Heather Derr-Smith
Jon Parry
Heather Derr-Smith
.
.
Interrogation IV
When he sits in the chair
It’s my job to open him up. He transforms into you.
Unrecognizable as the resurrected,
Worm casings shed, azaleas blooming from the closing wounds--
In person your voice sounds nothing like this.
I hear you, otilith swinging on its diminutive thread, singing.
Your lips look like candy, blown like glass.
In real life your morning body
Is stretched out, mouth opened,
Full of night’s dew,
.....................................a cup spilled,
...............................................................sometimes blood.
Bio:
I am a graduate of the Iowa Writers' Workshop. I have two books of poems dealing with international/global themes, including political poems about the war in Bosnia and the Iraq war. In 1994 I volunteered in a refugee camp in Gasnici Croatia. In 2008 I interviewed Iraqi and Palestinian refugees in Syria. The following poem is from a series of poems dealing with issues of interrogation and torture. Five Interrogation poems have been published at Brink and Diode.
(author retains copyright)
Return
.
Interrogation IV
When he sits in the chair
It’s my job to open him up. He transforms into you.
Unrecognizable as the resurrected,
Worm casings shed, azaleas blooming from the closing wounds--
In person your voice sounds nothing like this.
I hear you, otilith swinging on its diminutive thread, singing.
Your lips look like candy, blown like glass.
In real life your morning body
Is stretched out, mouth opened,
Full of night’s dew,
.....................................a cup spilled,
...............................................................sometimes blood.
Bio:
I am a graduate of the Iowa Writers' Workshop. I have two books of poems dealing with international/global themes, including political poems about the war in Bosnia and the Iraq war. In 1994 I volunteered in a refugee camp in Gasnici Croatia. In 2008 I interviewed Iraqi and Palestinian refugees in Syria. The following poem is from a series of poems dealing with issues of interrogation and torture. Five Interrogation poems have been published at Brink and Diode.
(author retains copyright)
Return
Jon Parry
.
.
Too big to fail
how on earth does one become
larger than all the Caesars who came before
bigger than any dinosaur
or the Aztec civilization
in slavery we trust
to its whip we beg
to be devoured is divine
by the unquenchable thirst
of the sandstone prophet
these dower days of winter
shrieking prayers of lost sandals
begging gifts untouched by masters
guiding ships of dreams unseen
plowing fields never broken
speaking tongues of unborn infants
calls me to wonder
how big is too big to fail?
Bio:
I was driving home late one night after playing in a bar in Seattle, WA and listening to an NPR story on the bank bailouts and this term, “too big to fail” kept me up the rest of the night. What did it really mean? Was it possible to be “too big to fail”? Those sad and ever increasing numbers of homeless folks I’d passed heading to my car weren’t I guess, or perhaps they were just “too insignificant to matter.” So I wrote this poem. I am a musician by profession and you can find me and my violin on several cds with other artists including Hank Williams Jr., Goose Creek Symphony, and others. Published poems to date are, “Where are you living”, and “Dancing Round this Sawdust Floor” accepted by Barnwood International Poetry Magazine as well as “Bed of Stone” by Word Salad.
(author retains copyright)
.
Too big to fail
how on earth does one become
larger than all the Caesars who came before
bigger than any dinosaur
or the Aztec civilization
in slavery we trust
to its whip we beg
to be devoured is divine
by the unquenchable thirst
of the sandstone prophet
these dower days of winter
shrieking prayers of lost sandals
begging gifts untouched by masters
guiding ships of dreams unseen
plowing fields never broken
speaking tongues of unborn infants
calls me to wonder
how big is too big to fail?
Bio:
I was driving home late one night after playing in a bar in Seattle, WA and listening to an NPR story on the bank bailouts and this term, “too big to fail” kept me up the rest of the night. What did it really mean? Was it possible to be “too big to fail”? Those sad and ever increasing numbers of homeless folks I’d passed heading to my car weren’t I guess, or perhaps they were just “too insignificant to matter.” So I wrote this poem. I am a musician by profession and you can find me and my violin on several cds with other artists including Hank Williams Jr., Goose Creek Symphony, and others. Published poems to date are, “Where are you living”, and “Dancing Round this Sawdust Floor” accepted by Barnwood International Poetry Magazine as well as “Bed of Stone” by Word Salad.
