The Zingara Project

Author: Lisa Hase-Jackson

  • Naïve and Sentimental Sonnet by Thomas Zimmerman

    This world so hard and dark but ours and shot
    clean through with light—and so I write to you,
    storm coming. I am drunk on life and clouds
    and God—or likely, love. That’s all we know
    on earth. So bring the dogs, a hat, a coat,
    your suffering—and come with me to . . . I
    don’t know, a place we make, a space, a world,
    an opening in matter, stuff. I’m not
    a physicist. A lover of the possible:
    that’s me. So loving that I break myself
    for openings. Odd God, but maybe He/
    She/It is in us all. Relax. Some things
    stay green. And if not this, Next world, I say,
    next world. Our changes haven’t finished yet.

    Thomas Zimmerman teaches English, directs the Writing Center, and edits two literary magazines at Washtenaw Community College, in Ann Arbor, Michigan. His chapbook In Stereo: Thirteen Sonnets and Some Fire Music appeared from The Camel Saloon Books on Blog in 2012. Tom’s website:http://thomaszimmerman.wordpress.com/

    Also by this poet: “A Better Poem“

  • I Love Broken Things by Kym Cunningham

     

    The walnut man in a broken straw
    hat divined our future in streetside palm fronds
    a          womb
    an oil-derrick apartment and that
    three-legged dog I
    always wanted

    Our children would be beautiful, if only
    they had none of me and all of you
    Your hair your smile
    Your lips your eyes
    Your skin
    Your skin
    Your skin

    I can’t let them be broken too
    So every month, I break the egg
    Watch the yolk
    slide
    down my legs

    Our hatchlings with locked jaws of
    monsters sing

    Tell me, love
    Are we thicker than water

    Kym Cunningham will receive her MFA from San Jose State University with emphases in creative nonfiction and poetry.  She is the lead Nonfiction Editor of Reed Magazine, the oldest literary magazine West of the Mississippi.  She received the Ida Fay Sachs Ludwig Memorial Scholarship and the Academy of American Poets Prize for outstanding achievement in her writing. Her writing has been published in Drunk Monkeys and Reed.

  • Tendril by Taunja Thomson

    Moon inside coyote
    shines from her mouth
    in the pitch of evening.
    Her ears are leaves
    ruffled by a rare wind.
    Her claws as sharp
    as cactus spines.
    She has eaten owl and lizard
    and snake and she knows
    relentless sun    frozen night
    sand and web    flower and blood
    thick blooms that pinwheel
    in day and pray with closed petals
    at night.
    She opens her mouth—her tongue
    a tendril of moonlight
    reaches
    through rock and star.

    Taunja Thomson’s poetry has most recently appeared in Potomac.  Two of her poems have been nominated for Pushcart Awards: “Seahorse and Moon” in 2005 and “I Walked Out in January” in 2016.  She has co-authored a chapbook of ekphrastic poetry which has recently been accepted for publication and has a writer’s page at https://www.facebook.com/TaunjaThomsonWriter.

     

  • Water’s Edge by Joe Amaral

    I came upon a creek,
    following deer trail scampering by
    fire-swirled poison oak, dapper sycamore
    and bone smooth cottonwood

    I heard mallards, snowy egrets
    and my favorite, silverblack coots,
    lounging in shallow water as if
    they were toweled old men at a sauna

    What surprised me was the angel-feathered body
    guarded by a hunchbacked hawk
    glaring back at me like a guilty vampire atop
    his hapless victim, pecking at its beanpole neck

    The bird of prey blasted into the trees, perching
    on a branch, angrily observing my approach
    Beside the shore of moss, mud and stone
    lay supine a juvenile duck with a grotesquely

    twisted head, its webbed feet pedaling
    midair like an upturned bicycle
    Its agonal, guppy breathing and distantly dim
    flaxen eyes clutching my dutiful heart

    It was barely alive, a dollop of blood upon its throat
    Turkey vultures double and triple looped above me,
    so many there must have been bigger game to ply
    I sighed and stepped over the poor gasping creature

    It was able to crane its crooked neck and regard me,
    beak opening and closing in broken respiration,
    akin to a hatchling beckoning wormy regurgitation
    But I could only offer it reincarnation so I stomped

    my foot down on its head as hard as I could
    A crepitus of sound of sharp gravel cleaved the sky
    the same moment the hawk burst out the foliage
    and flew away, chasing the soul only it could see

    Joe Amaral splits his time spelunking around the California central coast as a paramedic and stay-at-home dad to two saucy little girls.  His poetry and short stories have appeared in awesome places around the world.  Joe also won the 2014 Ingrid Reti Literary Award.

