September 23-29, 2013: C.C. Russell and Dominic Bond

C.C. Russell and Dominic Bond

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C.C. Russell
bond259@hotmail.com

Bio (auto)

My poetry has appeared in The New York Quarterly, Hazmat Review, Grasslimb, and Goodfoot Poetry Journal among others. I currently live in Casper Wyoming, having also spent years in Ohio and New York in the past. I hold a BA in English from the University of Wyoming and was the editor of their Owen Wister Review for part of my time there. I spend as much time as possible with my wife, daughter, and two cats.

The following work is Copyright © 2013, and owned by C.C. Russell and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Let Down

Slowly
into your cold
stairwell
as your jack-o-lanterns
crumble
from frost.

(previously published in The Cracked Mirror #2)


(Barometric) Pressure

My hand
against your face.

This could be construed
as violence or love.

Outside, thunderheads mass, preparing
their assault.

We lean into one another
for support or pleasure.
One often amounts to the other.

These are the lessons
we are still waiting to learn,

the humid breath
of what is breaking over us.


Morning 2

Prairie dog
eating your flowers
on the stoop –

hungry
for color.

(previously published in Brevities #8)

 


Dominic Bond
hannahedow@gmail.com

Bio (auto)

My name is Dominic Bond, 36 years of age, recently returned from travelling around Asia and currently living in Basingstoke, a fairly boring dormitory town about 40 miles south west of London in the UK, where I do a very untroubling data entry job. I have written some poetry in the past and have recently rekindled my interest again. I was published in the 2013 Holocaust Poetry issue of Poetry Super Highway.

The following work is Copyright © 2013, and owned by Dominic Bond and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Loaded

If I had a gun it’d be like
I have big arms that are
my answer to everything.
I’d be my own army, letting nothing
go, resolving my distress. It would be part

Of me, answering my critics, reponses
made clearly. Like a samurai I’d walk
the streets, singing, dancing, me
and my gun would be king, never
lost for words.