November 3-9, 2014: Lucile Barker and R. Bremner

Lucile Barker and R. Bremner

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Lucile Barker
lambarker@yahoo.com

Bio (auto)

Lucile Barker is a Toronto poet, writer and activist. Since 1994, she has been the co-ordinator of the Joy of Writing, a weekly poetry and fiction workshop at the Ralph Thornton Centre. Poetry and prose publications include poems in The Big Scarborough Art Book, Linden Avenue, and Decades Review. Her poetry has appeared on posters and in the 2013 Digging to the Roots Calendar. Her recent fiction has been published in The Quotable, Memewar, Mixitini Matrix and Green Briar Review. Work has appeared in Paper Plates, Mixitini Matrix, Subterranean Blue Review, Commonline Review, The Art of Being Human, and Black Cat Lit. It Matters blog radio recently broadcast her story “My Stinky Valentine.”

The following work is Copyright © 2014, and owned by Lucile Barker and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Casual

This temp job comes and goes,
mostly gone.
The night shift lets us watch the sky
changing to the north.
Small planes and helicopters can be seen,
too far south for the big airport,
too far north for the one on the island.
They dot the sky, punctuate clouds,
make us dream of giving up this semi-jail sentence here,
to flee into the darkening evening.
The church steeple across the street is being restored,
it is a widow with a green veil.
Sometimes we see workers, human gargoyles,
climbing amidst the pale green copper roofs,
waving to each other, unaware we are watching.
None of us remember what kind of building
used to be directly north of us,
a construction site for three years.
Now there is a wobbly crane with concrete counterweights
that swing and during the day,
only sway and cast threatening shadows
in the gloomy winter evening.


Eclipse

I would like to see my shadow on the moon,
to be so large that I would block the light,
to inspire fear by raising finger to point to darkness.
I would like to see my shadow on the sun,
an unscientific sunspot in its yellow fire,
making you bow so I could return the heat.
I would like you. to think I am magic,
that I can pull the tides,
make trees bloom,
but you will not believe in me;
you already confuse me with my shadow.

 


R. Bremner
rongnan3@gmail.com

Bio (auto)

R. Bremner of Glen Ridge, NJ, has worked as a cab driver, a truck unloader, a computer programmer, and a vice-president at Citibank. He is widely published, including International Poetry Review, PoetsOnline.org, and the Passaic Review, and ten ebooks. Bremner regularly reads at the Paterson (NJ) Poetry Center, and the William Carlos Williams center in Williams’ hometown, and (when he can get on!) on the Poetry Super Highway live radio show. R. Bremner, his lovely sociologist wife Francesca, their son Raymond Sathyan, and their puppy Ariel (for Sylvia Plath) cordially invite all writers to the Write Group’s Free Write sessions at Montclair NJ library every Saturday morning at 10:15 am. Please visit him at the Poets & Writers Directory or at http://www.writers.net/writers/110743

The following work is Copyright © 2014, and owned by R. Bremner and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

The Crossing of the Red Sea

The sky is a red sea,
The moon is a smooth stone.
Dark cloud eroding islands
Shade deep-hung cliffs.

Washed in by such an evening tide:
Revolutions gasp in bartered currents;
Romance erodes in dullish sweat;
Creation skims and dips away.

But in the cleaven sea, something
bright excites the iris.
And the cool, round moon echoes
with remembered melodies.
And in the dark island caves
lurking, hiding,
waiting to be discovered,
lives…what promise?
what fate?

These are reasons;
fair enough,
as reasons go.
No less real
than any abstract.
No less false
than any trust.

The sky is a red sea,
The moon is a smooth stone.
Dark cloud ferry steamers
Pledge to carry me home.


(originally published in Passaic Review,
Vol. 1, No. 1, Summer 1979)