From My Poetry

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The Elements of Loss

I don’t hear you say my name as you ask why it is I let no one love me. I feel something stir and I laugh. This is my way. There’s no room for clumsy. Take me or leave me, I say I’ll give you one chance when I know I won’t give you any.…

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Ode to Louise Gluck

I’m writing an ode to my favorite poet, Louise Gluck.  To join in the fun, come and celebrate the three year anniversary at d-verse poets pub! I’m writing this poem based on my favorite poem by Gluck–“Mutable Earth.”  I carry that one with me in my wallet.  Rosanna Warren has described Gluck’s writing, for one as–“her–power is to distance the lyric ‘I’ as subject and object of attention” and to “impose a discipline of detachment upon urgently subjective material”  William Logan from the New York Times described her work as “the logical outcome of a certain strain of confessional verse–starved…

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Phenomenons

Originally posted on Boston Poetry Magazine:
by Joseph D. Reich For those who have suffered years of emotional and spiritual abuse and neglect (tormented by sleazy manipulation and treated like a possession having your identity and ego stripped from you) it comes really as no surprise and something of a perverse psychological phenomena as well as lifelong reality to feel like you’re always on the run (watching your back in a state of constant paranoia and on the defensive) while strangely enough parodoxically like wanting to swim back to the shores of alcatraz in the hopes to feel (a part…

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For Mike, a poem

How many nights have we spent with our faces to the stars your words are often poetry and I, the writer, lean back and listen, or both of us so eager to talk just like when we were kids. I have a history with you like no one else– of dreaming and defining and seeking and climbing, and in the lateness of the night when parts of us are dying, to each other, on the phone, taking turns on each side of the river of clarity and insanity. I meet you there more often than not; sometimes the world is…

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Sunburst (for Emma)

While I was watching she didn’t do a slow dissolve on the canvas of what I’ve painted. I waited for it. I waited for the oils to drip down and blur the dark strokes, the blood wine moons and negative stars sketched in reverse, the sharp intakes of my past slashed, an untitled piece I…

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The Elements of Loss

I don’t hear you say my name as you ask why it is I let no one love me. I feel something stir and I laugh. This is my way. There’s no room for clumsy. Take me or leave me, I say I’ll give you one chance when I know I won’t give you any. Best to shield before they want to leave. But deep in the infection of my gut I’m saying love me, love me. After my father’s funeral my mother gave me back all the things I’d made her as a child. I sit at home and…

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Vapor

This body’s breath caught sharp and held I hold it and like water it escapes my fingers and spills over my toes when I am thirsty asking too much from my body when I am not enough I give it tea and fruit and poisons I exhale the fumes of the vices herbal or smoky…

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So I Wrote an Erotic Poem

to be touched say it–”touched”– an intimate kiss when he says my name, his voice seeping through me, pooling into my caverns and curves every drop from him a fine, careful sip– fingers trailing across my skin– the rise of the heat the pulse thudding mouth to mouth lip to lip thirsty across my tongue across my breasts

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A Trauma Theory

A TRAUMA THEORY (published in FRiGG Magazine) Amy J. Sprague   It was my third year in college when I first heard the term string theory. I remember moving forward slightly, waiting anxiously for what he’d say next, and as the professor strolled over quantum physics and how this theory could explain all the forces of…

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Just a Little Something I Wrote Now

it takes a broken heart to learn it’s always looking up because it’s waiting for the sky to lift I’m somewhere in between way down and up on my toes aren’t we all pushing forward shouldn’t the earth shift beneath our force buds reaching always reaching some of us, we’ll always be looking to the sky, waiting for it to lift and after so long, we find our own sun

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Dear Virginia

I would have met you at the water if I were then without a daughter; I would have held your hand–my lost keeper. I would have decided on the hour–on instinctual impulse–when the lower haze of swaying moods sends me down. I would have called you I bet, and the moon would’ve been full and I would’ve ran barefoot in my nightgown to meet you at the water’s edge. We would’ve known, I think, not to speak about blue darkness and moon shafts shifting across pale dandelions between our toes. We would’ve sunk so deeply together, smoothing the stones. But…

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A Space to Fill

I. It’s the coldest January I’ve known the white light coming in through the protective glass– white, I think, like my grandmother’s white sheets she’d hang in June. The white light coming in takes me for a turn and I think for a moment– is it color? Or space? Like the space we can never fill and then I remember where I am and why I am here. Emptiness leaks out of me. It’s hard when you learn there is no God. Now there’s the girl that weeps in my ears but I can never find her. At home I…

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