"I have a city to cover with lines." - d.a. levy

submissions

may 4, 2008

Kent State revisited

to this day,
james a. rhodes is a
cold-blooded killer,
four dead in ohio
& indeed he gave the
orders to shoot,
like the commandante
of a turn-of-the-century
mexican firing squad,
what a mockery he made
or our freedom. now 38
years later, george w. bush
doesn't stop at innocent
college kids, he's an
equal-opportunity killer,
american and iraqi,
it doesn't matter what
country, the blood of
the children is the same
color of red. we call to
rememberance this day
the innocent victims,
as shadows pass
over blanket hill,
my name is the same
as theirs was, & still is.

-- markk

april 28, 2008

The Poetry Dogs

howl from the hoods of Crown Vics
souls with no vin numbers
no license no registration
patrol the junkyard gardens
break the invisible fences
jolt into other realities
a timeless recycling
parts pieces peace.
The poetry dogs
guard every precinct
of the Holy City.
They vote with their voices
wild and free.

-- dan smith

april 21, 2008

earth day sonata for the planet

when i hear an earth song
it's a sonata, except there
are electric guitars & a moog
synthesizer, there is dual
percussion & a thumping bassline
we got a gospel choir singing
backup, & on the side of
the stage an organic ballet
being performed by 26
dancers from julliard,
there is smoke & strobe
lights, dry ice & balloons,
potted plants & the collected
works of william shakepeare,
the lead singer wears bob
dylan's rays bans from the
1965 european tour, &
slash's top hat, it's the
phil spector wall of sound
& owsley stanley's lsd is
in the fruit juice, the dead
is playing in front of the
great pyramid of giza,
except that now it's the
rock and roll hall of fame
& we're in cleveland on a
radiant spring day, it's
daniel thompson's birthday
& all hell is breaking loose,
oh baby, that's not a sonata
i hear, it's a full blown
catastrophic rock opera for
planet earth, & when the
last notes of the encore
have fallen away, there is
peace, once again, what
i hear must be the acoustic
remains of the coming peace

-- markk

april 14, 2008

high school losers of the 1970s

we were high school losers
of the 1970s, wearing levi
jeans & a concert t-shirt,
drinking hop n’ gator
in a plymouth duster,
driving rural roads,
throwing empty little
kings bottles at stop
signs, & wherever we
went & whatever we did,
wmms was on the radio,
& every song was a revelation,
& every dj was our best friend,
& we had nothing & we were
nothing, cleveland was in
default & the indians sucked,
& on summer nights as we
sat on the front porch, the
crickets sang a victory song
& i’m here to tell you that we
knew every. stinking. word.

--markk

april 7, 2008

a body in the water

they found a dead body
floating in the water
down in the churning
flush of the cuyahoga
river, in the remains
of the flats, the body
of a man like somebody
you might see on the
street, or combing the
darkness of the bars
in the warehouse district,
where people are alive,
& lights are bright,
& women are pretty,
& laughter is loud,
$ money flows in streams,
like it used to in the flats,
before it died, like the man
they found in the water,
dead as a lost cleveland dream

-- markk

march 31, 2008

chief wahoo must go

here he comes again,
it's opening day,
racist red-faced
caricature, the
aunt jemima of the
hard-hitting majors,
a lawn jockey in
the front yard
of the american league,
dear cleveland, feel
free to join the 21st
century, yr offensive
name & hideous mascot
must finally vanish like
a ball socked over the
right-field wall, like
a pitcher banished to
the dugout for giving up
the go-ahead run,
they talk about
the curse of rocky colavito,
they say it's the curse
of the death of ray chapman,
but we all know it's the curse
of buck-toothed chief wahoo,
play ball, & may you lose
until you confess yr sins.

-- markk

march 24, 2008

The Vulture Tour, Cleveland 2008

They ride chartered buses
to foreclosed houses
that once were homes.
Their eyes are greedy,
their appetites, insatiable.

Between the stops,
they listen to appraisers,
inspectors and realtors
with pens in hand.

They all know how it should be:
blood and flesh consumed,
bones picked clean,
left white -- and pure.

-- Preston Trotter

march 17, 2008

-- joanne cornelius

march 10, 2008

A Conversation

Hart Crane, poet and Bill Sommer, painter meet at the bookstore; they hung out at Sommer’s farm at Brandywine.

I.

Bridges soar with song
Hart Crane told Bill Sommer at the bookstore
“it’s rock salt base beneath the riverbed,  mountain high, arched and scooped.”
Smokestacks are chords
the songs we sing
celebrate cocoons of smoke.

II.

The color of the country is never far away
when the sun shifts in an afternoon
greenlands turn to reds and bronze
with sprays of meadow white and gold

I travel with the painter
fifteen miles east of the riverbed
ten miles south or to the west
a stone’s throw from the painter eye
standing in the grasses picking color for my song.
Hallelujah!

