Announcements from FC Tricia Knoll

Songs of Eretz Frequent Contributor Tricia Knoll is pleased to announce the following:

A Leap Day poem she wrote in 2008 is up on her website triciaknoll.com.

"A Girl Named Flower" went up on Flora's Forum on February 24.

"Just My Luck to Never Know" went up on Verse-Virtual for March.

Ms. Knoll invites you to join her for the following upcoming readings:

March 5, 7:00 - 9:00 pm at Tsunami Books at 2585 Willamette Street in Eugene, Oregon:  Knoll will be reading with a great group of women at a Reading in Celebration of National Woman's Month. 

June 6, 6:30 pm at the Thurman Street Multnomah County Library: Knoll will be reading from her new book, Ocean's Laughter, a collection of lyric and eco-poetry about Manzanita, Oregon (available at Amazon.com from Aldrich Press--go here for  Reviews).

If you enjoy Knoll’s poetry, you will want to read Urban Wild, her poetry chapbook now available from Finishing Line Press.

Poem of the Day: “Birds on a Wire” by John C. Mannone, Frequent Contributor and Poet of the Week

Songs of Eretz Poetry Review is pleased to present “Birds on a Wire” by John C. Mannone, a Songs of Eretz Frequent Contributor and this week’s Poet of the Week.  The poet’s biography may be found in the “About Our Editor & Frequent Contributors” section.

Birds on a Wire

John C. Mannone

A musician-pianist

            with writer’s block

                        gazes outside

as sparrows line up

            on power lines,

                        their silhouettes

perch as musical notes

            on a three-wire bar

                        hung from cross-staffs.

He scribbles their

            arrangement on paper:

                        ink nesting in circles

before his hands

            swoop down,

                        fingers resting light

as feathers on ivory,

            ruffling out

                        the bird-inspired tune:

itself a songbird

            lifting to the heavens—

                        a psalm of praise and thanks,

           

            taking wing.  

Poet’s Notes:  “Birds on a Wire” is a product of a prompt involving a list of ten words and categories obtained from a monthly open mic I attend in Chattanooga: a musical term, a part of a bird, rake, balloon, shuttle, ridge, rile, mash, repulse, scribble. (Only three of these survived the final revision.)

The conflation of the first two items is what led to the poem because they triggered a memory of TV commercial I had seen years earlier—a pianist suffering from “writer’s block” gazed out his studio window and saw birds “scale” the three-phase power lines. Their arrangement gave him the opening chords for a piano rift. Eventually, the poem’s structure emulates a 3-bar structure.   

Poem of the Day: “The Snowman’s Child” by Ross Balcom, Frequent Contributor and Poet of the Week

Songs of Eretz Poetry Review is pleased to present “The Snowman’s Child” by Ross Balcom, a Songs of Eretz Frequent Contributor and this week’s Poet of the Week.  Mr. Balcom’s biography may be found in the “About Our Editor & Frequent Contributors” section.

The Snowman's Child

Ross Balcom

"I've got to get going

or I'll never get gone,"

the snowman said,

and disappeared

into his own goodbye.

*

White is the color

of goodbye.

*

He left us kids

heartbroken, damaged.

He was our special friend,

the magic one.

Our "abandonment issues"

are vaster than winter,

bigger than life.

They call us

the "snowman's children,"

the suicides.

*

Sometimes

in winter, I hear

his footsteps

in the snow outside.

(How I love

his heavy boots.)

When I rush outdoors

to greet him,

he's never there.

Only the smoke

from his pipe

hangs in the air.

Then my knees

give way, and I fall

to the ground,

crying.

*

I'm not afraid

to cry,

and I'm not afraid

to bleed.

I cut myself

to see the blood run.

The heart's river,

that takes me back

to him.

*

We'll see him

again.

We'll see him

when we die.

*

White is the color

of goodbye.

The winter's white,

the snowman's smile.

White is the color

of the void,

where earth and sky

become one. 

*

Naked, I step

into winter.

Time to walk,

time to die.

I've got to get going

or I'll never get gone.

Poet’s Notes:  This was inspired by "Frosty the Snowman." Note the abundance of holiday cheer.  

Poem of the Day: “a spaceship dreams” by Ross Balcom, Frequent Contributor and Poet of the Week

Songs of Eretz Poetry Review is pleased to present “a spaceship dreams” by Ross Balcom, a Songs of Eretz Frequent Contributor and this week’s Poet of the Week.  Mr. Balcom’s biography may be found in the “About Our Editor & Frequent Contributors” section.

a spaceship dreams

it is human

first kiss

taste of love

in the void

Ross Balcom

Poet’s Notes:  In this poem, an intelligent spacecraft, created by humans, entertains fantasies of being human. The created aspires to become its creator. How human.... 

