November 1-7, 2010: Harry Calhoun and Alegria Imperial

Harry Calhoun
HarryC13@aol.com 

 

Bio (auto)

Harry Calhoun grew up no, strike that, spent his early years, he has yet to grow up in Connellsville, a little town south of Pittsburgh When wanderlust struck him, he tiptoed up to Pittsburgh before his parents realized he was gone After years as a bartender, article writer, poet and, finally, a marketing writer, he spent the mid-90s starving and doing poetry readings in Key West before relocating to Raleigh, North Carolina, where he currently lives and where he has spent the past 15 years He’s been published in a lot of places, edits Pig in a Poke magazine, and has had a book and two chapbooks published so far this year with another chap on the way Find out more at http://harrycalhoun.net/

The following work is Copyright © 2010, and owned by Harry Calhoun and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.


 

Morphine courtesy of they

They control the whole thing, you know Take, for example, my father’s death They administered the drip when they
must have known he was dying How else

could it be, although I’ll never know because they
never consulted me They told me that they
couldn’t give him morphine for his pain
because he was so frail it might kill him
So I guess that at one point they
decided that he was close enough to dying
that they could go ahead and administer
the coup de grace I wake up nights still

thinking about that, and that might
be good, because they say that what you resist
persists, and I am done resisting but I just want it —

and them — to go the fuck away

Autumn eve

Summer is at last passing
as she sips sunny orange juice and Sprite
to take her mind off her late-summer cold

The lime I spiced it with
curls around the ice cubes
like the last leaf of summer

surrendering to solstice, or something
dying, withered but stubbornly green

in early fall

 

_______________________________

 

Alegria Imperial
aimperial5@gmail.com

Bio (auto)

Alegria Imperial has had forty years of writing and media work, public relations and marketing from staff to managerial positions in government, educational and cultural institutions in the Philippines before she started to write poetry and fiction She has won an honorable mention at the 2007 Vancouver Cherry Blossom Festival Haiku Invitational and the 2007 Passager Poetry Contest Her poetry has been published in Passager, The Cortland Review, LYNX, poeticdiversity.com and Sketchbook and critiqued on winningwriters.com Her essays are read in Passager, on Tiny Lights and Timeless Spirit She now lives in Vancouver, BC, Canada. 

Visit Alegria on the web here: http://jornales.wordpress.com/

The following work is Copyright © 2010, and owned by Alegria Imperial and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

 

 

Spangled Seasons 

Under hazed New York
spheres, spring sousing Riverside, earlier
cocooned in the Moor shedding off
mover’s trip, bundled molehills against
walls –once sparks we strung
onto a nebulae over
nights on Federal Hill—you and
I trudge on
Trails we looped
between Chesapeake,
Susquehanna and
the Hudson, Venus sputtering
on Pennsylvania woods these,
too, we tucked abreast in
memory, if Manhattan
spares us
Our cherry
noon-s have leaped into infinity
from finiteness; as well warbled
peace from cypress groves at
Inner Harbor, dandelions mirroring
our masquerade, a yucca spurting
by the window squirrels flying
a trapeze on pines mocked,

ends of days orioles
griped about—we plucked to
spangle our seasons Soon mere
revenant: Baltimore winters we
skidded, wincing but
un-bruised I posed for you
that summer cicadas plunged
into passion deaths, smearing

wind shields Fells Point’s
mists we eluded fogged
Tall suns now spear
mornings at the Moor, we flex
our years on West Broadway: summers
on a mountain lake maybe, a bowery at
Brooklyn Gardens in the fall, sunset
behind Grant’s tomb perhaps, or by

Shakespeare’s lagoon, divining
on its surface the play
of wind on our
dreams