III.

Coaxing us, Bill said he could see in color
To sing along . to sing again as he has sung.
I know I hear his words in color.
Amen.

-- nina freedlander gibans

march 3, 2008

Rainbows Over Cleveland And All The Worlds Between

Drizzled city of waste
and abandonment
littered with detritus
of illusion
buried under
steaming slagheaps
of solipsism
your peripheral berms
your asphalt fields
your twisted metal flowers
blackyellowredwhiteandgreen
evidence of the invisible:
rotting condoms
soggy cigarette packs
takeout remains
unfinished coffees
shoes
plastic six pack holders
we choke on you
submerged in our existence
riding the rapids
to cancerous terminals
viewed like ants
from tower windows
by the sign readers.
Framed by our constitutions
we flicker and blur
Preterite
and never ending.


-- dan smith

Feb. 24, 2008

snow falling up

after winter in cleveland
the snow falls up, slowly
vanishes from sooty drifts,
rises from out of icy piles,
dissipates in miniature
increments, flees for the
heavens in a systematic haste,
we watch this without seeing
it happen, the way a branch
bends slowly toward the ground,
the weight of the world contained
in each heaving inch.

-- markk

Feb. 18, 2008

the city

looks in the poverty
Stricken window of a back
Alley bar / seems hope’s been
& gone but not forgiveness
Not when there’s money for
The next round & plenty of
Stories to be heard / wallowin’
In the bad luck of some poor
Slob blubberin’ in the corner
‘Bout how he lost his job / or
The old woman moanin’ in the
Booth by the mostly ignored
Pool table how she lost her
Kids / you can suck down their
Misery w/out battin’ an eye
Maybe even tell some of your
Own / we’re all willin’ penitents
In this shithouse confessional
Tradin’ soiled dignity for a shot
Of redemption / don’t make no
Never mind long’s it gets the
Job done / people traipsin’ thru
These revolvin’ doors all hours
Of the day & night / lookin’ for
Their fair share of salvation
Some find it on the cross
Some find it in the bottle
What’s the damn difference
I say / long’s it gets the
Job done


-- kevin eberhardt

Feb. 11, 2008

Almost Kathy

(for Joey Lhotsky)

47 years
since the
nuns at St. Alexis
scooped your
lifeless toddler body
from Mom's arms
the day before she
went into labor
& had me
[she who was to
be named Kathy]

47 years of hugs
around me, your namesake
hugs that should have
been  for you too
but no,
instead  Encephalitis
ate away your
tiny baby brain

damn!
today
I should be a Kathy
sitting here with you
my big brother Joey
talking about
whether or not
that crazy Cleveland groundhog
has ever
not
seen his shadow

-- joanne cornelius

 Feb. 4, 2008

pain paints more real, alive in blood

a walk
to the store
part of a day
pointed out
my classroom
door slammed
on my finger
the sucker
really bled
a couple
stitches worth
me and my
old man anytime
i look
my right hand
ring finger
red brick school
white wood store
gray sky
( what did you expect? )

it's cleveland.


-- dan smith

january 27, 2008

refrain from the policeman's attic

i used to live
in the policeman's
attic in berea,
rented for $200
a month (no lease),
& at night i used to hear
the wind rip through
the willow tree outside,
or the slam of the car door
when the guy who lived
   down
             stairs
came home drunk,
& sometimes i'd fall asleep
listening to the album
"love over gold" by dire
straits -- i didn't have a
tv or a phone, but i did
have music, & sometimes
that (& just that) is
entirely enough to
see a man through.

-- markk

january 20, 2008

lines written on the roadside near lindale

i am yr worst enemy, a
cleveland jester with
a bad attitude, my pointed
hat sharp as a weapon, the
magnitude of my thundering
a roar of unseen proportions,
the way it sounds when lifeflight
soars over the roof like a yellow
beast on its way to the roof of
metro, let's just say the year
is not off to a good start, i
am ornery as a geauga county
bear & the floodlight from
the cop's cruiser is pointed
hard & oh so maliciously on me.

-- markk

january 13, 2008

fugitive cleveland haiku #s 256, 345 & 879

when the winter snow
falls like fly ash on the city
i miss the sweet stench

blood on Superior
i am walking from the house
where you lay like fire

a ghost in the flats
my odd shadow facing yours
this place will not exist soon

-- markk

january 6, 2008

transdiscursive

for albert ayler 1936 - 1970

you were the howl and wail
of cleveland gardens
blowing on mt pleasant
backyards across
the cuyahoga dreamscape
your sanity of spirit song
a sonic moses
marching out of town
in metal reed vibrato
old school new direction
dictation from prophetic voices
a cleveland sun
free beyond blue
baptism awash in sound
drowning in an east river font.

-- dan smith

2007 poem o' the week archive

2006 poem o' the week archive

2005 poem o' the week archive

2004 poem o' the week archive