Two Poems by FC Reinhart Appear in Silver Blade

Songs of Eretz Frequent Contributor John Reinhart is pleased to announce the publication of two of his poems in Silver Blade issue 29:

“The Humaniverse” http://www2.silverblade.net/2016/02/the-humaniverse/ and “angels dreams up the wildest excuses” http://www2.silverblade.net/2016/02/angels-dream-up-the-wildest-excuses/.  Audio recordings of the poems and wonderfully selected artwork accompany the publications.  The issue is edited by fellow FC John Mannone.

Poem of the Day: “All the Last Notes” by Ross Balcom, Frequent Contributor and Poet of the Week

Songs of Eretz Poetry Review is pleased to present “All the Last Notes” by Ross Balcom, a Songs of Eretz Frequent Contributor and this week’s Poet of the Week.  Mr. Balcom’s biography may be found in the “About Our Editor & Frequent Contributors” section.

All the Last Notes

Ross Balcom

The French cutlery has a way of reflecting your eyes

posthumously.

I credit you with that sudden lull in my thoughts

when my blood pressure

drops.

 

Time scatters light

from your nowhere curls.

Crocuses along the footpath...

the magic wheelbarrow...

the old dwarf...

They found your shoe in the well.

The spring peepers proclaim it:

Pris, you were priceless.

On the pianoforte,

all the last notes

have sounded.

Poet’s Notes:  This is a poem about a dead woman, one Priscilla. She never existed outside of my imagination. I hope she likes the poem.

Poem of the Day: “the farm” by Ross Balcom, Frequent Contributor and Poet of the Week

Songs of Eretz Poetry Review is pleased to present “the farm” by Ross Balcom, a Songs of Eretz Frequent Contributor and this week’s Poet of the Week.  Mr. Balcom’s biography may be found in the “About Our Editor & Frequent Contributors” section.

the farm

Ross Balcom

there

where the river bends

laughing itself silly

where the wailing turnip

consorts

with the corn-silk Madonna

where tractors

rust and weep

where the boys

first stood

their legs uncertain

and gazed

long and speechless

into the eyes

of the incomparable daughter

Poet’s Notes:  This is the first appearance of that iconic figure, the Farmer's Daughter, in my poetry.  I hope she drops by again. She's beautiful.

FC Reinhart Announces Publication of a Chapbook As Well As a Triple Appearance in Scifaikuest

Songs of Eretz Frequent Contributor John Reinhart is pleased to announce that his new chapbook, encircled, has just been published by Prolific Press https://prolificpress.com/bookstore/chapbook-series-c-14/encircled-by-john-reinhart-p-170.html.  He is further pleased to announce that three of his poems now appear in the February edition of Scifaikuest.

Poem of the Day: “orphan” by Ross Balcom, Frequent Contributor and Poet of the Week

Songs of Eretz Poetry Review is pleased to present “orphan” by Ross Balcom, a Songs of Eretz Frequent Contributor and this week’s Poet of the Week.  Mr. Balcom’s biography may be found in the “About Our Editor & Frequent Contributors” section.

orphan

Ross Balcom

drawn

to this lesser light

this lesser

world

its craters

and ragged mountains

its heart

stony as your own

no warmth

or solace offered 

no ocean

to enfold you

child

of the hardest truth

only orphans

walk the moon

Poet’s Notes:  This poem originated with its final stanza, which I borrowed from an earlier, unfinished poem of mine.  Here the moon serves as a symbol of emotional deprivation and desolation.

Poem of the Day: “Uphill” by Tricia Knoll, Frequent Contributor and Poet of the Week

Songs of Eretz Poetry Review is pleased to present “Uphill” by Tricia Knoll, a Songs of Eretz Frequent Contributor and this week’s Poet of the Week.  A biography of the poet may be found in the “About Our Editor & Frequent Contributors” section.

Uphill

Tricia Knoll

My idea, not his. 

That December night, slick sidewalks

reflecting the globes of theater lights

and wind stuttering the park’s dread trees.

He struggled. A fat man

in a thick green coat.

Half a left leg and a book bag.

A stranger in a wheelchair.

Rolling more sideways

than forward on the three-block hill.

I offered to push him past

the historical society

where the sidewalk levels out.

Halfway up the second block

I came to. My compassion was stronger

than my body. Lessons of finish

what I start kicked in.

I made it. Sweating.

To the hilltop

with that heavy man

I never will forget.

