February 27 – March 5, 2017: Poetry from Richard J. Fleming and Judith R. Robinson

​Richard J. Fleming and Judith R. Robinson

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​Richard J. Fleming
rikitiki979@gmail.com

Bio (auto)

Richard J. Fleming is a survivor of three Chicago blizzards.
He has recently had poetry published in Right Hand Pointing, The Rusty Nail, Inkwell Mag, Curio, Otoliths, Rain, Party & Disaster Society, One Sentence Poems, Unbroken, Rattle and forthcoming in Hotel Amerika and Stoneboat Journal.
Right Hand Pointing published his first Chap book, “Aperture”. You can read it here.

The following work is Copyright © 2016, and owned by ​LB Sedlacek and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.


Red White & Blue Shoelaces

What if I told you, I know for a fact, this conversation is being
recorded.
The keeper of the akashic record can put his bony finger on it,
at the behest of whoever might express a passing interest.
Good idea to keep things up your sleeve; red herrings
to drag across the infinite.

They might get posted on the walls of an abandoned factory.
There may be a reward for the man who goes out for a carton
of milk, and never comes back.

The absolute correct and proper thing to do, is to pick up your
stuff and leave by the nearest exit,
the one closest to the restroom, and next to the water fountain
that is shaped like an Oldsmobile hubcap or a Close Encounter.
We can return, we are assured, when our papers are in order,
and the stitches have been removed.

You may brush your tongue against the tunnel roof. Whatever.
No bright cynosure lights our amble through the peristyle.
We have to avoid hundred watt bulbs,
and a hundred and eighty five miles of bad road, starting tonight.
Somewhere down line, even hard core concrete falls under a spell.
There is a considerable distance between rest stops.
You might as well pay as you go.

If I have fallen out of touch, or fallen off the milk truck,
I have no regrets, having spread the Faith among the Wallabies.
I’ve fled from better famines than this I imagine,
just so we could all get together, and drop our names into a hat.
Don’t forget to vote.

 

 



Judith R. Robinson
alongtheserivers@gmail.com

Bio (auto)

Judith R. Robinson is an editor, teacher, fiction writer and poet. A 1980 summa cum laude graduate of the University of Pittsburgh, she is listed in the Directory of American Poets and Writers. She has published 75+ poems, four poetry collections, one fiction collection, one novel; edited or co-edited eleven poetry collections. New collection, “Carousel,” due in March, 2017, Lummox Press. Visit Judith on the web here.

The following work is Copyright © 2016, and owned by Judith R. Robinson and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

How It Is

1

I encounter Mr. Collier,
a gentleman I’ve met before
who remembers me:
“Judy, right? Richbloom? Reizenstein?
No, wait, don’t tell me!
Rosenberg, that’s it! Judy Rosenberg, right?”

2

After young years in make-up and admittedly glam clothes
Many come-ons from many different directions,
Cultures, even countries. But so little difference
When one unpacks it:
The white, the black, no Asians though
Plenty of Jews in tweeds, Goys in khaki,
Romans in Italy, Israelis in Haifa,
Workingmen in trucks, two teachers, my dentist, frat boys
Galore. A milkman when I was a kid, and my mother’s
Old uncle. Those two were nasties.
Diminutive Chip and Dale,
the fanny-pinchers at Disney World,
All the best sellers on book tours. Ancient Leon Uris,
Big, sad William Styron, to name two.
Sly Gerald Stern, another.
One local favorite: Ray in his eponymous tow-truck,
Circling the block time after time, shouting,
Lunch, just a a meal together, I promise!

3

The constant is change. This is America, 2017.
I am older than I was.

So, Mr. Collier, that is how it is. The name is Robinson.
One can only smile.