September 19-25, 2005: Stephen Kopel and Alison Leaf

week of September 19-25, 2005



Stephen Kopel and Alison Leaf


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Stephen Kopel
stephenkopel@verizon.net

Bio (auto)

Stephen Kopel is San Francisco’s “pedalling poet” with work in over 230 journals worldwide, e.g , Antigonish Review, Poetry New Zealand, Offerta Speciale, The Quest (India), Krax (UK), Fire 13 (Scotland), Harpur Palate, Birmingham Poetry Review, Comstock Review Nominee for Pushcart Prize XXV Creator of Word Painters poetry events at public libraries His books crux and Spritz are included in the poetry coll of SF’s Main Library He is the host of the broadcast show Poetry Scene from the Lighthouse.

The following work is Copyright © 2005, and owned by Stephen Kopel and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Malta

Beajolais
exhausted beside Gamay,
his label peeled, torn,
exposing a sleek underbelly,
luxuriant, yet, chilly,
not unlike her latest
platter of salmon jelly
fishing for compliments
after corks popped up
unexpectedly infatuated
with a rustic bouquet,
quite possibly, Iberian,
half-buried on tongues
tired of licking their chops
trumpeter, plastered,
takes a swan dive
aboard a shipwreck
casks barreling out of the hold
unions attach to ports horns ahonking,
medicated mates materialize
on the crane’s steel brow
spilling Astaspumante
down funnels whose necks never knew
a gag from a gaggle

double edge

stares in the mirror
bear my weight
reflecting reduced calories
jumping on bandwagons
one cornet at a time
risers, up early
in a descending spiral,
take one step back
having forgotten
to ask Simon’s permission
even Ms Copper,
the perfect conductor,
forgets her downbeat
at one wagon
gains momentum
.close shave as I pick up
pieces of music
razor thin,
yet, tuneful


maxilla

.for Marvin R Hiemstra

ingratiate
fried chicken steak
stuck on Trevor’s tee,
potatoes, mashed,
resembling February’s
slushy snow, 
even peas pleased to be
billeted on a gravy train,
while garlic, so galant,
makes room for
marshmallows when
duodenum threatens to back up;
in the barking lot,
Aunt Acid threw up
her hands when a pomeranian
leaped for her Nipples
of Venus scooped up by
nimble Cellophane Rapper
and, ducking to avoid
the roof of his mouth,
syllables
boogie saliva’s surf
shushing past reticent
Port Wisdom
to the loquacious
Canine Coast


Alison Leaf
aleaf@pixar.com

Bio

Artist, animator, writer, English northern lass who now lives in the north bay, San Francisco, California.

The following work is Copyright © 2005, and owned by Alison Leaf and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

odalisque

in private
room, he draws
a lustre glaze
my air
his arms
a fine art
in aerial swoon
hands, fully rigged
wandering a flume
unhinge me here
n’ here moor between my piano bone
illapse unstrung sighs
a plume
in willow
tune


Instructions for waking a sleep

– Lay beside the sleep and connect to the rhythm of it’s curl
– Gently loosen the luna-layers with steam from a cup of tea
(The smell of cooked breakfast would do it too)

– Unpick the end of the silken sleep thread (This can usually be found beside the ear, at the nape of the neck or behind the knee)

– Link the sleep to a draw-breath spool and begin reeling, in a spiralling motion
– Pull the sleep with slow and smooth strokes
(And the occasional Cole Porter song)

– Fold the sleep into a morning
(Be careful that the spirit does not get dispersed)

– Watch it unfurl into a magnificent day.


Polished

her fluent toes
talk a suasive red
the color of full pleasure

As far as she knows
And he thinks about frequently
at inconvenient times of the day


uncooked

raw see
saw in me
not covered or coated
rare me naked
nectar collector

nude be
more in me
peeled and plump
and drunk
on tap
sap