The Zingara Project

Tag: Poet Lore

  • Monkey in a Cup by Javy Awan

    I used to mail-order the little monkeys in a cup,
    advertised on two-bit comic book back covers,
    but the compact box with air holes at the top
    didn’t come—I know it was dumb, but I sent cash:
    laureled one cents, buffalo nickels, burning-torch dimes,
    and Liberty quarters scotch-taped to a card and sealed
    in a stamped envelope addressed with best penmanship.

    Years and many moves later—they must have tracked
    me down like schools their alumni—the delivery arrived:
    the miniature hermit monkey snug in his sturdy
    live-in cup of Horn & Hardart cafeteria china—
    he was a born commuter, a philosopher in a tub.

    He’d climb out and walk around wherever set down,
    and despite the ad’s fine-print disclaimer about luck,
    he had the knack of picking out winners at the track—
    dogs, thoroughbreds, and trotters—offsetting expenses.

    He’d tell fortunes as a parlor trick, with a deck
    of mishmash cards almost as tall, laying out the draw
    and discerning the gist with tiny finger to tiny lip
    and detective tics of his head. He’d mime the result
    with movements precise and unmistakable:
    going to the bank, falling in love, fighting a battle,
    earning a degree, sailing a ship, and marrying.

    Somehow, the single monkey in a cup multiplied—
    each Saturday breakfast, the row of mugs had grown,
    with furred pates and bright eyes peeking over each brim.

    I figure that back in the day a shipment of monkeys
    must have escaped and hid out in a post office store room;
    they intercepted crates of mugs, and in a few generations,
    resumed fulfilling the long-delayed orders,
    boyhood to manhood. That would explain it.

    —

    Javy Awan’s poems have appeared in Poet Lore, Solstice, Ghost City Review, Potomac Review, Innisfree Poetry Journal, and The Ekphrastic Review; two of his poems were selected for reading at locations on the Improbable Places Poetry Tour in 2019. He lives in Salem, Massachusetts.

     

  • Under the Radar by Javy Awan

    Duck your head down—no, lower—down by me—
    pardon my whisper, but we’re under the radar—
    escaping detection, maneuvering free—
    we’re at the controls where controllers can’t see,
    scouring for secrets of forbidden traffic—

    We’re clumsy but finessing, caressing the contours,
    guiding and gliding along edges and tops, joy-riding
    our own unmonitored zone—we’re under the radar!

    We alone know our whereabouts acrobatic, hush-hush—
    the tickles on your belly are the tendrils of leaves—
    stay alert to the lifts of buildings and hills, but don’t rise
    and rise and rise on the thrill—keep hugging alongside,
    the target’s in view, nary a clue—we’re under the radar!

    Above, the invisible rays would imprint our paths,
    distinguish our craft, assign tags, and keep tabs,
    tip off the hostiles to aim their ack-ack—our blips
    extinct on the screen, ablaze in the skies—Amazing!—

    We hit it—a simultaneous bloom! Veer back to home base,
    reining-in breathless highs, lest we soar into sights—
    Victorious, unharmed, we’ll rest arm in arm—under the radar!
    —

    Javy Awan’s poems have appeared in Poet Lore, Solstice, Ghost City Review, Potomac Review, Innisfree Poetry Journal, and The Ekphrastic Review; two of his poems were selected for reading at locations on the Improbable Places Poetry Tour in 2019. He lives in Salem, Massachusetts.

     

  • Living in Opryland by Javy Awan

    Living in Opryland—the twang of guitars
    lulls through the night, from nigh and afar,
    sifting caterwauls of rhymes that plait
    poignant, live plaints cataloging
    mishaps, heartbreaks, pangs, turmoils,
    and setbacks—the spangled world is adverse,
    but we plug in and plug on like traveling
    showmen, setting up tents from town
    to town in Grand Ole Opryland—a downhome
    expanse, where ailments vary—each citizen’s
    is unique, stunning, terrifying, misericordious,
    striking notes all understand and sympathize.
    We sync and chime to the moves, the dances,
    the choruses, the improvised instruments,
    the stanzas of grief and vibrance, our tribal
    tribulations—always falling in love stumblebum
    with the next gorgeous person impervious
    to our pleas or merits till the tell-all song
    reaches double platinum—the roving sights by then
    are set on a starrier mate—hair more bouffant,
    figure more robust, skirts pantingly shorter—
    who can pen a lyric and tonsil a tune, pick a banjo,
    or bow a fiddle faster than the notes can be writ.
    Living in Opryland, we’re pursuing the grand
    scheme of harmonies that guide us by heart.

    —

    Javy Awan’s poems have appeared in Poet Lore, Solstice, Ghost City Review, Potomac Review, Innisfree Poetry Journal, and The Ekphrastic Review; two of his poems were selected for reading at locations on the Improbable Places Poetry Tour in 2019. He lives in Salem, Massachusetts.

