Flying Dogs of Jupiter, Jazz vocalist, photographer, painter, sculptor, computer graphic artist and created her website www.supolo.com. Her book, "Turning Stones", a collection of poems and stories is available at St. Marks Books. She is the founder and co-host of the Saturn Series poetry reading and hosts Artists' Lounge Music Showcase at Nightingale Lounge NYC. Su is also the set designer for the last 6 years of the New Years Day Poetry Extravaganza held at the Bowery Poetry Club. She is currently working on her one-woman show and her second book.

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Rules are Rules

My dad makes the laws around here:
Medium close up of my dad.
He decides quantities of television
And filial love.
When my dad is not in the house
I am next in line for succession.
I make the rules now for myself
I decide how much and what kind of food to eat
I decide how to work years of traumatic pork chops
Into free verse form, negating them or at least
Suppressing them.
Ants make the rules but we have the power of veto.
We make the rules but God has the power of veto.
How do you make God laugh?
Make a line item budget
And formulate parliamentary procedure.
I get to decide how often my dad will appear in my poems
And whether he will make a cameo appearence
Or have his name appear before the title.
My dad is not a union actor so I have to be very careful
To not let the Guild know that I am breaking their rules.
The storms make all the rules on some days
But storms, like dads, will pass and then come back
When you're feeling the most alone.
                                                                         -Andrew Boston

Andrew Boston is an undergraduate at NYU studying English literature. He is the author of one chapbook, "Elvis at 21".

pinching your face
cadaverous white

the rage in you
erupting from the core
of your tectonic plate

the rage in you
exploding in spit
and fire

the rage in you
pouring out like lava
from a caldera

the rage in you
torching the village
below

where the natives
flee or die
like me

consumed
by the
conflagration
                                   -George Held

George Held's writing appears regularly both online and in print. He blogs at georgeheld@blogspot.com. His latest book is AFTER SHAKESPEARE: SELECTED SONNETS (www.cervenabarvapress.com, 2011).

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Sonnet To My Father

You weren't always there to call me "Son",
relentless work had tenanted your days,
your worries left you spent, no time for fun,
a black-and-white view without any grays...

Each night at dinner, newscasts of tough times
would make your blood boil, route you into rage,
to bark and bugle: "start to save those dimes" . . .
and life seemed bleak with you, dad, as our sage,

Your worries led to cancer, and your heart
began to fail, and so, in staunch defeat,
you'd focus on tv and shun your arts,
and lastly to a Florida retreat...

Oh dad, your woeful ways were surely wrong,
for life must have its poetry and song.
                                                          -John A. Todras

John A. Todras, retired teacher, was a First Place prize winner in a Shelley Society of New York poetry contest and the Borders Book contest on Long Island. He has also served as Associate Publisher of the New Press Literary Quarterly, as well as having developed the business plan and trained the hosts of events for a Long Island poetry organization. A former concert pianist, he has devoted many years to creating comedic cabaret and love songs.
Contact: ElizabethOne1@msn.com.

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