  • Mapping The Gnomes by Christina M. Rau

    Stuck in a corkboard,
    all sightings get categorized—

    Red:  Definite
    Blue: Possible
    Yellow: Probable
    Orange: Unlikely

    A 3-D connect-the-dots journey
    between bushes in Brussels
    under azaleas in Iceland
    among marigolds in Massachusetts
    through paved paths in Puerto Rico
    behind vines in Bellvue
    around weeds in West Germany.

    Reports come in rapid at sunrise
    when the light excites and surprises—
    three or four skittering across lawns and behind
    old dog houses, their voices louder than
    you’d think, if that’s that kind of thing
    you think about.

    They shout Make Way! Hold Back!
    They move in scattered variety,
    hurry to their places to
    complement the poppies
    accent the petunias
    uphold the underbrush
    with a wink, with a wish.

    The big board tracks all the movement,
    an attempt to capture magic
    on the head of a pin.

    Christina M. Rau is the author of the poetry chapbooks WakeBreatheMove (Finishing Line Press, 2015) and For The Girls, I (Dancing Girl Press, 2014). Founder of Poets In Nassau, a reading circuit on Long Island, NY, her poetry has appeared on gallery walls in The Ekphrastic Poster Show, on car magnets for The Living Poetry Project, and most recently in the journals Amethyst Arsenic and Better Than Starbucks. In her non-writing life, she practices yoga occasionally and line dances on other occasions. www.christinamrau.com

  • That Photo, Which She Carried to Class by KJ Hannah Greenberg

    That photo, which she carried to events, shows youth and beauty,
    Also free-flowing wisdom, lovelies hung on walls, gnawing on doors,
    Climbing telephone poles; maidens with few fears
    Whose exploits include difficult pairings, full sublet prices.
    It radiates diatribes wrung out by emotional teenagers,
    Depicts all forms of obsequious behavior, reflects inner balance,
    Remains spiced by conflict, bravado, and the questioning of cleaning fun.
    Also, it gives a peek in to that rarity of reasoned decision-making.

    Along the speaking circuit of hillbillies, horrible monster with swollen fingers
    Extrasensory abilities, flawed couplings, pimply noses, articulated opinions,
    Shuttle cats to local hospitals, pull up forbs of spring, teach herbal gymnastics,
    Maybe, additionally, reserve castile soap for parental participation in public schools.
    A plethora of high manors, bards, and local serfs, reduced to sharing shrugs,
    Smile, chuckle, throw tantrums while morally relaxed others surf Internet cafes,
    Seeking pink or gray beaches beneath Northeastern dumps, tiaras, gloves,
    Sleek modes of dress, suspicious manners as found in bridal magazines.

    Loosened onto existing ephemera, drunken gulls carry away bits of time, viscera,
    Harnesses, new careers among succulent barramundis, gasping tourists’ limbs,
    While books written by domestic divas parcel accidental merit, split fifths,
    Trumpet dames’ lingo, falsetto productions, women’s song, acoustic guitar music.
    Feminine health products never turn heads as long as people continue to be
    “Smart enough” to discern among glossy rhetoric. Alternatively, provoked into curiosity
    Concerning manner of eating starfish, hunting quail, gathering leprechauns,
    Persons smooth minor inconveniences, including the complexity of the universe.

    —

    KJ Hannah Greenberg, who only pretends at being indomitable, tramps across literary genres and giggles in her sleep. Her newest poetry books are: Dancing with Hedgehogs, (Fowlpox Press, 2014), and The Little Temple of My Sleeping Bag (Dancing Girl Press, 2014), Citrus-Inspired Ceramics (Aldrich Press, 2013).