  • Squat by Gale Acuff

    I don’t want to die but I’m not crazy
    about living, neither, I’m ten years old
    and could live a lot longer, multiply
    a decade’s worth of sin and sorrow by
    ten and that’s a century of shit, not
    that good things won’t happen among the bad
    but I’m not so sure of that now, I got
    kicked out of Sunday School today because
    I asked if Adam had a navel, Eve
    as well, and that’s all she wrote – my teacher
    gave me the heave-ho so now I’m squatting
    on somebody’s headstone in the back of
    our church, it’s as quiet as death, ha ha,
    except for some mockingbirds and robins
    so fat they can hardly chirp and when
    class is over I guess I’ll go to her
    and apologize, my teacher that is,
    I guess there are some questions you don’t ask,
    I don’t mean that they’re bad – they’re just too good.

    —

    Gal Acuff’s poems can be found in such literary journals as Ascent, Reed, Poet Lore, Chiron Review, Cardiff Review, Poem, Adirondack Review, Florida Review, Slant, Nebo, Arkansas Review, South Dakota Review, Roanoke Review, and many other journals in eleven countries. He has authored three books of poetry: Buffalo Nickel, The Weight of the World, and The Story of My Lives. Gale has also taught university English courses in the US, China, and Palestine.

     

     

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  • Because I Like to Make My Mind Pretty the Way We’re Told to Make our Bodies Pretty, I Work at Thinking Beautiful Things by Rebecca Macijeski

    My imagination kitchen
    fills with a hundred giraffes
    crouching to help with dishes.
    My bathrobe is made of cloud.
    The houseplants debate each other
    over dinner, wrinkling their leaves
    in thought. My nail trimmings
    are little moons. I watch the backyard birds
    become helicopters hauling their bird knowledge
    in and out of trees. When my fingers make food,
    they’re searching through time for fire and caves
    and simple families. I remember my childhood
    as a series of collections—blackberries in my hand,
    snowmen, river stones, the sound of deep sky
    over a rural emptiness.

    Like you, too, I suspect,
    I clothe my worry
    in these decorations.
    It’s harder to hate a beautiful thing.
    It’s harder to hate what I’ve made
    when it shines or quacks or spreads
    bright juice all over my skin.
    I protect myself. So my armor is
    these imaginations.
    Wild animals crowding out the pain.

    —

    Rebecca Macijeski holds a PhD from the University of Nebraska-Lincoln and an MFA from Vermont College of Fine Arts. Her poems have appeared in The Missouri Review, Poet Lore, Barrow Street, Nimrod, The Journal, Sycamore Review, Fairy Tale Review, Puerto del Sol, and many others. Rebecca is Creative Writing Program Coordinator and Assistant Professor at Northwestern State University.

  • Reverend Billy’s Boogie Woogie and Mom’s Gulbransen by Gianna Russo

    The Palladium Theatre, Saint Petersburg, FL.

    We’re here for the Hillbilly Deathmatch.
    Two balladeers duking it out:
    heartbreak vs. boogie woogie
    Les Paul guitar vs. Steinway Baby Grand.
    The Friday Night music palace seeps age and glory–
    rows of faded velvet seats, wooden backs worn smooth
    from decades of sweat and delight.

    The balladeer’s got the guitar: his fingerwork is a cheery stroll,
    his second-tenor-muttered lyrics walking us around the yard,
    down the block to the intersection of Heartbroke and Wanting More.
    We’re referees: our seat-shifting and half-yawns call it:
    no way is that round going to him.

    Then Reverend Billy stomps on stage
    in a cowboy zoot suit and kickass boots.
    He pounces on the ivories, his hands
    the tarantella, the electric slide, the St. Vitus dance of boogie woogie.
    We hoot and jive in our seats.
    It’s a musical K.O.

    God, it feels good to get shaken this way,
    after months of putting the house to sleep,
    forcing a coma on one room at a time.
    Rev says he want to slow it down, play somethin pretty.
    Melodic and melancholy, it takes me
    to my mother’s back room
    where her old upright Gulbransen sags unsold, untuned.
    She filled the house with show tunes and old standards–
    South Pacific, Annie Get Your Gun, her low alto tremolo.
    It’s been mute for years.

    Rev caresses the Steinway.
    Behind him the velvet curtains are crenelated, ballooned.
    Above him the stage lights are blue as my mother’s eyes.

    —

    Gianna Russo is the author of the full-length poetry collection, Moonflower (Kitsune Books), winner of a Florida Book Awards bronze medal, and two chapbooks, including one based on the art work of Vermeer, The Companion of Joy (Green Rabbit Press). Russo is founding editor of YellowJacket Press, (www.yellowjacketpress.org ), Florida’s publisher of poetry chapbook manuscripts. A Pushcart Prize nominee, she has published poems in Ekphrasis, Crab Orchard Review, Apalachee Review, Florida Review, Florida Humanities Council Forum, Karamu, The Bloomsbury Review, The Sun, Poet Lore, saw palm, Kestrel, Tampa Review, Water-Stone, The MacGuffin, and Calyx, among others. In 2017, she was named Best of the Bay Local Poet by Creative Loafing. She is assistant professor of English and Creative Writing at Saint Leo University, where she is editor-in-chief of Sandhill Review and director of the Sandhill Writers Retreat.