Poet’s Notes:  I have a voice disability. I am not young. I try to be very attentive to the needs of people with other disabilities. This event is etched in my memory like the old-fashioned street lights on the Park blocks of Portland, Oregon; the rain on the slanted pavement, winter wind shaking trees. How hot I got.

Poem of the Day: “Herman, The Sturgeon” by Tricia Knoll, Frequent Contributor and Poet of the Week

Songs of Eretz Poetry Review is pleased to present “Herman, The Sturgeon” by Tricia Knoll, a Songs of Eretz Frequent Contributor and this week’s Poet of the Week.  A biography of the poet may be found in the “About Our Editor & Frequent Contributors” section.

Herman, The Sturgeon

Tricia Knoll

My palms press against the thick glass wall

between me and Herman. I nudge in

next to three young girls with ponytails.

Herman glides, a profile of fossils.

The sign to my left:

         Species:           acipenser transmontanus (Pacific Sturgeon) – the largest freshwater fish in North America                 

         Age:                70 plus years, born during World War II

         Eyes:                Steel gray

         Length:            Ten feet

         Weight:            450 pounds

         Genealogy:       Species to 175 million years ago

         Residence:        Bonneville Fish Hatchery on the Columbia River –– since 1998 captive in a man-made pool fed by Tanner Creek and groundwater. One Herman or another has circled this pool for over sixty years. 

           

The blonde mother distracts her kids with goldfish crackers.

I’ve got the window.

Does Herman see my hands splayed on the glass?

Am I as irrelevant to him as barnacles

crusted on the container ships on the Columbia

heading through Bonneville’s locks to Lewiston?

Does his brain sense how near his river is?

How high the wall to the upper Columbia?

I lean in as if to weigh the theft

of his wild identity, this land-locked fish.

Does he always swim clockwise?

Ignoring cycles of spawning?

His eyes give away nothing.

Bottom dweller. Four barbell sensors,

armored scutes. Yet – a brain that integrates.

My blessing to this fish

through my hands, through the glass.

Does he feel how my laying-on pulses the water?

Bless his terrible beauty.

Poet’s Notes:  I believe the Columbia River Gorge is one of the wonders of the world. I lament the loss of Celilo Falls and centuries of petroglyphs under Bonneville Dam. Other losses include robust fish migrations. Herman is a real fish (pictured), a humongous fish, incarcerated for his lifetime in a small pond at a hatchery as a tourist attraction.

Poem of the Day: “Four O’Clock in a December Afternoon” by Tricia Knoll, Frequent Contributor and Poet of the Week

Songs of Eretz Poetry Review is pleased to present “Four O’Clock in a December Afternoon” by Tricia Knoll, a Songs of Eretz Frequent Contributor and this week’s Poet of the Week.  A biography of the poet may be found in the “About Our Editor & Frequent Contributors” section.

Four O’Clock in a December Afternoon

Tricia Knoll

This is not about the propriety of tea cakes

and petit fours with raspberry jam.

Nor about prep time for powdering geisha’s cheeks

with Peruvian flowers for a far-flung night. 

Or when the laundry is assuredly dry

on a frozen wind-cracking line.

The day is sliding down,

a pivot point revolving into night.

This is the hour my dry fingers pick, pick

at strings knotted shut on my red velvet pouch.

I pluck and stretch the mouth open,

to pull out eight icy cat-eye marbles

to either defrost or somersault gently

into remaining light.

Poet’s Notes:  This started as perhaps an ode to the Four O’Clock flower, Mirabilis jalapa (pictured). Geishas use a portion of the flower as a white foundation make up. I was working on a collection of poetry about aging and time, a manuscript called Gathering Marbles that is trying to find a publisher. I often slow down to think of evening, the next roll in the game.

Poem of the Day: “The Felons” by Tricia Knoll, Frequent Contributor and Poet of the Week

Songs of Eretz Poetry Review is pleased to present “The Felons” by Tricia Knoll, a Songs of Eretz Frequent Contributor and this week’s Poet of the Week.  The poet’s biography may be found in the “About Our Editor & Frequent Contributors” section.

The Felons

Tricia Knoll

 

Fall steals across the heartland,

nicking off chunks of daylight

to tuck into night’s garment bag.

A thievery we notice late.

Boney witches fall in league with jumpy wizards

to brand giving-up leaves with red-golds

of camouflage and distraction.

Intruders conspire to guide us

into the punishing hands of winter.

Poet’s Notes:  I think of this as a  “found” poem. A man selling street tabloids said something quietly to me in the rain. We stood on a sidewalk plastered with leaves. I thought his words were fall’s a felon. My husband said his words were actually fall has fell.