Mark MacDonald and Michael H. Brownstein
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Mark MacDonald
roosterpublications@gmail.com
Bio (auto)
Mark MacDonald is a retired English teacher from Tulsa Oklahoma who grew up in Detroit. Mark’s first book, “Songs of Love” is currently out of print. Mark describes his poetry as “impersonal but intimate, very conversational in mood and tone with a penchant for the real inside the surreal.” Mark considers poetry as an act of sabotage, an act of theft whereby the poet steals from everything and anything within reach, fickles with it for a while, then returns it to the owner in a new form and perspective.
The following work is Copyright © 2013, and owned by Mark MacDonald and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Telegram for Mrs. Smith Poetry’s not therapy or a person you Poetry can be a bird—or even not the solution to poverty or war— But poetry is sometimes a meal—
Nobody dreams of traffic jams the last time I stood the flood of rubber and steel and the Chevys crawling and the production workers
Today I will answer for all of those voices Billions and billions of people and the usual Xiang Tsu? Did you enjoy the fresh plums How’s the new baby? Can I help you
Somewhere in Detroit |
Michael H. Brownstein
mhbrownstein@ymail.com
Bio (auto)
Michael H. Brownstein has been widely published. His work has appeared in The Café Review, American Letters and Commentary, Xavier Review, Hotel Amerika, Meridian Anthology of Contemporary Poetry, The Pacific Review, and others. In addition, he has nine poetry chapbooks including The Shooting Gallery (Samidat Press, 1987), Poems from the Body Bag (Ommation Press, 1988), A Period of Trees (Snark Press, 2004), What Stone Is (Fractal Edge Press, 2005), and I Was a Teacher Once (Ten Page Press, 2011: http://tenpagespress.wordpress.com/2011/03/27/i-was-a-teacher-once-by-michael-h-brownstein/). He is the editor of First Poems from Viet Nam (2011).
The following work is Copyright © 2013, and owned by Michael H. Brownstein and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
In the Morning it Will Still Be OK This is not who I love. This is not what I love. Love has the weight of god, the weight of Eve’s sister, This is who I love. This is what I love.
Two women "…like an attempt The sun lifted its mane "more like an attempt A soft drizzle rainbowed "So an attempt at love," and a blue river "Yes, that’s it. |