  • Seashells by Jota Boombaba

                     —for Mary

    Open like a seaside cave
    the waves roll in, roll out
    the bats fly in, fly out

    And then you come, brief tourist
    flashlight in hand, your oohs and aahs
        only your absence left behind
    —
    Jota Boombaba, when not on the road, writes in and around San Francisco, where he lives and kicks back with his son.  Visit him most days at www.jotaboombaba.com.

     

     

  • Daisies by G. Timothy Gordon

    . . . learn to listen as things speak for themselves.
                               -Bashō-

    They’ve always known how to be alone, common,
    Anonymous and ordinary in number as the cricket,
    Except for silence, redundant as blackboard clunch,
    But even more than this, though underfoot, beaming
    Perennially face-up, starship voyagers eyeing the heavens,
    Whatever weather, donning the same cloche and pillbox
    Saffron hats season after season, never la nue, but never
    Outré ou gauche either, as might be expected, never even
    Rococo, downright out-of-the-loop, ever wishing  they were                                                                   Dressed to kill like toffs and swells, and almost never,
    Confides the poet in Edo, in perfectly erudite Mandarin,
    At fall twilight, echoing a solitary cicada’s cry,
    Unless you listen, listen, “sinking/into stone.”
    —

    FROM FALLING will be published between March-April 2016; EVERYTHING SPEAKING CHINESE and OPEN HOUSE (fictions) were published in 2015. Gordon divides his personal and professional lives among Southeast Asia, Europe, and the Desert/Mountain Southwest.

  • Great Blue Heron by Roy Beckemeyer

    dead snag along the
    edge of the creek
    unfolds like a parasol opening,
    squawks  effort, pulls
    gangly
    legs
    that
    trail
    like
    reeds
    behind him, white lime of feces
    streak  onto water like an afterthought,
    wide wings mask the road of sky
    between the trees, a deep whoosh
    so thick with flapping
    you have to suck
    at your breath,
    cramp
    your
    diaphragm,
    catch and swallow
    that air before
    it curls away
    into the eddies
    of his leaving.
    —

    Roy Beckemeyer’s poems have appeared in The Midwest Quarterly, The North Dakota Review, Coal City Review, and I-70 Review.  He was a 2016 Pushcart nominee, and his collection of poems, “Music I Once Could Dance To” (Coal City Review and Press, 2014), was selected as a 2015 Kansas Notable Book.

     

     

     

     

  • Candlemas by Mary Dudly

    Larkspur lace greens the garden
    daffodil snubs push up
    through the light snow dust
    fat leaf buds stud the lilacs,

    but earth’s still in winter’s hold
    half way between the shortest day
    and the first of spring.
    Still cold.

    Remember Bridget in fields just plowed
    hallowing the new growth
    and Simeon in the temple’s crowd
    celebrating the new hope

    Assemble then the candles,
    newly blessed,
    along the table’s length.

    Let their light
    with the Full Snow Moon’s
    illuminate the dark night,
    all the winter
    that remains.
    —

    Mary Dudley received a master’s degree in English from SUNY/Stony Brook before moving to Albuquerque, where she earned a Ph.D. in child development across cultures from UNM.  She has worked with young children and their families for many years.  Her poetry has appeared in numerous publications.

     

  • Deep Throat by Kym Cunningham

    I can trick you into swallowing
    privilege.

    Ours is too big to shove
    in your mouths.

    “Chubby bunny,”
    the President laughs as

    whiteness falls
    from his tongue.

    Clinton said that being president
    is like an orgy:

    you’ve got a lot of people under you
    and nobody’s listening.

    We wait
    to be seduced.

    Kym Cunningham will receive her MFA from San Jose State University with emphases in creative nonfiction and poetry.  She is the lead Nonfiction Editor of Reed Magazine, the oldest literary magazine West of the Mississippi.  She received the Ida Fay Sachs Ludwig Memorial Scholarship and the Academy of American Poets Prize for outstanding achievement in her writing. Her writing has been published in Drunk Monkeys and Reed.