(author retains copyright)
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Kim M. Baker
.
.
Queery Letter
Dear President Obama,
I know you didn’t ask,
but I am writing to tell you
that I am afraid to ask
(because I already know the answer)
whether you have told anyone
in your administration
that you told us during your campaign
that you would do something
about “don’t ask, don’t tell.”
But I hear tell
that you have not asked
and you have not told.
That we are put on hold.
Again.
And I am too old for waiting.
Too leery of queer behavior in my presidents
that makes them honorable
only on the stump.
So instead of asking,
let me tell you.
You are the president.
You don’t have to ask.
You just have to tell the colonels and generals and chiefs
that you want to stimulate the economy of equality,
that you want to reform the health of our military,
that you want to stand by
all the brave women and men protecting our country
and once and for all
stand down the offensive military action of hating your own.
Sincerely,
Gay USA
Bio:
Kim M. Baker has been teaching writing in academe and business for 19 years. Currently the Writing Specialist at Roger Williams University School of Law in Bristol, RI, Kim also works to end violence against women, including performance performed in the annual Until the Violence Stops Festival Providence. Kim’s poetry has been published widely in print and online. In November 2008, Kim won an honorable mention in the Poetry Society of New Hampshire National Contest, and her essays have been broadcast on National Public Radio of Rhode Island. Kim’s first play was stage read at the Culture*Park Short Plays Marathon in New Bedford, MA in November 2009.
(author retains copyright)
.
Queery Letter
Dear President Obama,
I know you didn’t ask,
but I am writing to tell you
that I am afraid to ask
(because I already know the answer)
whether you have told anyone
in your administration
that you told us during your campaign
that you would do something
about “don’t ask, don’t tell.”
But I hear tell
that you have not asked
and you have not told.
That we are put on hold.
Again.
And I am too old for waiting.
Too leery of queer behavior in my presidents
that makes them honorable
only on the stump.
So instead of asking,
let me tell you.
You are the president.
You don’t have to ask.
You just have to tell the colonels and generals and chiefs
that you want to stimulate the economy of equality,
that you want to reform the health of our military,
that you want to stand by
all the brave women and men protecting our country
and once and for all
stand down the offensive military action of hating your own.
Sincerely,
Gay USA
Bio:
Kim M. Baker has been teaching writing in academe and business for 19 years. Currently the Writing Specialist at Roger Williams University School of Law in Bristol, RI, Kim also works to end violence against women, including performance performed in the annual Until the Violence Stops Festival Providence. Kim’s poetry has been published widely in print and online. In November 2008, Kim won an honorable mention in the Poetry Society of New Hampshire National Contest, and her essays have been broadcast on National Public Radio of Rhode Island. Kim’s first play was stage read at the Culture*Park Short Plays Marathon in New Bedford, MA in November 2009.
(author retains copyright)
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Allene Rasmussen Nichols
.
.
Oil
Oil has never tucked a child in at night
or laughed at a blue jay
as it chased smaller birds
from its food.
But oil has sealed lips
as surely as death.
It has wrapped its arms and legs
around tender necks
and strangled the laughter.
It leaves war zones
littered with human bodies with lidless eyes
that ooze black viscosity
onto the sidewalks.
Bio:
Allene Rasmussen Nichols lives in Arlington, Texas.. Her poems have been published in regional and international journals and the anthology Dance the Guns to Silence: 100 Poems for Ken Saro-Wiwa. Her plays have been produced in Dallas, California, and New York.
(author retains copyright)
.
Oil
Oil has never tucked a child in at night
or laughed at a blue jay
as it chased smaller birds
from its food.
But oil has sealed lips
as surely as death.
It has wrapped its arms and legs
around tender necks
and strangled the laughter.
It leaves war zones
littered with human bodies with lidless eyes
that ooze black viscosity
onto the sidewalks.
Bio:
Allene Rasmussen Nichols lives in Arlington, Texas.. Her poems have been published in regional and international journals and the anthology Dance the Guns to Silence: 100 Poems for Ken Saro-Wiwa. Her plays have been produced in Dallas, California, and New York.
(author retains copyright)
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