September 5-11, 2011: Joel Fry and Kathleen Freeman

week of September 5-11, 2011

Joel Fry and Kathleen Freeman

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Joel Fry
fryjoel46@gmail.com

Bio (auto)

My name is Joel Fry. I live in Athens, Alabama. I have had poems published in Stirring, Eclectica, POEM, Poetry Super Highway and other places. I have poems forthcoming in Birmingham Arts Journal and Ship of Fools.

The following work is Copyright © 2011, and owned by Joel Fry and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.


Talking to a Friend

Tonight I recall all I have come
to know, my knees bent over a hilly,
hushed grave. The mound endures
the cataclysm of stars whose light
reaches the earth in a cold study,
sifting through clouds and hungry
reaches of seeing and knowing.

My life is a thirsty dream,
forever inquiring:
How did I come to know death
so well that I can stand
over it and pray? My friend’s grave
is a cacophony of voices.
Grief groans through sleepless nights,
nights to come, nights when the wind
Stirs a candle’s flicker, nights
seen through a window, nights witnessed
through distance no one can cross.

My friend is still Mountain-Man Jim,
Ax-Handle Jim, Man-Child Jim, Mule-Hide Jim.
The earth around his headstone is as loose
as living skin after a life of labor. I speak
to the silent gestures of wind in the pines,
pouring myself into loneliness I have known
my entire life.

There is nothing in these moon-wide reaches
that is not mine. I listen to the distant traffic
speak of the years I have buried.



Kathleen Freeman
kathylambie@hotmail.com

Bio (auto)

Two months before my second birthday my mother left me and my brothers and sister in the high street with a note. June 16th 1954. She never returned. My mother was fined £10 for neglect and abandonment. I was never to speak of who I was or where I came from, it was forbidden. This is my story of discovery of myself of my story and memories I can only begin to own through the poems. This is the legacy of that two year old and the far-reaching consequences of the actions of her ‘parents’. I realised that by shutting these poems away, I was repeating what had been done to me, what had been forbidden me-that of having a voice. I am now a therapist living in Northamptonshire. UK.

The following work is Copyright © 2011, and owned by Kathleen Freeman and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

The people dreamers

Here come the people dreamers.
They hold you up to the light
to see if you are transparent.

Wash you in blood until you sing.
The Gods play fast and lose with souls.
It does no good to fight it.

Sleep ravages all her angels eventually
the trick is that we forget.
Only our nightmares tell the truth.