     

  • Two Doors Down by Mike Jurkovic

    There is no corner house
    for your latest desire but there is
    a cozy duplex, just off Main,
    behind the shoe repair
    and water department. Two doors down
    there’s a cute artisanal bakery
    where cupcakes become dreams
    and a toothless man rails for mince.

    The Dutch Apple Chocolate
    is sometimes dry. Other than that
    it’s a quiet town, sunny and white,
    where Kalashnikovs make wealth
    and Lotto governs the poor.
    The ringleader lights his flaming hoops
    as lost girls play hopscotch w/religion
    in their earbuds.

    The way is cleared for the prophet.
    The riser erected. The carpet tacked down.
    The faithful stampede. Bring their kids to the show.
    Tomorrow could be the be all and end all
    but it’s still just a staircase, a footnote.

    A cheap sleight of hand God sometimes uses
    then overdubs strings. Then on Wednesday
    the town board votes and on Thursday
    another mass shooting.
    —

    Poems and music criticism have appeared globally but have yet to generate any reportable income. First full length collection, smitten by harpies (Lion Autumn Press, 2016) Second chapbook, Eve’s Venom (Post Traumatic Press, 2014), Purgatory Road (Pudding House Press, 2010) Anthologies include: WaterWrites & Riverine  (Codhill Press, 2009, 2007) Will Work For Peace (Zeropanik, 1999). VP, Calling All Poets in Beacon, NY. Producer of CAPSCASTS, recordings from Calling All Poets, available at www.callingallpoets.net.  Music features, interviews & CD reviews appear in Elmore Magazine & the Van Wyck Gazette.  www.mikejurkovic.com

    He loves Emily most of all

  • Making Do by Bruce McRae

    Fighting injustice is one thing —
    but I’m not sleeping with the enemy.
    Not this time, cookie.

    One argues for one’s rights,
    and then a crisis comes along,
    altering the landscape,
    upsetting the natural balance,
    and, generally, putting the boot in.

    Oh, you can wring your hands
    as if they were dirty rags
    in a bin at a service station,
    but this is bullroar, brother.

    Just because something is broken
    doesn’t mean we should fix it.

    —

    Pushcart nominee Bruce McRae is a Canadian musician with over a thousand poems published internationally, including Poetry.com, Rattle and The North American Review. A new book has just been released, An Unbecoming Fit Of Frenzy, and his first book, The So-Called Sonnets, and both are available on Amazon. To see and hear more poems go to ‘BruceMcRaePoetry’ on YouTube.

     

  • To a Bird Flying Through Mist by Nilotpal Sarmah

    Behind winter’s soul your stature concealed
    but your motion through this vaporous sky
    cleaves open the mist till upon my eyes
    you scatter your charm; thus with wonder filled
    my senses revel and solitude yields
    to every beat of your wings and my sighs.
    Through diligence your unsung hardship cries
    which your flight’s view acquaints me with. Like fields
    that in wet chill and winter dryness stand,
    your feathery body endures this cold.
    Wreathed your labor shall be with garland
    of fertility. Young wings shall unfold
    and through season-hued skies as they ascend
    the fields shall have molded lush rural gold.
    —
    An engineer by profession, Nilotpal Sarmah’s intellectual identity has always been that of a poet’s. A day’s hectic job is topped off with some of his verses. Born in 1987 in Assam, India, her landscapes have moulded Nilotpal’s thoughts as well. He is constantly writing in the hope of seeing his words in print someday.

  • for want of the moon by Nicolette Daskalakis

    Loose lips slit wrists
    on the dashboard of our bathroom floor
    darling these bodies are too heavy to hold,
    this skin we wear
    for disguise
    is only covering the night.

    You can’t remember the stars
    for want of mirroring the moon,
    I’m here to tell you
    you’ll never shine
    like her,
    effortlessly
    in the scattered dark.

    So sew up your wrists
    before the stars spill out
    from your pretty little veins
    that glow
    in the dark.
    —

    Nicolette Daskalakis is an award-winning filmmaker, poet, and multi-media artist residing in Los Angeles. She received a BA in film production from the USC School of Cinematic Arts and a minor in Intermedia Arts from the Roski School of Art & Design. Her first book, “because you’re now banging a French girl,” was published in 2015.